Stolen Fury (13 page)

If they had rescued anything, it should have been Stone’s research. Now they were back to square one, starting over.

She hissed as he gently brushed the cut. He let out a breath and looked up. “You’re gonna have to take off the sweater. I can’t get to it like this.”

She shot him a contemptuous look.

“Look,
querida.
I’ve already seen the goods, remember? And sex is the last thing on my mind right now. Trust me.”

Her green eyes locked on his, held for a split second before darting away. Was that relief or regret he saw flash in those shimmering emeralds?

He couldn’t tell. And she was wriggling out of the sweater before he could find out for himself.

Carefully, he helped pull the garment from her injured arm. When she finally sat in front of him wearing only a peach-colored lace bra, he forced his gaze away from those tempting breasts, tried not to remember what they felt like under his hands and went to work on her wound.

Silence settled over them. A clock ticked somewhere in the apartment. The faint sound of cars whizzing by on the road below drifted through the closed windows. She watched with cautious eyes as he cleaned the cut.

“You’re good at this,” she finally said.

He kept his eyes glued to the injury, dabbed alcohol on the wound. When she drew in a sharp breath, he blew cool air across her arm to take away some of the sting. “Good thing for a guy like me to know.”

“Occupational advantage?”

Now why would he be surprised by that comment? “No. A younger brother who was always getting himself into tight scrapes. It was either learn how to take care of him myself or stick our mother with another ER bill she couldn’t pay.”

“You have a brother?”

The skepticism in her voice made him bristle again. “Surprise, surprise. The thief didn’t actually crawl out from beneath a rock.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said softer.

Rafe looked up into concerned eyes and faltered. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what she meant. The more he got to know her, the more he saw her as a real person, not simply his ticket to the easy life. And he’d seen a little too much of her to night at her parents’ house, had glimpsed more of the woman she was deep inside than he’d wanted to know.

He was starting to like her. Really like her, which was the kicker in all of this. She was kind and gentle when the mood suited her, smart and quick on her toes. She didn’t put up with crap from anyone—especially him—and he couldn’t help respecting that. He’d enjoyed spending time with her at her parents’ place, even if her family was a bunch of loons. And after that accident, he’d felt more than a frisson of guilt at her being hurt. He’d felt a tickling of fear at the thought of something happening to her.

And that insane emotion wigged him out enough to smack him right back to reality.

He looked back down, slapped on the bandage rougher than needed. “There. You’re done. It needs stitches, but you show up at the hospital now, they’re going to ask questions. And in your mood you’d probably spill your guts.”

Thank God he’d registered the rental under a different name so it couldn’t be traced back to them. A run-in with the police was the last thing he needed right now.

Lisa levered off the counter and turned away. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. You sure know how to make a girl feel better.”

His guilt seeped back in as her voice hardened. He slipped his hands into his pockets, watched as she pulled the sweater back over her head and slid the garment on. Soft light shimmered over her short red hair and the purple smudges forming near her temple.

He could see she was more shaken than she was letting on. Being curt just because he couldn’t get a handle on the stupid thoughts rushing through his mind wasn’t helping to settle her. And for some idiotic reason, he had an overwhelming urge to reach out and comfort her.

She’d probably knock him on his ass if he tried, which was all the more reason not to even bother. But damn, she looked good standing there, all wasted on adrenaline, about to hit rock bottom. His own nerves were still strung tight. He knew he needed to do something to get rid of this extra energy. Cushioning her fall right there on the tile floor suited him just fine at the moment.

She reached back and rubbed the nape of her neck. He lifted his hand before he thought better of it, ran fingers over hers and kneaded what he knew were sore and aching muscles.

Her shoulders tensed beneath him, but she didn’t pull away. When she dropped her arm, he read that as a good sign and added his other hand, working the tension from her shoulders one muscle at a time. Her body relaxed inch by gorgeous inch until she let out a long sigh.

His blood pumped. Because she’d sounded just like that when he’d had his hands all over her back in Milan.

