Twice the Temptation (32 page)

 
She reached one hand down to cup the considerable bulge at the crotch of his trousers. “Speaking of rocks,” she murmured, gently squeezing.

 
He moaned. “And they’re both for you.”

 
Samantha chuckled breathlessly. “Hey, that reminds me, where’s the cursed one?”

 
“In the safe upstairs.” He began tugging her pants down.

 
She lifted her hips, wriggling to hurry the naked part of the evening. “Good. I don’t want anything important falling off of you.”

 
With a snort, Rick finished removing her pants and underwear, then straightened to pull off his own gray T-shirt and unzip the jeans he’d donned after the wine incident. “No, we wouldn’t want that.”

 
Eight months together, and she still went wet when he looked at her sideways. In moments of sanity it occurred to her that an art-collecting billionaire and a
semi-retired cat burglar with over forty robberies for which she could still be arrested probably weren’t the wisest combination. But he’d made his way into her heart so thoroughly that she couldn’t imagine—didn’t want to imagine—the scenario that would send them on their separate ways. Whatever it was, she was certain it would be her fault; she knew she needed to stay on the right side of the law, but she knew way too many people who thought otherwise.

 
She wrestled her shirt and bra onto the floor, and wrapped her hands around his shoulders as he settled over her and slowly, steadily, entered her. This was where everything worked, where whatever arguments or differences they had could just melt away. This was where they fit. Perfectly.

 
Rick kissed her, the motions of his tongue matching the thrust of his hips. In the background, somebody screamed something in Japanese about a giant monster, and Godzilla roared. Mm, even with a probable burglary attempt on her watch and a cursed diamond upstairs, life was good.

 
Samantha tightened and came, fast and hard. “There you go,” Rick murmured in her ear. “I’ve been waiting for that all day.”

 
She locked her ankles around his hips. “Your turn now, bucko,” she gasped, clenching around him.

 
“Jesus.” His pace increased, he roared, Godzilla roared, and he sank down over her, shaking.

 
Their hearts pounded against one another. He was heavy, six-foot-two and all lean muscle, but she liked the weight. Her white knight, ready to slay dragons and black hats whenever the situation called for it.

 
Rick lifted his head. “So much for the appetizer,” he
said, grinning as he kissed the tip of her nose. “Let’s take the main course upstairs, shall we?”

 
“Hot damn.”

 
Richard held the diamond up by its delicate gold clasp. He’d always considered Connoll Addison to be an intelligent man—after all, he was the one who’d begun the expansion of the Addison collection, now considered one of the finest, if notthe finest, privately owned art and antiques collections in the world.

 
Stuffing a very rare diamond in a wall, then, didn’t quite seem Connoll’s style. Maybe he’d done it to appease his overly superstitious new bride, Evangeline. But she’d had fine taste herself, and from everything he’d heard and read had been a fair and equal partner in the marriage. Their three children, two sons and a daughter, had been of sound mind and body, and Rick couldn’t think of a reason why neither of the parents would tell any of the children about the heirloom in the wall.

 
His new cell phone rang, and he dropped the diamond back into its bag. “Addison.”

 
“Good morning, sir,” Sarah’s voice came.

 
“You don’t sound particularly pleased,” he noted, wiggling his fingers at Samantha as she emerged, naked but for a damp towel, from the bathroom.

 
“I just heard from Mr. Allenbeck. They’ve decided to go with Pellmore Construction, sir.”

 
Fuck. “Thank you for telling me. Anything else on the agenda this morning?”

 
“John Stillwell called from Canada. He says the Montreal city council is being surprisingly cooperative, and he’ll e-mail you the details today.”

 
Well, that figured. The Quebec project looked to be time-consuming and not nearly as profitable as the Blackpool one. The perils of sending a new and enthusiastic assistant, though, were that he would be doing his best to impress the boss. “I’ll look for it. And Sarah?”

 
“Yes, sir?”

 
“I’m expecting that package from Tom Donner today. If it arrives, let me know, and have it forwarded to me here. I’ll take a look at it over the weekend.”

 
“I’ll see to it.”

 
“Cheers.”

 
He closed the phone and turned in time to see Samantha’s terry-clothed backside disappearing back into the bathroom. Hm. Swiftly he grabbed up the velvet bag and stuffed it into the pocket of the jacket she would be wearing for the press preview today. Maybe that would convince her how silly she was being—especially since he wanted her to have the diamond.His diamond.

 
“Are you certain you don’t mind me hanging about for the preview today?” he asked, leaning into the doorway.

 
She finished fastening her bra. “I would have told you to get lost if I didn’t want you here. And I heard the Donner word a minute ago. What’s he doing now, trying to get me permanently deported?”

