“A kiss would be nice.”
“You’re serious? You want to kiss me? Now?”
“Yep.”
“You’re taking a risk. I could wallow all over you, suck you down to my level.”
“But you won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’m the one who can get you cleaned up.”
“You’re so smug.”
He moved toward her, his mouth itching to capture hers. He was just so damned happy to discover she was all right that he had to kiss her, no matter how inopportune the moment.
Maddie tilted her head toward him, presenting her cheek.
“That’s not going to cut it, babe. I want the lips.”
She relinquished and puckered up.
David leaned in and pressed his mouth to hers. He’d never tasted anything sweeter and he wasn’t talking about the honey. His naughty libido wished they were somewhere private so he could lick her clean to the last drop.
David imagined that they resembled a very peculiar version of the Bavarian couple who emerged from Aunt Caroline’s cuckoo clock at midnight to steal a quick kiss before popping back into their respective houses. Him with his blackened eye and busted wrist and Maddie dipped in bee spit.
The Venetians clapped and cheered.
“Our audience approves.”
“That’s all fine and dandy, but what am I supposed to do now? I don’t have a change of clothes and I don’t think the concierge is going to let some honey-glazed American go traipsing through their chichi hotel lobby.”
In his rudimentary French, David asked the men if they had something onboard he could use to drape over Maddie. One man nodded, disappeared and returned with a newspaper. Not exactly what he had in mind, but it would do.
“What are you planning?” Maddie asked, eyeing the newspaper suspiciously.
“I’m arranging it so you can at least walk around without enticing the local wildlife.” David opened the newspaper, separated the pages and then pasted them to Maddie. “What’s black and white and read all over?”
“Hardy-har-har.”
“I’m betting this is one worst case scenario you never anticipated.”
“You got me there.”
When he finished covering her clothes, he wrapped her feet with newspaper. In the end, he was almost as messy as she, with honey and bits of newspaper sticking to his cast and printer’s ink decorating his skin. He started to shove his hand through his hair, but stopped himself just before he got a head full of honey.
The bargemen let them off at the nearest dock and they had to walk back to the Piazza San Marco. Poor Maddie was struggling valiantly to keep from sticking to the ground with every step.
“This is just fabulous,” she muttered and glowered at the passersby staring openly in her direction. “As if I’m more interesting than Carnevale?”
“You are pretty eye-catching,” he said.
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“You never let
me
get away with avoiding uncomfortable topics.”
She bared her teeth and growled.
“I’m on to you, Maddie. You don’t scare me.”
“You forget. I’m covered in honey. I can wreak much sticky havoc on you.” She shuffled forward, arms outstretched zombie-style.
He held up his tacky hands. “You already did.”
“You think that’s bad, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”
“Oh,” he said. “Here we are. The Hotel International.” He gave Maddie the once-over. She was the cutest darned newspaper mummy he’d ever seen.
“What should I do?”
“I’ll go check us in, then I’ll come around and let you in a side entrance.”
“Hurry up. I’m starting to draw flies.”
He checked them in and then slipped out a side door to find Maddie pacing and muttering to herself behind the hotel.
“Psst.” He dangled their room key for her to see. “This way.”
“I feel like I’m in a bit from
I Love Lucy,
” Maddie grumbled.
“I guess that makes me Ricky.”
“More like Ethel.”
He chuckled. “Insult me all you want, sweetheart. I can take it.”
They ascended the staircase to their room, Maddie leaving bits of honeyed newspaper sticking to everything she touched. David opened the door, stepped aside and bowed with a flourish.
She tramped over the threshold, then stopped and stared.
“Wow,” she said. “Fancy shmancy.”
David moved through the suite, opening doors and checking the premises. He didn’t want any ugly surprises like Jocko Blanco hiding under the bed. Maddie trailed after him, taking it all in.
“This place is almost as big as my condominium in Fort Worth.”
It was decorated in an elegant Old World style that combined vintage furniture with new pieces, but David hardly noticed. Instead, he was checking the security. There was a large sitting area, two separate bedrooms and a private bath.