He stepped closer, brushed his chest against her back and felt her draw in a quick breath that had nothing to do with pain. Arousal speared through his limbs, gathered low in his gut, shut down the rational side of his brain that said this was a really stupid move.

“What if I hadn’t left?”

Her head turned slightly, enough so he could see the spark of curiosity in her eyes. “You mean if you hadn’t drugged me, then robbed me blind?”

God, she had a smart mouth on her. A mouth he wanted to explore all over again, in a variety of different ways.

“
Querida
, I could have robbed you blind anytime I wanted.” His voice dropped. “I walked away before things got complicated.”

“Now I’m supposed to be grateful for the way you left? Gee, what a gentleman you are. Thanks, Sullivan.”

A smile curled his mouth. His breath brushed her ear-lobe. “I don’t remember anyone saying no as the night progressed.”

“Bad judgment on my part,” she said with the slightest quiver in her voice.

The woman was all about control. Some small part of him couldn’t help admiring that quality. It only heightened his desire.

“You couldn’t stop it any more than I could.” He trailed his finger down the long, sexy line of her neck. Smiled wider as she shuddered at his touch. “Then or now.”

“I don’t get involved with people I’m working with, Slick.”

Her skin was soft, like silk beneath his palms. He wanted to taste that delectable neck, work his way down her body, savor every square inch of her.

“I hate to break this to you,
querida
, but I think we’re already involved.”

She stiffened. Then turned and looked up, those emeralds shifting from soft green pools to rock-hard stones in
the length of time it took for his words to register. But lurking just behind the shield, he saw the desire brewing deep inside.

She wanted him, dammit. She couldn’t hide it any more than he could. She was just a lot better at fighting it.

“We’re partners now, Sullivan. You made that choice all on your own. And I have strict rules about colleagues. Those rules don’t bend for anyone. Especially you.”

He braced his hands on the counter, trapping her between his body and the cupboards as he leaned closer. She tensed. That heady scent of hers made the blood rush to his head.

“Never?” He knew that was a lie. Hell, he’d seen it for a fact himself. His lips curled as his gaze ran over her face and hovered on that oh-so-scrumptious mouth.

Doubt flashed in those shining green pools. She looked from his eyes to his lips, the suggestive move raising his body temperature ten degrees. Indecision ran across her face. He could see she was contemplating her options, that she was wavering.

God, he wanted her. And he knew he could break her with one swift kiss. She was teetering on the edge of an adrenaline rush, despite all her sanctimonious words and ideas. One brush of his lips and he could rock her right to her knees. One taste and she could take him with her.

But would that do it for him? If that was all he’d wanted, he could have had his way with her in Italy. Reality hit him as he stood there, waiting. He didn’t want to be the one doing the taking. He wanted her to come to him, to prove that after everything he’d done, she wanted him as much as she had in Milan.

More
than she had in Milan.

That need was so strong, so overwhelming, he let go of the counter and stepped back before he changed his mind and took her right there against the cabinets in her brother’s kitchen. Cool air washed over his skin, replacing the sultry heat radiating from her centerfold curves.

Shimmering gems laced with more than a hint of disappointment and confusion lifted toward his.

No. If this happened—
when
this happened—she’d be the one to make the first move. She’d be the one begging.

He’d make sure of it.

In the meantime, he’d wait. And suffer. And pray she wasn’t as stubborn as she looked.

“Go to bed, Lisa.” He forcibly softened his voice. “It’s been a long night, and you need to sleep. I’ll take the couch.”

She was toast.

She sure felt like it, anyway.

Lisa flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling in Shane’s extra bedroom. She’d slept all of about two hours last night. Partly because she’d still been anxious over the accident, partly because she’d spent way too much time fantasizing about the sexy Puerto Rican asleep on the couch on the other side of the door.

What the hell was she doing? She was in way over her head with this guy. She’d almost jumped him last night. Probably would have, if he hadn’t shuffled her off to bed like a recalcitrant two-year-old.

