The Black Sheep and the English Rose (22 page)

The cab eased into a circular drive in front of a regal-looking old hotel. It stopped at the curb, and several bellmen immediately moved in their direction.

He smiled at Felicity as his door was opened. He could see the fatigue etched on her face quite clearly now, and knew he didn't look much better. “But first, hot shower, hot food.”

“No,” Felicity corrected him as she took the bellman's hand and slid her legs out of the car. “First, we go shopping.”

Finn paused, but Felicity was already out of the car, a renewed spring in her step as she explained there was no luggage, but that she would be remedying that shortly.

He caught up to her and put his hand on her lower back as the bellman held the lobby door for them. “We don't have time to—”

Felicity smiled up at him, tired, but a bit of a gleam in her eyes now. “Oh, darling, it won't take any time at all.” She patted his cheek. “Trust me.”

“It's not that, it's just—”

“You get us a room and go up and shower. I'll be up shortly.”

“But—”

She shooed him off and ducked into the first boutique off the grand lobby.

He was all set to go in after her, or hover outside, just to keep an eye on her, but realized that trust was about more than believing she wouldn't dupe him. It was also trusting her to take care of herself. She wasn't exactly fragile or helpless. Which was a great part of why he was so drawn to her. But it didn't make him feel any less conflicted. He wasn't used to feeling so proprietary or worrying so much about anyone.

On the other hand, while Felicity might be touched to know he was concerned, he doubted she'd be all that thrilled to know he didn't have enough faith in her to take care of herself. He did. But just because she'd clearly done a good job taking care of herself up to this point didn't mean bad things couldn't happen. They could happen to anyone. He swore under his breath. Partnerships could be tricky at times, he knew that from working with Rafe and Mac, discovering their boundaries and limits, as well as developing trust and faith. But with Felicity there was the added emotional element, which was as huge as it was confusing. It was the part that wasn't rational or reasonable, more like a primal directive to protect and defend. He snorted at himself. Neanderthal.

He stared after her as she disappeared among the racks of clothing, thinking about that, which led him to also think about what would likely happen if they both went up to their hotel room at the same time. And finally, resigned, he sighed and turned toward the registration desk. “Yeah, I'll just go up alone.”

Thirty minutes later he stepped out of the hottest shower he'd taken in a long time, happy to be clean, but not feeling as rejuvenated as he'd hoped. He knew that part of that was the latent anxiety he'd tried to ignore, quite unsuccessfully, waiting for Felicity to show up. She hadn't come into the bathroom, but maybe she'd been respecting his privacy. Or maybe she'd known, as he did, what would happen if she did. More distraction they didn't need right now. And he was already feeling far more distracted having been through the emotional rollercoaster of the past half hour than he'd like to be. Falling in love was a bitch.

Then he stepped into the master suite and found Felicity stretched out on the bed, fast asleep. And thought it was also one of the best feelings in the whole world. The relief was far greater than it probably should have been, but he was human. She'd come back. And she was okay. In some ways, on some levels, that was all that mattered to him right now.

His body, however, was even happier, if its reaction to seeing her all flushed and relaxed was any indication. In fact, it felt quite rejuvenated. Perhaps a cold shower would have done him more good.

He hated to wake her, but he was pretty sure she'd rather use what little time they had freshening up rather than sleeping. At least he assumed she would. Again, he was struck by how little he really knew her. And by how badly he wanted to correct that. It would take a lifetime to know everything about her, and he just happened to have one handy and available.

He rubbed the towel over his hair, dreading putting back on the same clothes, but paying far more attention to her sleeping form than to the pile of rumpled clothes he'd left thrown across one of the bedroom chairs. It wasn't until he almost tripped over them as he rounded the foot of the bed that he realized she'd left an entire row of shopping bags on the floor there. Between checking in and getting to their room, he couldn't have been in the shower for more than twenty minutes.

He glanced up at Felicity and smiled. Benefactor to the poor, acquaintance of the Queen. Jewel thief and champion shopper. He glanced back down at the bags. Hopefully she'd paid for everything in there.

“So pensive,” she said, her voice all soft and drowsy with sleep.

He glanced up at her in time to watch her stretch. Parts of his anatomy stretched right along with her. His emotions were far too turbulent to deal with that temptation at the moment, so he turned and sat on the bed and started poking through the bags. “I was just thinking that if shopping was an Olympic sport, you should really be scouted for the team.”

“It's not all for me. I figured you wouldn't mind a change of clothes yourself.”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“Why do you look so surprised?” She pushed up on her elbows. “Don't I strike you as the sort who'd do a chap a favor?”

Her cheeks were a little rosy with sleep, her hair softly tangled around her face, her eyes a bit unfocused. And all he could think was that she struck him as the sort that called to him, quite strongly, to say the hell with clothes altogether and climb up the bed, right into her waiting arms, and into her warm and willing body.

“Thank you,” he said. “I didn't mean to look ungrateful. I just—how did you even manage it? You don't know my size or—”

The most provocative smile curved her lips, sorely testing his willpower. “I knew enough to assume I was close. We can always call down and have a different size sent up.”

Oh, he was just the right size, that he knew
. He looked back at the bags and quietly cleared his throat.
Head in the game, Dalton
. Time was ticking again.

