The Black Sheep and the English Rose (13 page)

He pushed those thoughts aside. For now. At the moment Reese had more pressing concerns to attend to. And, frankly, Finn thought that a man like Reese would keep his newly acquired information to himself anyway, at least until he could figure out how to use it to his advantage. And given the leverage he now had over her, the possibilities were many.

“Maybe she doesn't typically leave her gallery,” he said, in response to Felicity's question. “Maybe she just brokers through other connections, or using couriers like Chesnokov did earlier tonight.”

“Any chance she's personally the buyer? Any chance he contacted her to sell her the stone outright?”

“Could be, but why fly her home, then? She was in the city. They'd close the deal; then he'd go his way, she'd go hers.”

“Unless there is more to their story.”

“Possible. Probable, even, given the champagne and all. But Rafe didn't get anything on her that would suggest she's a private collector, on the record or otherwise. It would make more sense if she's a broker, as that's relatively easy to hide.”

“Assuming she does this for a fee, where is the money?”

“Don't know. Maybe she funnels it back into the business. Maybe her showings aren't as successful as they seem and she's rolling the income into the business and stating it as sales as a way to launder it legitimately into her bank accounts.”

“So where does the art go if it's not really being sold?”

“She could be destroying it for all we know. Or using it for packing material—” He broke off suddenly and immediately began tapping on his screen.

“What?”

“Well, I was being a smart ass, but it just occurred to me…Hold on.” He kept tapping for another minute, then finally put the unit down on the table and leaned back in his seat. “Rafe's on it. Hopefully we'll get an answer before we land.”

“Care to share your amazing revelation? An answer to what?”

“Whether or not Julia is packing something other than art in the crates she uses to ship things out to clients.”

“And if she is?”

“That could be the invaluable service she provides. Not a customer base, though she could be brokering. Ultimately, though, she could just be a mule of another sort.”

“Doesn't explain her being in New York.”

He shrugged. “We know she's involved with Reese somehow. Maybe she was there in case he needed to move it another way. We don't know when he worked the deal with Chesnokov or when Andreev came into the picture.”

“And the shower and champagne?”

“Well, maybe some people really know how to close a business deal.” Finn grinned. “In fact, perhaps we should—”

Felicity lifted her hand. “You were doing so well there for a bit, don't spoil it.”

Finn reached for the bag next to him and pulled out two half bottles of wine. “I was going to say a toast to our continued sleuthing successes.” His grin spread. “Why, what did you have in mind?”

She ignored him, or tried to, by picking up her water bottle and taking another measured sip. “I don't think clouding our heads—and our judgments—with alcohol is a good idea at the moment.”

“Afraid you'll take advantage of me?”

“Your wish fulfillment is showing, darling.” She took one of the small bottles. “On second thought, perhaps a little libation would be a good thing. Steady the nerves. Do you happen to have a corkscrew in your little bag of tricks? Oh,” she said, on a sigh, as she looked more closely at the bottle. “Screw top. How…divine.”

“Hey, I scored the McIvities, but the supply of wine on such short notice was a bit more limited.” He got up and walked over to the small storage and kitchen area in the front of the plane, and came back with two champagne flutes. “Maybe it will taste better in fine crystal.”

He could see her fight the smile, but didn't nudge her any further. She poured for them both, then lifted her glass. “To finding Julia and Reese.”

“To finding the stone, and the hell with Reese.”

She nodded, clinked the edge of her glass against his, then sipped. After a delicate shiver, she sipped again. “This is positively horrid.”

“I know,” Finn said, downing a gulp. “Fun, huh?”

“I shudder to think what else you scavenged on your little hunt.”

He snagged the bag, knowing he was wandering right back into dangerous territory, and not caring as much as he should. They were working together, communicating. Maybe he just needed to trust that tack for a while, and hope for more as they proceeded.

And maybe if she was naked for at least part of that time, it would help her shed the rest of her inhibitions about bringing him in on whatever deal she was really working here.

