was too late, “by ‘with me’ what Mr. Rothchild really meant was ‘here.’ As in ‘here,’ but in a separate bedroom. And ‘here,’ but as far away as possible from where he sleeps.” She pasted on a smile.
This time Hildy did blink. And glanced at Conner for confirmation.
His mouth quirked. “As the lady says. You can put her in the guest cabana. That should be far enough away.”
Hildy’s eyes met hers for a split second, and Vera could have sworn the older lady was holding back a smirk. Vera wondered idly if she’d just joined the ranks of Too-Stupid-To-Live, or Girl Folk Hero…
“Oh, well. I need the sleep anyway,” he said philosophically when the housekeeper had gone. “You’ll like the cabana. It’s very private out there. But don’t get any bright ideas about escaping. I was serious about the armed guard. I’ve already called the security company.”
She didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered. “Don’t worry. I took Agent Duncan’s warning to heart.”
Before leaving the penthouse, the FBI man had cautioned her against going anywhere alone, or without Conner’s permission, for her own safety. After finding out about the connection between the stolen ring and the murder of Candace Rothchild and attack on Silver Rothchild, the whole ‘Give it back or you’ll die next bitch’ thing was plenty to convince Vera not to take any chances.
“I don’t know why you didn’t just let Duncan put me in jail,” she said without thinking.
Then she remembered.
Whoops. Yeah, she did know. Because Conner’d expected to have sex with her, that’s why. Which would surely have happened had it not been for the timely interruption of the break-in and the subsequent revelations into his motives for seeking her out in the first place.
She’d so totally lost her mind in that elevator. Thank God she’d found it since.
More or less.
Though being reminded of the delicious things he’d done to her during her temporary insanity wasn’t helping.
She looked up and realized he was gazing at her sardonically, his thoughts as transparent as hers apparently were.
“Forget it.” She wagged a finger. “No bodyguard necessary. Literally or otherwise. I saw the size of the fence around this place, and the only person I’m in danger from here is you.” And possibly herself.
“Only thinking of your safety,” he said amenably.
“Sure you are.”
Seeking a distraction, she glanced around the glamorous room, filled with the trappings of wealth, and was suddenly struck with a pang of regret. What would it be like to be part of this world, even for a few days…or nights? Would it be such a sacrifice to sleep with him, to find out?
God, no. Not in the least. The man was to die for. And she’d be using him just as much as he was using her. But…
“I’m sorry, casual sex isn’t something I do.” She felt the need to explain, but it came with a belated inward wince. “Embarrassing evidence to the contrary.”
He smiled. “Nothing embarrassing about it. In fact, it was pretty damn hot if you ask me. For, you know, not being casual sex.”
She actually felt a flush work its way up her throat to her cheeks. Good grief. When was the last time she’d blushed?
Help.
“You said something about a guest house? I really should get some sleep or I’ll be a mess at work tonight.” She sighed. “Assuming I still have a job.”
He looked surprised. “You’re going back there?”
“Hell, yeah. If the boss will let me. I have no choice, Conner. I have bills to pay. Money doesn’t grow on trees.” She glanced around again. “Well, for some of us anyway.”
He ignored the barb and rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Okay. I guess I can do that.”
“You? What do you mean?”
“So quickly they forget.”
“Oh. Right.” They were stuck like glue until Special Agent Duncan decided to arrest her. Which meant Conner’d have to come to the club with her.
A memory washed over her, of him sitting in the front row sipping champagne like a dissolute sultan, watching her take off every stitch of clothing. And—oh, God—how turned on she’d been. By him. By his negligent air of wealth and power. And the hungry look in his eyes as his gaze had caressed her nude body. No wonder she’d gone off like a rocket when he touched her later on.
She swallowed. “I suppose you’ll insist on going with me.”
“Oh, absolutely. Wouldn’t miss it.” He winked.
That’s what she was afraid of.
That, and the nutcase who might now be after her because of that damn ring. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea he went with her, after all.
Bad enough she’d invaded his dreams all night like some kind of teasing succubus, but even now, the next morning, sun shining, birds singing, the little witch was still torturing him. Deliberately. With malice aforethought.
Conner frowned, taking in the sight that had nearly made the tray of coffee and croissants he was carrying spill all over the Mexican patio tiles. The French doors to the cabana had been flung open. Sheer curtains billowed out from them in the hot desert breeze. Inside the dim room, the scene was straight out of one of the erotic dreams he’d been haunted by all night.
Vera. Nude. Sprawled on her stomach across her bed…Except in his dreams of course it had been his bed. Sheets in a tangle. Her skin moist with a sheen of sweat. Her hair in a mess as though from his fingers…Except his fingers had unfortunately been nowhere near her last night.
Seeing her like that, he’d been shocked enough that his first thought was that she was dead. Lying there brutally murdered, like his cousin Candace. The memory of that crime scene had streaked through his mind, nearly tipping the tray in his hands. Thankfully she’d stirred immediately at the sound of the rattling dishes so he knew she was okay, or he would really have lost it.
As it was, he was now close to losing it for an entirely different reason.
The woman was a sensual vision. Her hot body even sexier than in his dreams.
Easy, boy.
She’d made it clear last night she was no longer interested in sex with him. He’d honored her wishes and hadn’t pushed it, although he was pretty sure he could have changed her mind with very little effort. They obviously had chemistry. Potent chemistry. And lots of it.
But this…this was unfair.
Or maybe it was an invitation? Had she gone to bed naked, hoping he would come to her?
What an idiot. He should at least have tried…
“Conner?”
He started at the sound of her throaty, sleep-muzzy voice. The dishes rattled, and he had to catch the tray for the second time to keep from dumping it.
“Yeah. It’s me.”
She turned over in the bed, and he gripped the tray even harder. Pure torture. “What have you got?”
Besides a hard-on? “Breakfast,” he croaked. “Interested?”
“Mmm.” Her arms rose in a languorous stretch. “Coffee, I hope?”
Lord, help him.
“Yep.” He reached a nearby patio table just in time, depositing the tray on the round glass top with a clatter. After righting the cups and returning the croissants to the plate, he turned, ready to abandon all pretense and just go in and devour her, when she strolled by