Thank God one of them had been thinking clearly, because it sure as hell hadn’t been her. As soon as he’d touched her she’d almost gone off like a firecracker, every muscle in her body enticed and overly aware. And when he’d stood there in Shane’s kitchen looking at her like she was the only thing in the world he wanted, she’d very nearly tackled him to the floor and taken complete advantage of him.

She ran a hand over her face, her cheeks burning at the memory. Too bad his look had had little to do with her and everything to do with the near-death experience they’d both lived through. Any woman would have had the same effect on him. Hell, any man would have had the same effect on her, right? Almost being torched would juice anybody.

What if I hadn’t left?

Groaning, Lisa tossed an arm over her eyes. Why did he have to ask
that?
It was the one question she’d intentionally been avoiding in her own idiotic thoughts, and now it was all she could think about. She didn’t want to wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t left her that night. She knew damn well where it would have gone, and she sure as hell didn’t want to ponder how amazing it would have been.

She dropped her arm, focused on a spot on the ceiling.

Okay, so she could admit he heated her blood. She was a healthy, mature woman, right? And the guy was hot. She’d thought that even before he’d hustled her. She wouldn’t be a woman if she didn’t feel
some
sort of attraction toward him.

The difference here was she wasn’t going to do anything about it.
Thinking
about sex and
having
sex were two very different things.

Thief, liar, jerk. That’s all he was. She needed to remember those simple facts and get over it.

He was a thief…one who’d saved her ass last night when he could easily have turned the other way.

A liar…who’d nursed her wounds.

A jerk…who’d obviously been as aroused as she and hadn’t taken advantage of the situation when he clearly could have.

Craaaaap.

She blew out a calming breath, closed her eyes and tried to steady the odd thump in her chest. She wasn’t going to start thinking of him as heroic. The guy didn’t have a noble bone in his body. He’d only saved her skin because, with Doug’s research gone, she was still his best chance at finding Tisiphone. He sure as shit hadn’t saved her because he’d felt anything for her. That thought was just too stupid to entertain.

If she kept it all in perspective, she could beat him at his own game and stay safely out of his bed. He was the
last
person on earth she could afford to get tangled up with. The events of last night had confirmed that fact loud and clear.

Frustrated with herself, she sat up and raked fingers through her hair. Her gaze drifted across the room, landed on the backpack in the corner. She rose, pushed up the sleeves of Shane’s gray Northwestern sweatshirt and pulled Doug’s journal from her pack.

She’d slipped it from the boxes before leaving her parents’ house. She hadn’t wanted Rafe to see it. Not yet. Not ever, if she could help it. Security, she reminded herself. The journal just might be her get-out-of-jail-free card if things got sticky.

The leather cover was worn and scratched. She ran her fingers over the spine, remembering the hours Doug had spent holed up in his office writing in the damn thing.

Another good reason not to get involved with a colleague.

Or a treasure hunter.

Their hearts were always focused on something else—the next big score, the next great discovery. She’d definitely learned her lesson with Dr. Douglas Stone. A woman had to be kicked in the teeth only once to
get it.

She sat on the end of the bed, laid the journal on her lap and stared at the cover.

For the love of God, quit being such a wuss.

On a deep breath, she flipped it open. Even fifteen years later, Doug’s slanted handwriting made her chest tighten with emotions she thought she’d dealt with long ago. Forcing back the memories, she paged through the book with all the objectivity of a scorned wife.

Page after page of Greek lettering and symbols filled the journal. Long passages from Homer’s
Iliad
were hand copied, words and letters underlined in no apparent pattern. He’d spent his whole life working on this stupid diary, and now years later, it was all that was left of him.

Her fingers paused when she came across a Polaroid
tucked between two pages. A startled laugh slipped from her lips. She covered her mouth with her hand and stared at the photo of herself.

She’d been about twenty-three then. Her hair was long, down past her shoulders, red and unruly, as it had been throughout her youth. In the picture she was covered in dirt, black smudges across her white tank top, dust smeared on her cheeks. But her lips were smiling, her eyes gleaming.