Of course, he was completely aware how self-serving that newly devised plan would be. And that, as nothing had really changed between them, it made him somewhat hypocritical on his earlier stance…but as he watched her throat work, and her slender shoulders shiver as she took another sip, and gave another little shudder, he discovered he wasn't caring much at all any longer about the rest of it.

He wanted Felicity Jane more than he wanted his next breath. He wanted her in more than his bed. He wanted her for longer than the duration of this flight. Or their current caper.

But every journey started with a single step. And he was done denying that the step he was most interested in taking at the moment was toward the big ocean of bed in the rear of the plane.

“Well,” he told her, setting his glass down on the table and circling around toward her. “I did have you shuddering in mind when I collected some of it. But in quite a different way.” He perched on the edge of the table, his knee grazing hers, gratified when she didn't move it away. “Want me to show you?”

F
elicity stared at Finn over the edge of her glass, pondering whether it was really worth taking another sip of the most awful wine she'd ever had the misfortune to taste. It was a desperate attempt to take the edge off the anxiety growing inside her. Anxiety that had little to do with solving the job at hand, and a lot to do with the fact that despite her little speech earlier, her desire for Finn Dalton hadn't eased one whit.

Sitting across the table from him, watching his quick mind in action, certainly hadn't helped matters either. Wasn't it enough that he had a body that wouldn't quit? He had to have a tantalizing mind as well? She sipped. She shuddered. And her gaze went to the dark blue plastic bag currently clutched in his hands. His long, broad-fingered hands.

She forced herself to look away. “Business,” she managed. “We really should stick to—”

He took the glass out of her grasp and set it on the table beside him, then reached for her hands. “The hell with it. Maybe we should stick to what we do best.”

It was simple. All she had to do was keep her hands in her lap, or anywhere but on Finn. He wouldn't push her if she didn't want him to. Which was the problem.

She looked up at him. “You said that wasn't enough for you. What's changed?”

“Other than you driving me so crazy I can't think straight?”

“Join the club,” she muttered, knowing he heard her when his smile grew.

“I do want more.” He wiggled his fingers, urging her to take his hands. “But maybe more talking isn't what's going to do the trick.”

She eyed his hands, accepted the shudder of pleasure that rolled down her spine at the image of those strong fingers caressing her flesh, then connected with this gaze once again. “I'm a trick now? A puzzle to be solved? So that is the draw, then? Figure out the mystery of Felicity Jane?”

“I won't deny you intrigue the hell out of me, but my hope is that the more I know, the more I'll want to know. Isn't that how this is supposed to work?”

“I wouldn't know. I don't even know what
this
is.”

“And there's no curiosity on your part to find out?”

“We've been through this. Just moments ago, in the hallway.”

“Maybe you need options.”

What she needed was for him to shut up and drag her into his arms so she wouldn't have to make up her own damn mind about all this. Take the decision out of her hands and drown her in so much sensation and pleasure that she didn't have to think. Not about this.

Of course, for all he was a bad boy personified in some ways, he was also a good guy. Too good to ever do that without her express consent. Which was one of the things that so attracted her to him in the first place. Damn it.

“Options,” she repeated.

“At the moment, you have your life all neatly arranged. Your day job,” he said, then smiled, “and your extracurricular activities.”

She didn't bother to correct him. She couldn't anyway.

“You have no reason to upset the status quo. Why reach for the uncertain?”

“Why, indeed?”

“Because a job, no matter how exhilarating, can't give you this.” He was taking her hands even as she was raising them to his. He lifted her from the chair and pulled her snugly between his thighs in one smooth motion. His hand slid to the back of her neck, and he tilted her head as his mouth descended toward hers.

“What if I don't really want this?” she whispered, just before his mouth took hers. It was a last ditch effort, a plea for him to do what she could not and bring them both back from this brink of insanity. Her heart was beating as fast as hummingbird wings, and her legs had gone all rubbery and weak.

“Don't you?”

