She stiffened. “Yes. What else?”
It was clear she thought the murder might be related to their predicament. A thread of guilt slithered through him as he watched the color drain from her cheeks. Guilt for bringing her into this, for putting her life on the line, all for a few bucks.
He raked a hand through his hair. “Not much. Doesn’t sound like they have many leads on the investigation. But the woman was definitely working on a new collection, and rumor has it she was more than his assistant.”
She glanced up. “His lover?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. He hasn’t admitted to it, but that’s the word going around.”
She lifted what looked like a magazine from the bag. “Alan Landau’s unveiling that new collection tonight. I get the impression this little party is a way to get the public’s focus off her murder and back on his gallery. I think it’s our best chance to get close to him, find out what he’s up to. Get inside his place.”
“How do you plan to get into this little soiree?”
“I have connections.” A smile curled her sensuous lips, highlighting her sparkling teeth. “Had my assistant back in San Francisco arrange for two tickets.”
That explained the tux. And the men’s white dress shirt she pulled out of the bag. “I had to guess on your size. Hopefully it fits.”
Wonderful. Just what he wanted to do with his evening. He stepped forward with a frown and reached for the garment she handed him. His fingers slid over hers, and electricity zinged up his arm at the simple touch.
She wasn’t his type. Not by a long shot. He liked his women a lot more agreeable and a lot less mouthy. So how come every time she got close, he had trouble thinking straight? The woman had little use for him, had made that perfectly clear by ditching his ass all day and going off on her own. And the fact that that didn’t even seem to bother her only made him more frustrated and more determined to prove her wrong.
When she looked up, her eyes held his for a brief moment, shimmering gems that seemed to soften as he looked at her, as if they could read his thoughts, as if…as if they wanted him to prove her wrong. Eyes—to his utter surprise—that tugged on something deep in his chest and made the aggravation he was feeling slip away inch by inch.
Yes. Keep looking at me like that, querida.
Warmth pooled in his stomach, and he felt the overwhelming urge to pull her into his arms so he could find out if her skin was as soft as he imagined, so he could make her remember what it had been like between them in Italy.
She tugged her hand back and looked down before he was ready to break the contact. And just like that, whatever gentleness he’d seen flicker in her eyes faded behind her iron shield.
He glanced down and fingered the cold cotton in his hands. So much for that idea. He must have read her wrong. Just like every other time they’d been in the same room together.
She went back to pulling items from the bag. “I would have been back sooner, but I had to wait to pick up the invite. Then I had to find something to wear for tonight. It’s a zoo out there. Took longer than I thought it would.”
She picked up a bag at her feet and handed it to him—not, he noticed, in any way apologizing. “Here. I got you a few things while I was out. You can pay me back later.”
He opened the bag and peered inside. Disbelief knit his brow as he lifted a black thong and held it up by one finger. A paper tag hung from one side. His eyes narrowed on what was obviously not a piece of female lingerie. “This had better be for you.”
When she didn’t respond, his gaze snapped to her. Head down, she continued to paw through a shopping bag. “Lisa?”
She huffed and finally looked up. “I didn’t have a lot of time, and I didn’t feel like guessing about your style.” She pinned him with a look. “For heaven’s sake, it’s just underwear, Sullivan.”
“Real men don’t wear thongs. And I’m not wearing this.” He held it out to her. The scrap wouldn’t cover anything. Especially not anything he had. No doubt she’d bought it just to get under his skin. The woman wasn’t happy unless she was taking cheap shots at him.
“Fine.” She lifted one elegant brow. “Wear your day-old dirty Jockeys. Or go commando. Not my problem.”
“What the hell’s going on in here?”
Shane’s voice from the doorway made them both turn.
Great.
Tension worked its way back into Rafe’s shoulders. Lisa’s brother’s gaze darted from the thong in his hand to Lisa to the rumpled bed and back to Rafe, and there was no missing the back-off-my-sister-you-sexual-predator warning in his dark eyes.
Fucking fantastic.
Rafe crumpled the thong and tossed it into the bag in front of him. This day was ranking up there as one of his finest.
“Sullivan’s going to borrow your tux,” Lisa said. “We’re headed to the Landau Gallery’s unveiling tonight.”
“No one’s going commando in my tux.” Shane’s scrutinizing gaze darted to Rafe again.
Lisa’s sarcastic smile followed.
Holy hell. Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose and blew out a long breath. Walking into that damn auditorium in Italy had been the biggest mistake of his life.
Chapter Ten
Okay, so this wasn’t the brightest idea she’d ever come up with.
Lisa clenched her hands until her nails dug into her palms and looked out the cab window at the passing city lights. Heat from Rafe’s muscular body slid across the small space. The clean scents of soap and shampoo from his shower drifted toward her nose. Each time he shifted on the bench seat and it dipped under his weight, awareness tingled in her stomach and she contemplated sliding across the imitation leather so she could curl into him and find out just how hot he really was.
Damn, he looked good in Shane’s tux. She was a sucker for a man in black, and this man was doing crazy things to her libido. The suit somehow made his eyes darker, his skin richer. And the shadow of beard from his morning shave gave him a sexy rugged look that ignited a fire deep in her core.
