“Diana didnot,” said the woman herself, coming into the bedroom from behind Ethan.
Despite being caught out, Fiona’s brother didn’t waver from his stance in the doorway, nor from the dark look directed at Gideon. Deciding it was time to take the bull by the horns, so to speak, Gideon rose from the bed and turned, extending his hand to the brother.
“Thank you for taking care of her last night,” he said as Ethan reluctantly shook his hand. His grip was probably a trifle stronger than it needed to be, but Gideon gave it back as well. “I’d hate to think of Fiona lying there all by herself all night—and maybe longer.”
That, at least, he and Ethan seemed to agree on, and the brother nodded briskly. “It was only luck that I happened to drive by,” he said. “But you can bet she won’t be doinganythingin that shop by herself anymore. At least until this stops.”
Gideon agreed. “She wasn’t supposed to be there by herself anyway,” he said, giving her a chilly look. “She’d promised.”
Ethan lifted a brow at his sister. “She did?”
“All right, you two. I need to get dressed, so why don’t you run on out of here and go do manly things for a while.”
She lifted the bedcovers as if to throw them off her, and Gideon and Ethan both reacted immediately—though likely for different reasons.
“Okay, okay,” Ethan said, holding up a hand as if to block the view of his sister in her scanty sleepwear. “Nath, let’s go do manly things—like throw the ball for Cady or something.” At the sound of her name, and, presumably a word she recognized, the black lab clambered to her feet and began to whine with excitement.
Gideon wasn’t so easily distracted, however. “Why do you need to get dressed?” he asked suspiciously as Diana shoved Ethan out the door behind the dog.
“Well, I’ve got to get to work—”
“Towork?”
“Yes. To work. To my shop. To mylivelihood. To my—”
“Are you mad?” he exploded, even as she tossed back the covers to expose her lovely body covered by a short—veryshort—little night shirt.
He was momentarily distracted by the flash of creamy white thigh and the curve of her hip as she climbed out, then he continued. “You need to stay in bed and—”
“Yeah, no.” Fiona padded over to the largest suitcase he’d ever seen, bulging with clothing, and opened it, book-like. A heavy shoe fell out from one of the pockets, landing with a clunk, and a hot pink and lime green scarf fluttered to the floor in its wake.
Gideon tried to keep his irritation in place, but seeing her floating around the room in a tiny scrap of blue silk was enough to get his heart racing again. The tone of her voice indicated that she wasn’t about to capitulate to his demands that she get back into bed, unless…. He shifted gears and decided to try a different, more rewarding tactic.
He slipped up behind her, resting his hands lightly on her shoulders as she dug through the colorful, gauzy mass of dresses and flowing skirts that tumbled out of the suitcase she clearly hadn’t taken the time to unpack.
“What’s the hurry?” he murmured in her ear, trying not to wince when he saw her hand pause over a flame-red dress with bead-studded fringe that looked like something a cowgirl/gypsy would wear.
“No hurry,” she said crisply, and chose a long blue sweater, pulling it from the tangle of fabric. She turned right into him, and that was a very fortuitous event.
He slid his arms around her waist, his hands slipping sensuously over her skin with the shift of silk. The dark circles under her eyes solidified his decision that keeping her in bed would be the best thing for her, and that was all he needed to justify the way his mouth covered hers—telling her what would happen next.
When she murmured a protest, he shook his head, smothering her words with his lips.
At the moment, he didn’t give a rat’s ass about Ethan Murphy.
* * *
He sat outside, trying to enjoy the musky, musty taste of a Puerto Rican cigar and a tumbler of golden brandy. Sucking hard on the smoke, he held the taste in his mouth for a count of ten, then expelled it in a straight shot toward the twilight sky.
GoddamnNevio Valente.
He clenched his teeth, then forced himself to relax. He would find the papers if it killed him…or someone else.
His lips tightened as he thought of that idiot woman who’d interrupted him last night—again. She always seemed to find a way to interfere. The hardness relented into a nasty smile and he set the cigar on the edge of a marble ashtray.
He doubted she’d be around to bother him for much longer. He hoped he’d succeeded in scaring her so much she sold the shop—or at least closed it for a while. All he needed was some time to do a good, uninterrupted search, and he’d be able to find what Valente tried to hide from the world.
Then when he found it, he’d keep it hidden too, of course, except for the money it would lead him to. The money would be his. After all, it was his due.
