The Black Sheep and The English Rose. Donna Kauffman

now, perhaps very unwisely, but she wanted to hear, directly from his lips, while looking into his eyes, just what it was he thought of her alternate occupation. “And what is it, exactly, that you think I do?”

      She was neatly tucked between the wall of photos behind her and the wall of broad chest in front of her. His hand was still touching the picture beside her head, but he moved it now, fingering the ends of her curls instead, in a way that sent a tingling sensation along every nerve ending she possessed. It was a delicious feeling, and one she’d have loved to indulge in further, encouraged even, if the stakes weren’t so high.

      “I don’t exactly know,” he said. He twined more of her hair around his finger and leaned in a bit closer, his crystal blue eyes gazing intently into her own. “Why don’t you help me understand why a woman of your means feels the need to steal those priceless little baubles, as you call them? My guess is it has to be the rush, the danger. Am I wrong?”

      It shouldn’t have offended her in the least, the conclusion he’d drawn. In reverse circumstances, she’d have drawn the exact same one herself. She wanted to confide in him, which would serve the dual purpose of finally having someone to discuss this secret life with, as well as give her the supreme pleasure of tossing his presumptions back into his beautiful face. That was dangerous enough, but even more, she perversely wished she didn’t have to explain herself at all. She wanted him to think better of her than that, when, of course, she’d given him absolutely no reason to.

      “One might wonder the same of you,” she said. “We’ve crossed paths several times now, in quest of, shall we say, off market property, using less than orthodox methods for retrieval. If the organization you formed with your childhood acquaintances isn’t a charity or a trust, then what, exactly, is it? You’ve been in business with them for two years, but it’s been longer than that since our paths first crossed in Bogota. Do you have other business interests of a more solo nature? And if you are here in the city on business, as you claim, then why would said business include mirroring the very same activities as me, pursuing the very same bauble, in fact, if not for the same reason? Client or no client. After all, you’re an admitted adrenaline junkie, as the many photos on these walls would attest.”

      “Perhaps it takes one to know one,” he said, his gaze not wavering in the least, despite the casual tone.

      So, he was going to let her think him some sort of common thief. Well, perhaps common wasn’t fair, as their quarry required a far higher skill set than that of the average jewel thief. “Perhaps, but from what I know of you, adrenaline junkie or no, international jewel thief doesn’t seem to fit your otherwise helper-of-the-people profile.”

      “The same could be said of you.”

      She smiled now, a slow curve of the lips. “I know.” She used the momentary confusion in his eyes as her opportunity to finally slip free of his immediate proximity. “So, time being a precious commodity, shouldn’t we get on with doing whatever testing can be done to this fine piece of stemware?” She retrieved the wineglass from her tote and held it out to him.

      He crossed the room and reached out for the glass, but she pulled it back, her smile growing wider with his frown. “You are going to let me assist, right?”

      She could see from the look on his face that that hadn’t exactly been his plan.

      “If you’re worried about giving up all the secrets to your little bat cave here, have no fear. I have my own set of resources. I can assure you I won’t be requiring yours.”

      He held her gaze for a long moment.

      “If we’re to be partners, the trust has to start somewhere,” she said.

      “Partners,” he repeated. His gaze dropped to her lips, long enough to make her squirm a little. Then he abruptly turned around and walked out of the room. “Follow me,” was all he said.

      Chapter 5

      Finn didn’t know what to do with her, but he damn well knew what he wanted to do. He didn’t bother to look up the staircase, knowing full well there was quite the decadent lair waiting for them both upstairs. Knowing equally well just how good a use the two of them could make of such lodgings. If he chose to nudge her in that direction, which he wouldn’t. Not if he had any sense in his head.

      It was risky enough, bringing someone like her here, to his inner sanctum. It wasn’t smart, giving someone with her proclivities even the most limited invitation to what was available within these old, renovated walls. It was true that both Rafe and Mac had availed themselves of the technology housed here, but, unlike the vast compound at Dalton Downs, this wasn’t Trinity property. This place was his, had been long before his father had passed. The one thing he still had left from his former life, the one thing that had never been anyone else’s. And he was already regretting bringing her here. Even in such a short time, he knew she’d find a way to imprint herself on his space, making her even more unforgettable, in the last place he needed her to be.

      He stepped into the foyer and turned toward the hallway leading under the stairs to the rear of the house. Only he paused beneath the staircase itself and pushed on a panel hidden there. There was a soft click; then the entire wall panel swung inward. A cool rush of air from the lower realms of the below stairs brushed his skin as he crouched to step inside, then down the first several of the iron spiral steps leading downward. “Mind your head,” was all he said to her, not even turning to see if she followed. Certain she would. “Use the handrail. Those shoes you’re wearing aren’t the most functional things for an operation like this.”

      “We all have our tools of the trade,” she said. “You’d be surprised what a nicely tailored pair of Italian leather pumps can do for a mission.”

      Picturing those long legs of hers in Italian heels and nothing more than the lingerie he’d discovered her in earlier—was it only today?—he was inclined to agree with her assessment. He kept that bit of information to himself, however, and continued his descent.

      “Watch the last step,” he warned as he reached the bottom. “It’s a bit steeper than the others.” He would have turned and offered her a hand, had he been willing to risk even that much contact. He wasn’t. Not at the moment anyway. He was sporting quite the raging hard-on. Again. And was growing concerned that the condition was going to be permanent as long as she was around. The solution, of course, was to end their less-than-strictly-business working relationship as soon as possible. Which was his goal, of course.

      His thoughts strayed again to the third floor. To the huge, king-size bed he’d had specially made. It was built into a frame set directly on the floor and was covered in blankets and linens of various weaves and textures. There were pillows of all sizes, scattered everywhere. Panels of sheer curtains and netting hung from the ceiling, shrouding the bed in a filmy mist of ivory and pale blue. He rarely slept there, but when he did, he enjoyed the reminders of some of the places he’d been. Nepal, Peru, Indonesia.

      Now he was picturing her there, beautifully splayed amongst the plush pillows and Egyptian cotton. The use he could make of some of those cushions, arching her body just so, getting caught up in the way her skin would look, so creamy and smooth against the bold jewel tones and exotic weaves.

      “So,” she said, a bit of wonder in her tone as she lightly hopped off the last step. “You really do have a Bat Cave right here in Gotham City.”

      He kept his back to her and his twitching erection from view. He walked over to a computer monitor, pressed a button so a keypad eased out of the console beneath, and typed in a series of pass codes. Lights came on in the cabinets surrounding the lab part of the room, and the countertop glowed a cerulean blue. A large screen was revealed over the desk and shelving units when wall panels slid apart. Incongruously, there was a pinball machine at one end of the panel of high technology, and Pac Man at the other. Smiling as he watched her take it all in, he pulled a small kit from one of the cabinets and flipped it open. “Why, yes, Girl Wonder,” he said, “yes, I do.”

      He held out his hand. “Know anything about fingerprinting?”

      She