Glancing down at the green beaded gown she wore, she blew out a long, long breath and tried to steady her quaking pulse.
Bad, bad, bad idea. She’d purposely picked the low-cut, skin-tight number to knock the man on his ass and prove to him who was really in control. But as soon as she’d seen him step into the living room dressed to the nines, looking dark and dangerous, his more-than-approving gaze flicking over her, she’d realized she was nowhere near in control.
Dumb. That’s what she was. There was no way she’d make it through this evening without going after the guy. Especially not when he looked good enough to eat. She knew her body well enough to know when her willpower was teetering. Maybe, she considered, she should just get it over with now, climb over, settle herself on his lap and take him for a quick ride before they went into the lion’s den. Lord knew she needed to get this sex fuzz off her brain so she could refocus. A quickie would do that for her.
She closed her eyes tight, opened them again to stare out at the lights.
Should have taken the journalist up on his offer today at the bar. Should have found a way to work Sullivan out of your system.
Never would have worked.
Wasn’t that just the kick in all of this? Somewhere along the way, the game had changed on her. This need burning inside wasn’t just about sex—at least not with any guy. She wanted the one next to her. The one she didn’t for one minute believe in or trust. The one who was using her. The one who was a thief and a liar.
He shifted again, draped his arm over the back of the seat. Her breath caught at the subtle move, and sanity slipped from her grasp.
Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, pleeeease don’t touch me.
She knew that as soon as he did, she’d melt.
His hand drifted down to her shoulder—luckily, a shoulder covered by a black silk drape, so his touch couldn’t set her skin on fire. “You look amazing, Querida.”
Hot breath with a hint o
f mint washed over her ear, warmed her all the way down to her toes. She swallowed hard and tried like hell to put calm and casual into her voice. “It’s just a dress, Slick.”
“A ‘wow’ dress,” he said all soft and sleepy, like a man did when he had sex on the brain. “You want me to suffer, don’t you?”
Hell, yes. That was the idea. Only now she was the one suffering. Big-time.
“Contrary to what you might think, I don’t plan my wardrobe around you.” She tried to inch away from his enticing body, but there was nowhere to go. “Why don’t we focus on something more important, like what we’re doing tonight?”
“I’m focused,” he said in the same sultry voice. “Always focused. Nothing wrong with enjoying the scenery along the way, though.”
Her heart thumped, but she ignored it. Ignored the way his gaze slid from her lips down to her breasts. “Landau will probably make an entrance. He seems to like attention, which explains this little bash happening now.”
“Yeah, I got that. He’s making a statement.” His voice hardened, but his arm didn’t budge. “I want you to stick with me until we see him come in.”
“Sullivan—”
He held up his free hand. “We don’t know who will be there, if what happened last night is related, if he’s involved at all. So until I get a read on the place, stay by my side.”
It wasn’t a question but an order. She could tell by the tone of his voice and the rigid line of his shoulders. Though his eyes were all soft and dreamy, his voice left no room for doubt. Arguing with him wasn’t going to get her anywhere. It would only set him off. And right now she didn’t want that. She needed him.
She nearly choked on the thought.
Shaking her hair back, and the ludicrous idea along with it, she glanced sideways. “You think this will work? There’s going to be security there. You didn’t have a lot of time to study the blueprints your friend dug up.”
She frowned at the memory of his phone call to some “friend’” after she’d told him of the party, of his quick exit from the apartment and eventual return with a wealth of information on Landau’s security. She didn’t particularly want to know the ins and outs of how he’d dug up the material, because she had a hunch it hadn’t been legal. But she was curious about whether he was really as good as he claimed to be. “Are you sure you can do this?”
Street lights illuminated his rugged jawline, the angles and planes of an entirely too-handsome face. When he smiled, a slow and sexy curve of his lips, a thousand butterflies took flight in her stomach. “Piece of cake. I’m good at what I do, Querida. Trust me.”
“Hmm.” She’d stopped trusting people a long time ago, and he was the last person in the world she wanted to take a chance on.
She glanced back out the window and tried to find some sense of control. The man might be a sex god, but he was still a thief and a liar. And, ironically, she had to hope that in this case he was good at both.
***
He was good. He hadn’t lied to her. He knew how to work a situation so he always came out on top.
He was also a planner. One who calculated the risks and never went after a mark unless he was overprepared. In his line of work, you didn’t cut corners, you planned for the unexpected, and you never did a job on impulse.
Those simple rules had taken Rafe a long way, had saved his ass more times than he could count, but for some reason they seemed to be changing. Hell, ever since Lisa had walked into his life, he’d been operating on the fly, and he didn’t particularly like it.
He rolled his shoulders as they ascended the stairs at the entry of Landau’s stately mansion. One call to Pete and the ball had been put in play. His partner was a whiz at handling the details, and within an hour Rafe had received copies of Landau’s blueprints, a rundown on the man’s personal security system and all the tools he’d need for tonight’s little job.