 
Richard chuckled. If he didn’t know that Sam and Tom admired one another far more than either would ever admit, he would have been less amused. But his closest friend and attorney had proved several times that he would take steps out of his comfort zone to see that Samantha remained safe, and so he would tolerate the public antagonism. “It’s some property tax reports. I’d
have John handle them, but he’s doing my bidding in Canada.”

 
“You and your minions.” She turned around and kissed him. “And yes, come to the press preview. That way if anything goes wrong, I can throw you to the paparazzi while I make my escape.” She faced the mirror again, reaching for her eyeliner. “You didn’t get the Blackpool gig, did you?”

 
“No. Though after yesterday, I can’t say I’m that disappointed to miss out on working with Allenbeck. The man’s a twit.”

 
“I love when you get all British.”

 
He lifted an eyebrow. “I’m always all British.”

 
God, she looked so lovely, her hair still hanging damply around her face as she critically eyed her application of what she called her war paint. Before he’d married and after he’d discovered his former wife, Patricia, in bed with his former college roommate, he’d done his share of dating—actresses and models, mostly, because they were used to the cameras and press that seemed to follow him everywhere. And then he’d met Samantha. She’d been in his Palm Beach house, halfway to stealing a priceless stone tablet that had come from Troy. And she’d ended up saving his life when his security guard accidently set off a bomb planted by another thief.

 
Insanity, all of it, and at the end they’d emerged together. He wanted them to stay that way. And so he’d learned to be patient, to treat their relationship with far more care than he did any business partnership. So far it was working, but he still had no idea what she would do if and when he decided to take the next step with her.

 
“What?” she asked, eyeing him in the mirror.

 
He shook himself. “What what?”

 
“You’re smiling. That scares me.”

 
Richard laughed. “Nothing scares you. I’m just proud of you. You’ve earned the responsibility the V & A’s giving you today.”

 
“Save a few priceless paintings from being stolen from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and suddenly all the museums want you to be their lunch buddy.”

 
“So you know not to listen to the tripe being shoveled by our houseguest. I had nothing to do with your being asked to install and supervise security for the exhibit.”

 
“I intend to listen to very little coming from Inspector Henry Larson, but thanks.”

 
“You’re welcome. I suppose I should go introduce myself to him.”

 
“Go ahead. I’ll be down in a few minutes. Just don’t punch him, Rick; I want to do that.”

 
He grinned as he left the bathroom and the master suite. “No promises, my love.”

 
Henry Larson was already downstairs in the traditional breakfast room when Richard made his way inside. His chef, Jean-Pierre Montagne, was the third of his cooks to be charmed by Samantha, as evidenced by the three separate piles of sugared strawberries on the sideboard and the champagne bucket filled with ice and chilled Diet Cokes. Larson had made liberal use of both selections, not a good sign for the inspector’s continued well-being.

 
“Good morning,” Richard said, selecting scrambled eggs and a pair of sausages to go with his tea. He’d take out one of the horses and go riding this afternoon to compensate. Maybe this time he could finally convince Sam to join him.

 
The inspector pushed back his chair and stood. “Good morning, my lord.”

 
With a slant of his head, Richard indicated that Stilson, one of the downstairs housekeepers, should leave the room. “Addison, if you please,” he said aloud. Generally he preferred Rick, but this fellow was making some problems for him. “And you must be Mr. Larson from the Yard.”

 
“Oh, Miss Jellicoe told you, then?”

 
“We don’t keep secrets. I would appreciate a few more details, however.”

 
“Of course. I’m with the Crime Prevention Unit of the Yard, Mr. Addison. Three days ago we received a tip that someone might attempt to hit the exhibit while it’s here at Rawley Park. So my superiors assigned me to replace Mr. Montgomery in order to keep an eye on things.”

 
“But this exhibit’s been traveling through England and Scotland for the past two months. Why here and now?”

 
“We think it’s because of your…of Miss Jellicoe.”

 
Richard snapped into a frown, any amusement gone. “If you’re implying that Miss Jellicoe is doing anything nefarious, I suggest you leave and return with a proper warrant and personnel to begin an investigation. You are no longer welcome here under my—”

 
“No, no, no, sir,” the inspector stammered. “I misspoke. What I meant was that Miss Jellicoe’s father, Martin Jellicoe, was a fairly infamous cat burglar. Somebody might get the idea that Miss Jellicoe’s soft on that sort of thing.”

 
“And that would be based on her helping to uncover an international art theft ring eight months ago? Or perhaps the investigation she did into Charles Kunz’s death, resulting in the arrest of both of his children for murder, theft, and attempting to defraud?” He could
mention the Met job, too, but only a select few knew she’d had any part in that.

 
“Or,” Larson continued hurriedly, “or, it might be that somebody thinks they’ll make a name for themselves if they can get past a Jellicoe. Her father being so famous in those circles.”

 
“Ah. I see. Very well. But I suggest you not misspeak regarding Miss Jellicoe in my presence again.”

 
“No, sir. I will not.”