He picked through the first bag, but it was full of soft fabrics and things lined with lace. Yeah, that stuff he didn't need to be fondling right now. In the third bag over, he found boxers and socks, both perfectly suitable and sized properly. A glance in the last bag revealed two white T-shirts. He chanced looking at her again. She'd sat up now, her legs off the side of the bed. “So, boxers, socks, and a clean T-shirt. Good start, but I was thinking maybe something a bit more…professional might be optimal for today's adventures.” He was teasing, but realized she didn't know him that well, either, and added, “Of course, if that's all they had, that's fine, I can recycle the rest—”

She laughed. “Don't get pouty. Pants and shirts are hanging in the closet.”

He tried not to look overly relieved. “Thank you. I'll be happy to reimburse—”

“Don't be silly. We're partners. You got me McIvities and tea. We're even.”

“I hardly think—”

“Good. I like you better that way.”

“Very cute.” But he grinned as he stood and turned to find her standing now as well. A sea of bed between them.
Danger, danger
, his inner voice warned. Like he needed a warning.

“Yes,” she said with a smile, “you are that.” She scooped up two bags and skirted by him on her way to the shower.

It took almost superhuman control not to reach out and snag her and her bags full of lacy things and toss them all on the bed. Instead, he grabbed a pair of what turned out to be silk boxers out of the bag.

“You'll love the feel of them against your skin,” she told him.

To which his body responded with a resounding hurrah. In an effort to keep from taking her up against the nearest wall, he made a show of modeling them in front of the towel he'd wrapped around his hips. “Well, if you're the brains of this outfit, I guess one of us has to bring the pretty.”

She shook her head, and simultaneously they both said, “Incorrigible.”

If she only knew just how much restraint he was showing right now.

She was still laughing as she closed the bathroom door between them.

He looked back down at the silky black boxers, then tossed them back in the bag, opting for cotton instead. The last thing he needed was something slinky and slippery sliding all over him the rest of the day. He heard the shower go on and tried to block the mental images that accompanied the sound. “Right.” Disgusted with his inability to get his head back on straight—and leave the other one out of it—he tugged on socks and T-shirt in record time, then checked out the closet to see what she'd picked out for him. It was a necessity, a favor. And yet looking at the fine linen shirts and selection of freshly creased and pressed trousers felt stupidly personal. Intimate even. “You are so gone,” he muttered.

He finished dressing, raked fingers through his drying hair and rubbed a hand across his chin, silently thanking whoever had decided to include a disposable razor in with the standard room amenities. He tossed his old clothes into one of the empty bags, then after another lingering look at the bathroom door, stalked out into the main room of the suite and punched the button on his iPhone that went directly to Trinity. He didn't care who answered; he just needed a distraction from the sound of that damn shower. And the woman presently enjoying it.

“About time,” Mac said.

“Hello, to you, too.”

“Sapphire all safe and sound yet?”

“You're a funny, funny man.”

“So I've been told. What can we do for you?”

“Rafe get anything more on Chesnokov or Julia? Or the fire and break-in?”

“He's still running through stuff.”

“Well, tell him to add this interesting little tidbit to his list. Have him check out Talbot, James & Warrick and see what connection he can come up with between them and the Russian.”

“Sounds like a stuffy legal firm, but given your tone, I'm guessing not.”

“Hardly. Trust me when I say it will brighten your day immensely.”

“Usually that's reserved for sex, so—” He broke off, then chuckled. “I don't even think I want to know how that connects. Besides, isn't Chesnokov like ninety or something?”

“Eighty-two.”

“Exactly. So what gives? This a private medical group that's going to get his mojo back?”

Finn tried not to shudder. “It's early here, you know. I could have gone all day without thinking about Chesnokov's mojo.”

“Hey, you brought it up.”

“Well, I don't think ‘up' is the operative word in this case. At least I'd like to think there was some other reason he was there at seven-thirty this morning.”

“Something that a nice sapphire would be connected to?”

“I don't see how, but yes. If you or Rafe can make that connection, Santa will be very kind to you this year.”

“I don't believe in Santa. But I do believe in Christmas bonuses. And a whole week in some unnamed spot alone with Kate would be a very nice thing to find under the tree.”

“You do that voodoo you do so well, and it's done.”

“Okay, now you're starting to scare me.”

Finn chuckled now. “Fair's fair. Let me know the instant you have something. We're going to check out the gallery just as soon as—”

“We?”

Shit.
He'd been trying so hard to distract himself from the temptation in the other room, he'd distracted himself right past remembering that Mac and Rafe had no idea he wasn't handling this case alone any longer. Or ever, really.

Thinking quickly, he said, “Rafe got me a driver, and let me tell you, kickin' A with this guy, so keep his name handy. Anyway, like I said—”

“You're so full of shit I can smell it from here. Who is she?”

Finn was silent for a tellingly long moment. “The driver really does kick ass.”

“Great. Rafe will be thrilled. But it's the piece of ass I want to know about. Spill.”

Again, he paused, not ready to talk about any of this. Mac and Rafe were the two people closest to him, knew him the best. Well enough to see through anything he said. And he wasn't ready for their all-too-keen insights right yet. “It's not like that,” was all he said, knowing his tone brooked no argument. Also knowing it was a tone he'd never once used with either of his partners.

Mac wasn't remotely offended. In fact, when he got done laughing, Finn thought it was just as well he was three thousand miles away. “So, it's like that,” he said, still chuckling. “Hallelujah and welcome to the club, my friend.”

“It's not like anything.”
Anything I've ever known, anyway.