She could feel the warmth of his breath, her gaze focused tightly on his lips. She wanted to feel them on her so badly she ached. “I do, but only this.”

“It doesn't work that way.”

“It did before.”

He nudged her chin up, so their gazes met. “It won't now. Not for me. You give what you want, or what you can.”

“And you'd be satisfied with that?”

He shook his head, and his lips curved. “No. But I'm willing to take the risk.”

“Why?” she asked, never more sincere. Why did this man, who she was certain could grab and hold the attention of most any woman he desired, desire her?

“Because I already know what I plan to give, what I can give.”

“Which is?” she asked, her legs trembling now.

“Everything.” He pressed his fingers to her nape, urging her lips back up to his. “I hope you're ready for me, Felicity Jane. Because I'm a lot.”

Yes, yes you are
, she thought distantly, and without much resistance. Because his mouth was finally, blessedly on hers again. And there was nothing tentative about this kiss. But it wasn't a warrior's kiss, bold and aggressive, attempting to conquer through sheer will and force.

No, it was far more insidious than that.

It was confident, certain, and seductive. He didn't just kiss her lips, he feasted on them, and every touch and taste was an invitation for her to do the same. That was something she'd learned about him from the moment they'd first put their hands on each other: he wanted a partner in pleasure, not a passive playmate. She was a strong, confident woman, but in bed, she'd always found herself falling into more traditional patterns. Not because she was shy or uncertain of her abilities, but simply because it had seemed to be what was expected.

Not with Finn. He'd always demanded that she give all of herself, at least physically. She'd learned what it was to be a fully intimate partner with him, and she'd reveled in it. The pleasure it gave her to be with someone who was so responsive to her needs, who pushed her to reach for more, no matter how spent she'd thought herself, but also someone with whom she'd learned the depth of pleasures to be gained from satisfying his needs. She'd felt bold, and innovative, discovering a confidence that being successful in her other endeavors had never given her. She had no idea if Finn knew the myriad gifts he'd given her. Likely he thought she'd always been this…conquering vixen in bed. And she'd been privately thrilled to let him think so. It had been quite exhilarating, not to mention liberating.

Now…now she wasn't so certain. Now this wasn't simply fun and games. He'd laid down his gauntlet, and it changed completely how this made her feel. How it made her want to react. Her heart squeezed now, engaged despite her wishing it not to be, as he tenderly drew his fingers along the side of her neck, moving his mouth to the delicate line of her jaw, then following the trail of his fingertips.

He'd been gentle with her before, and she'd privately reveled in it, loving how cosseted and adored it had made her feel, but never once allowing herself to believe—or hope—it was anything other than him being a considerate and fully sensual lover.

Now, she had no idea what thoughts were going through his mind. And so much more of her was at risk of being seduced than her body.

She instinctively eased away from him, pushed at his shoulders. It wasn't a shove, she wasn't strong enough for that, still wanting—craving—what he was giving her, but knowing she hadn't the control needed to protect herself. And she wasn't ready to surrender. Not fully.

He allowed her to shift back, then framed her hips in his wide palms when she stepped back unsteadily. He balanced her, kept his hands there, firmly, but nothing more.

He did balance her, in every way, she thought, struggling for the clarity of mind she so desperately needed right now.

“I—I,” she stuttered, then stopped, willing her head to stop spinning, her legs to stop trembling, and her heart to stop pounding. “I still can't.” She finally looked at him, and had she found him smiling smugly, secure in the knowledge that he'd proved at least part of his point, it would have made things far easier for her. Instead, his gaze was intense, and as serious as she'd ever seen it.

“I know,” he said quietly and, if she wasn't mistaken, with real regret. He slid his hands to her elbows and eased her back, so she could sit down in her chair. “But I'm a patient man,” he said, rising, gratifyingly unsteady himself. He touched her hair, then leaned down and kissed her, firmly, deeply, but ending it the moment she began to relax and accept it. “And you're worth the wait.”

