Dancing with Deception (6 page)

Even in the moonlight and with the substantial distance between them, Rebecca could see that Colin Avery was as dark and handsome as his brother. His hair, the same jet black, was short and thick.

Rebecca jumped when the trunk slammed shut behind her. Gideon held the wrapped painting in one hand with a grim look on his face. “Let’s go.”

Rebecca shook her head and inched backward toward her car. The fact that he wasn’t turning her over was a relief, but she still didn’t want to go with him. “I’m not going on that boat.” But neither could she surrender the painting—that was the whole point of her promise.

Gideon sighed. Rebecca almost thought he was going to negotiate. Then, in a move as quick and sudden as a snake striking its prey, he lunged toward her. Before she could manage so much as a squeal, he grabbed her and slung her over his shoulder.

Shock held her still for several moments as Gideon made his way toward the boat. His steps were unhurried, his gait casual, as if he didn’t have a hundred-pound woman bouncing around on his shoulder. The absurdity and indecency of the whole situation finally sunk in. Rebecca balled her hand into a tight fist.

“You bastard.” She hit him as hard as she could manage from her ridiculous position. She glanced a hit on the small of his back and he didn’t even have the courtesy to grunt. Instead, his enormous hand landed with a whack against her backside and he muttered, “Be still.”

She was forced to catch her breath after thoroughly cursing him for the second time that day. She heard a deep chuckle, full of amusement, and ground her teeth.

“Kidnapping ballerinas?” Colin stood off to the side and let his brother cart his baggage into the cabin. Before he reached the door, Rebecca shot him what she hoped was a withering look.

“You’re both crazy!” she managed to yell before the door slammed behind her.

Without warning, Gideon dropped her to her feet. Her mouth opened in a gasp, but she never got the chance to make the threats that burned on her tongue. Before she could draw a breath or even find her balance, his mouth was on hers.

She might have protested his bold move. She liked to have thought she at least tried. But she only remembered her sigh of acceptance and her mouth opening for him. His taste reminded her of water—cool and refreshing. It was full of dark promises, and though his assault was gentle, she could sense the hint of passion beneath it.

He lifted her to her toes and deepened the kiss. She was glad she had her ballet shoes on, she thought dimly as she balanced on the tips of her toes to reach him better. He made a sound—somewhere between a grunt and a moan—then pulled back.

Rebecca’s eyes stayed closed as he nudged her lips once, then twice with his own. All she could hear was her own ragged breathing. She was close enough to him to feel the pounding of his heart. It matched hers beat for beat. She wondered what it meant.

She opened her eyes and saw him staring at her with an intensity that had her pulse racing. The heat of his gaze burned into her and she couldn’t seem to meet his eyes. Her senses were reeling out of control. She could hardly breathe. She concentrated on drawing air in, then pushing it out again.

“Get dressed,” he told her tersely, and she jerked.

Confused, she nodded and realized after he’d turned to go that she didn’t have her clothes. “I don’t have my gym bag. It’s in my car.”

He stopped for a second, his breathing hard and strained. Then he left without saying a word and shut the door smartly behind him. She heard him mutter something to his brother, but she couldn’t make out what he said. Seconds later, the boat glided away from the shore. Wonderful, she thought, sitting at a small table in the cabin. Not only was she being forced to go with two brutes to God knew where, but she looked ridiculous. The least he could have done was go back to her car and get her bag.

Since there was no point in dwelling on her lack of proper clothing, Rebecca looked at her surroundings. The cabin was smaller than Gideon’s and just as neat. A tiny bed was made in the corner with a tiny porthole above it. There was a small kitchen area, where she was sitting, and what may have been a closet to her right.

Her lips still tingled from the kiss they shared. Her face turned scarlet when she remembered her own reaction to him. She barely knew him and here she was making out with him in a little room on a boat. She’d had relationships. She’d even had a couple of lovers. But she’d never almost gone to second base with a man she barely knew. It was so unlike her that it seemed surreal. Maybe she imagined it.

She licked her lips and firmly denied that. She could still taste him.

Attraction. It hadn’t happened in while. She’d been alone for a long time now with no initiative to date or be with a man. Her body ached with pains other than the physical ones she’d acquired today. It was a pleasant ache accompanied with unpleasant thoughts about a man who both terrified and fascinated her. Not only did it make her uncomfortable, she felt . . . brazen.

When she saw that he’d left the painting, she stood from the chair and crossed the cabin in four steps. Bending down, she unwrapped
The Dance
and pulled it from the white sheet. She traced the red and orange streaks with her fingertips and then tapped the canvas.

Her father was a successful con artist. He had once taught her a scam he had pulled for a quick grand involving a phony lottery ticket and an elderly woman at a bingo game. While her heart went out to the lady he scammed, she couldn’t help but be intrigued.