He ambled over to open the drapes and revealed French doors. They were on the second floor with a balcony overlooking the Piazza San Marco.
While it might seem romantic, the balcony and the trellis of vines growing up the side of the hotel posed a security problem. Anyone with the desire could scale the trellis and break into their room.
He tested the locks. “Make sure you keep this door locked anytime you aren’t on the balcony.”
“Okay.”
David stepped back and jerked a thumb toward the door. “I’m just going to go call Henri, let him know we’ve arrived.”
“Hey!” She sounded panicky. “You’re not leaving me like this!”
“I thought you’d want some privacy.”
“Wait, wait, wait.”
“Yes?”
“How do you expect me to get out of these clothes by myself?”
“Come on.” He grinned. “Say it.”
“Say what?”
“You need me.”
“I’m not saying that.”
“Okay.” He knew he was cruel to tease, but he just couldn’t resist. “I’ll see you later.”
“All right, come back. I need you,” she said through clenched teeth. “Now get in this bathroom and help me out of my clothes.”
“Oooh, I like it when you get all dominatrix on me.”
She stuck out her tongue.
“Now that’s an interesting thought, but let’s wait until you’re cleaned up.”
“What lit your fire, Sparky?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the excitement of you almost drowning in a vat of honey.”
“Maybe it’s that knock on the head Jocko Blanco gave you yesterday.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself, Maddie.” David said. He didn’t know why he was feeling so damned giddy.
“Well, don’t just stand there looking all googly-eyed, help me get this sweater over my head.”
He fished around between the layers of newspaper and goo to find the hem of her sweater. Gently, he peeled the garment up over her head.
It got stuck halfway, giving him a perfect full-on view of her breasts.
“Ahem, David,” she said in a muffled voice. “I can’t breathe.”
Snap out of it, Marshall.
What was happening to him? What kind of erotic spell had this woman woven? He finished tugging the sweater from her head, but it got caught in her hair.
“Ow, easy. You’re pulling my hair.”
“Sorry, sorry.”
He worked to free her hair and several minutes later finally disentangled her from her sweater and dropped the soiled mess to the floor. That’s when he realized his breathing was labored and sweat was pooling under his arms.
Their eyes met and the resulting jolt of electrical response had them both turning away. David reached for the porcelain knobs on the white claw-foot bathtub at the same time Maddie started peeling strips of newspaper off her blue jeans.
He added a squirt of bubble bath to the water, and then backed toward the door. “You should be able to take it from here.”
“Wait.” She pointed a finger at him.
Damn. If he didn’t get out of here soon, something was going to pop up. Briefly, he closed his eyes and willed himself not to get aroused.
It didn’t work.
He wanted her so much and that desire terrified him. No woman, not even Keeley, had ever been able to distract him from his work.
Until now.
Until Maddie.
Startled, David realized he hadn’t thought about Cassie or Shriver or the stolen artwork since Maddie had tumbled off that bridge.
The realization disturbed him.
He was different around her, less competitive, more laid-back. He had changed. She was changing him.
Why and how it was happening, he had no idea, but he didn’t like this feeling. Not at all. It was too close to losing control.
He inhaled sharply.
“David? You okay?”
Maddie’s eyes were wide with concern. Steam from the hot bathwater curled around her face, dampening her hair. She looked like some nurturing yet naughty nymph just waiting for him to come play with her. He kept his eyes trained on her face and purposely avoided looking at her body.
But he knew that amazing figure was there, calling him with a powerful lure. Last night he’d made love to her, but he’d had an excuse for his behavior. He’d been drugged, out of his head, wounded and vulnerable.
Today was different. He was lucid and sober and impervious to his body’s sexual response.
Yeah, right, his penis taunted, poking hard against the zipper of his pants.
He had to get out of here. Now.
“Um,” he said, edging for the door. “Why don’t I just go ahead and give you that privacy? Looks like the only way you’re going to get the rest of that gunk off is to soak.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll just go buy you some new clothes. What size do you wear?”
“A six. And I’ll need new shoes. Those sneakers are beyond salvaging. Size nine. Don’t say it. I know I’ve got big feet.” She grinned.