She swallowed against a suddenly tight throat. “I might never—” she began, needing him to know she was making no promises here. She didn't even know what she wanted.

“I know. It's my risk to take,” he told her.

She stared at him, into eyes that held hers so solidly, so certainly. “Why?” she whispered. “Why me?”

His grin was like sunshine peeking out from behind a stormy cloud. His gaze hadn't lessened one whit in intensity, so the gleam from the smile was like a laser beam of light, shining directly, and only, on her. “Why not you? No one has ever captivated me like you have. Two years, and I can't put you out of my mind. We're back here, together once more, and I'm not going to waste my only opportunity to find out what more there might be.”

“You think I'm this larger-than-life mystery woman, but I assure you, I'm not so different as all that from other women.”

“You're nothing like other women.”

With you
, she wanted to shout, but didn't. “You'll scrape off the international woman of intrigue, and the woman of means, and discover I'm that girl who likes to dig in her garden and sip tea. I'm hopelessly boring, and there isn't anything memorable—”

In the next instant she was lifted bodily from her seat and pulled fully and tightly into his arms. He spun them both around so he could lower her onto the table. Champagne glasses slid dangerously close to the edge of the table as his body pressed down on top of hers. He pushed her hair from her face and framed her cheeks with his palms. “That's what makes you memorable. You're all of those things. Every complex layer. And I want to peel them all away, while savoring each part, until I get to know every inch of you. Inside and out. Don't you get it? All of you fascinates me. Not what you do, or what you're capable of—though I assure you, you have my full attention there, too. But who you are that allows you to do all of that. To dig in the garden one day and steal a priceless gemstone the next. To be so confident and in control, with what you do, and with me, matching me breath for breath, thrust for thrust when we go at each other, and yet still look at me like you are now, with such vulnerability and trepidation.”

“Finn—”

“Call it chemistry, call it whatever you want. But I'm in, Felicity. I'm all in. In a way I've never been in before. If that scares you, fine. It should. It terrifies the hell out of me. So did flying a helicopter solo the first time, but it made the rush that much sweeter. When something intrigues me, fascinates me, I know of only one way to handle it, and that's to immerse myself in it, learn as much as I can about it. I don't ask why, I just go. And do. And enjoy the hell out of every second.”

“And when it wears off? When it grows old?”

“Life offers no guarantees. You know that as well as I do. But I wanted to fly. So I do. And it's a never-ending passion for me. I wanted to ride, so I do. I always will. When something fascinates me, grabs me, it's not a matter of getting it out of my system. It's more a matter of integrating it into my life so I can feel that passion every day. About as many times as I'm able to.”

She stared up into his eyes, feeling the impact of every word, the absolute truth in them. Marveling at his certainty. Maybe, she realized, she wasn't so different from him after all. She wouldn't be here, on this mission, if she hadn't been willing to tackle something that both intrigued her and scared her. She'd thought working for MI-8 would be the most thrilling and terrifying thing she could ever do.

She'd been so wrong.

Body shaking, lips trembling, she held that passionate gaze, held on to it tightly, and smiled. “Then show me,” she said, “show me what it's like to take off and fly into the unknown.” She pulled his head down to hers. “Show me what it's like to have all of you.”

He took her mouth this time like a man starved. There was nothing tender about it, not that it mattered at this point. She couldn't allow herself to assign motivation or meaning to every little action he took, or reaction he might have. She could only let herself feel…whatever he made her feel. Then deal with the fallout afterward.

Even as he pulled back, lifted her off the table, and swept her into his arms, she knew this was as big a mistake as she was likely ever to make. And it no longer mattered. If he was going to be a mistake, best she get on with it and start to deal with the consequences, but telling herself she was strong enough to do anything else was simply putting off the inevitable.

He was nibbling her neck, and she had her fingers in his abundantly thick mane of dark blond hair. “Aren't you forgetting something?” she said, allowing the joy of the moment to push past the fear and anxiety, and holding on to that joy with everything she was worth.