He’d taken his time and studied the estate, worked through his plan for the evening. Security cameras wouldn’t slow him down. Locks were only a minor inconvenience. The safe posed the biggest time constraint, but nothing worth worrying about. And if Landau was after the Furies, as they suspected, then Rafe was pretty sure his research would be locked up tight in the one place he didn’t expect to be hit.
A quick and easy job. One he could probably do in his sleep. So what was up with that tickle in the back of his throat?
You’re distracted, that’s all.
Well, who the hell wouldn’t be? The woman standing next to him could stop a freight train with one sultry look. It was no wonder he was having trouble concentrating.
Thin little straps held her glittering emerald gown in place. A heart-shaped neckline scooped low at her breasts showed a hint of that plump cleavage. The tight dress fit her curvy figure like a glove, then dropped all the way to the floor. A slit on the left side drew attention to her toned leg with every step she took.
But it was the rear view that had his mouth watering each time she turned away. The dress plunged to the small of her back, the tiny straps doing some crisscross thing up near her shoulders, showcasing her toned muscles and creamy skin—making all thought slip right out of his head anytime he caught a glimpse of her.
Common sense told him he needed to stop looking at her and just refocus. But damn, it was hard.
With a hand at the base of Lisa’s spine, he ushered her across the entrance’s marble floor and took a careful sweep of Alan Landau’s private mecca in a posh suburban area of Chicago. No modest dwelling for this target. No, from the look of the mansions they’d passed on the way in, Landau was turning a pretty penny with his little gallery.
Two security guards at the main entrance. Another three that Rafe could see, circulating through the crowd inside. All probably armed, the way his luck was going.
Wide columns flanked both walls. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, splashing light across the guests just arriving. Luckily, the security detail wasn’t hard to pick out—grim looks on their faces, earpieces snaked behind ears. Even in black tie, mingling with the crowd, they stood out like a sore thumb.
Well, one thing was going right. It was a hell of a lot easier to keep an eye on them that way. And since their attention undoubtedly was focused on the collection waiting to be unveiled, it was all the easier for Rafe to sneak off and take a look around.
Lisa slid the wrap from her shoulders and handed it to a man checking coats at their left, then slipped her hand into the crook of Rafe’s arm. “Put on a smile, Sullivan. And act like you’re happy to be here.”
He would, if she weren’t pumping out so much damn heat.
A waiter passed with a tray of drinks. Lisa reached out and snagged two bubbling glasses of champagne and handed him one. She took a long sip and scanned the room.
Oh, hell. Watching her tempting lips pass over the glass and the line of her throat when she tipped the flute up and swallowed wasn’t helping. He lifted his own glass and drank deeply.
“Some powerful faces here tonight,” she said beside him.
He lowered the flute and glanced around. The main living area had obviously been cleared for the event. Across the vast room with its soaring ceiling, a small stage had been erected. A three-piece orchestra played classical music that wafted through the air. Tall trees flanked the stage with twinkling white lights woven through the branches. Couples mingled on the dance floor. Ahead and to the left, a curved staircase swept up to what Rafe knew from his research was the second-floor suite of bedrooms; above that was Landau’s private office on the upper level.
He took a closer look at the crowd. A popular TV–talk show host, three state senators, a couple of sports personalities from the greater Chicago area, and a horde of nerds who could only be the scholarly types. “Our Landau’s a popular guy.” Glass in hand, he gestured to a salt-and-pepper-haired man across the room. “Who’s that?”
“Governor of Illinois. Up for reelection this year, I think.”
“Really pop
ular guy,” he muttered.
“I don’t believe it.”
They both turned toward the male voice. The man striding in their direction had Lisa in his line of vision. He was tall, dressed in a tux like every other guy in the place, with slightly too long auburn hair and a wide grin. When he reached them, he grasped Lisa’s hands and took a long sweep of her body from head to toe.
Rafe’s back tingled.
“Now that’s a dress.” The man said. “I almost didn’t believe my eyes when I saw you wander in.”
A grin tugged at Lisa’s mouth, and a blush crept across her cheeks. “What are you doing here, Riley?”
“I could ask you the same question. I haven’t seen you since Tahiti. And oh, sweetheart”—his eyes hovered over her breasts, slid slowly up to her face—“I don’t remember you wearing anything as succulent as this.”
Rafe cleared his throat.
Lisa glanced his way. “Oh, I’m sorry. Cole Riley, this is a colleague of mine, Rafael—”
“Garcia,” Rafe cut in. Her curious gaze darted his way, but he ignored it. No sense sharing vital information. She might be well-known here, but that didn’t mean he had to be.
“Nice to meet you.” The man spared him a quick glance before refocusing on Lisa again as if Rafe weren’t even there. “I had no clue you’d be here.”
“Last-minute decision. I happened to be in town.”
He smiled. “Just my luck. God, I missed you.”
Deep, sexy laughter slipped from Lisa’s lips. She didn’t make any attempt to pull her hands back.
Holy shit.
Rafe’s eyes narrowed as he looked between the two. They’d been lovers. It was written all over the guy’s I’ve-had-a-piece-of-this face.
Riley’s gaze darted to the small bandage on her upper arm. He shook his head and clucked his tongue. “You been playing Indiana Jones again, honey?”
Lisa grinned but didn’t answer.