“Gotcha, size nine clothes, size six shoes.”
“No, no, the other way around. I’d have to chop off my toes to fit into a size six shoe.”
“Right, right.” He stared at the ceiling, at the floor, at anything but her. It was all he could do to keep from tossing her in the bath, jumping in beside her and doing incredibly sexy things to her.
“Are you sure you’re all right? You’re acting weird.”
“Great. Terrific. Be right back.”
And then he ran out the door as fast as his legs would carry him.
TWENTY-ONE
D
AVID NEVER MADE
it into a dress shop for Maddie’s new clothes. He’d no sooner left the hotel than his cell phone rang.
“Marshall here,” he’d barked into the phone but he could barely hear over the noise of the Carnevale merrymakers. He was expecting Henri, but the voice on the other end was female.
“David?”
Jamming his index finger against his other ear, he said, “Hang on. I can’t hear you. Let me get inside somewhere.”
“Hurry, I don’t have long to talk.”
Someone chose that moment to blast a noisemaker behind him. He winced and ducked into a tobacco shop that looked relatively quiet.
“Who is this?” he asked.
“It’s me, Cassie.” She sounded exasperated that he hadn’t recognized her voice.
“Cassie!” The hairs on the back of his neck lifted. “Good God, woman, where are you?”
“I’m in Venice.”
“Me too. At the Hotel International.”
“Wonderful, I was praying you’d tracked me here.”
“You’re in serious trouble, you know that?”
“Tell me about it. This undercover FBI stuff is a lot harder than it looks.”
“Are you with Jocko Blanco?”
“Not anymore. Thank God. Peyton rescued me. And none too soon, let me tell you. I shudder to think what might have happened if . . .”
“Where is Shriver?” he interrupted.
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. He could come back any minute and he doesn’t completely trust me. Which is good since I’m double-crossing him and to tell you the truth I’m starting to feel kind of bad about it. He’s not really a rotten guy, David. He’s just misguided.”
“Where in Venice are you?”
“We’ll get to that in a jiffy. Just hear me out.”
“I’m listening.” He forced himself not to sound cross.
The man behind the counter was giving him the once-over. “Pipe tobacco?” he asked in English.
David shook his head and turned his back on the guy. “Cassie?”
“You probably should give up smoking.”
“What?”
“If you’re thinking about romancing my sister. Maddie hates smoking.”
“What? I don’t smoke and I’m not romancing your sister!”
“Sure, uh-huh.”
“Could you get to the point?” he snapped.
“Testy. Maddie must be giving you a run for your money. She can get on your nerves with that overly cautious stuff, can’t she?”
“I thought you said you didn’t have much time to talk.”
“You’re right. Here’s the deal. Shriver is about to dispose of the paintings.”
“Why the hell didn’t you say so in the first place?”
“Don’t yell at me.”
“Okay. I’m sorry. I won’t yell.” David took a long, slow deep breath so he wouldn’t yell at her again. “Tell me about the paintings.”
“I set it up.”
“Set what up? The fence?”
“No silly, the sting.”
“What sting?” She was nuttier than a macadamia farm. No wonder Maddie watched over Cassie as if it was her life’s mission. The woman needed a keeper.
“I made forgeries of the El Greco and the Cézanne.”
“Why?”
“Here’s the plan I talked Shriver into. We hold an underground auction. He gets Levy, Philpot and all the collectors he can find willing to bid on stolen art together in one room. We have the real paintings authenticated to everyone’s satisfaction and then we do the old switcheroo with the forgeries. After we pull the scam, I told him that we would ransom the paintings back to the museum and double our haul.”
Stunned by the level of her cleverness, David could only mutter a disbelieving “What?”
“Don’t misunderstand,” she said hurriedly. “I wasn’t actually going through with this scheme.”
“But you made forgeries?”
“Just for Shriver’s benefit. But listen, at five o’clock this afternoon he’s holding the auction at the Hotel Vivaldi in room 617. If you want to catch Shriver red-handed, along with the unscrupulous potential buyers, be there.”