The funny thing was that her father’s motivation for pulling the cons was never money. He was wealthy in his own right, simply from being born a Channing. Her mother had become a Channing through marriage and was also financially set because of the name. Rebecca had spent many nights wondering why her father chose to lead his life as a criminal. The only feasible reason she could think of was the power, the rush.

As the boat lurched, Rebecca wondered where Gideon and his brother were taking her. Her father would have no way of contacting her about the painting unless she was home. And she wasn’t stupid, she’d blown her one chance at escaping Gideon and she knew she wouldn’t have another, especially with Colin around, too.

She still had the painting. Her promise was good for the time being. But how long would that last? Gideon could right now be taking her and
The Dance
to meet up with the goons and make the trade for his boat. He hadn’t even blinked when she’d offered him money before. Could that mean anything?

She put a hand on the painting as if to steady herself. This could be it. She may never see her mother again, may never dance another recital. The saddest part of that was she didn’t know which was more heartbreaking between the two. She wondered who would mourn her if she were to be killed. Her mother would be upset, naturally. But would she truly mourn her daughter? Her father—damn him—would feel guilty. At least she thought he would. Niko, her dance instructor, would miss his prima ballerina.

Rebecca sat on the floor beside
The Dance
and stared at it intently. What was it about the painting that made it so valuable? It was unsigned, unframed, and just ugly. Dancing was art, but it was the only kind of art she knew. Anything short of Picasso and Van Gogh was foreign territory.

Rebecca turned the painting at an angle and studied the marks. Definitely stroked by someone’s fingers; there were no brush marks. She trailed her finger down a yellow line and stopped where it blended into a light shade of orange.

She couldn’t say why it caught her attention, but Rebecca frowned when she saw a mark on the canvas. There was a layer of something slightly transparent—either paint or white-out—in the bottom corner of the painting. Inching closer and tilting the canvas, she saw it and froze. In small, sloppy handwriting, her own name was covered up where an artist would include his signature.

She
had painted it. She couldn’t even remember doing it. She couldn’t have been very old—but the end result was the same. Austin Channing was pulling another con on someone. Someone who had fallen hard for the ploy, someone set on killing her because of it. Did they know she had painted it? If so, it was her they wanted revenge on.

Rebecca covered the painting with the sheet, fighting the urge to shove her balled fist through the canvas. She hastily crossed the cramped room and put as much distance between her and the painting as possible.

Damn Austin Channing, she thought, sinking down onto a chair. A hysterical laugh escaped and she covered her mouth to contain it. It didn’t help. She began laughing—hard. She laughed until she had to lay her head against the table. She laughed, and laughed, and laughed until she wept.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

Gideon ignored his brother and continued to stare out at the water. After kissing Rebecca—and what a surprise that had been—he’d stormed outside the cabin, issued a sharp command to get the fuck away from Cleveland, and walked to the bow to think.

For the past three hours he’d been in a state of fury. He’d been gone for ten minutes back at the hotel. He’d paid for the rest of the night for that crummy little room, then made a couple of calls. He’d asked Colin to come pick them up, plus another box of Jess’s art supplies, then informed his sister of the delay.

He’d gone back to the room only to find it empty. He’d thought about just letting her go, then decided against it for one reason—Avery. He couldn’t let his boat suffer the horrible death the bastards probably had planned for her.

It wasn’t hard finding Rebecca’s house. After all, he still had her license in his pocket. He’d taken a cab and broken in with no problem.
Ballet class 7pm
was neatly scrawled in the Friday slot on her calendar, along with a Grace Studios business card tucked into the corner of her bulletin board.

He’d taken another cab there and waited outside for her. And boy, had she been surprised to see him. She wasn’t the only one surprised. She looked amazing squeezed into that tiny pink thing with her long dancer's legs garbed in white tights that fit her like skin. She’d been sweaty too, he remembered, and his pants jumped. Down, boy.

He’d made a mistake carting her off over his shoulder. That tiny little body he’d so admired was soft and flexible as she had wriggled in his hold. He’d pushed his own limits when he swatted her on the ass and had almost lost it when he’d put her down in the cabin of the boat. He had to have a taste of her and it hadn’t been nearly enough.

It would have been fine if she’d been appalled or slapped him. He could have handled that. But she hadn’t been offended. She’d wanted more, as he did.

Now that the cool night air was rushing over his face, he could concentrate on being angry with her instead of wanting her.

He didn’t want to be able to find her at the dance studio. She should have known that whoever was following her would have known her normal routine. But she’d gone anyway, the little fool, and thankfully nothing had happened. The bastards probably thought she was still with him. And Gideon knew they thought he’d turn her over for his boat.

Avery. It truly hurt him to lose her. He suppressed a groan as images of broken wood and glass filtered through his mind. No matter how much that boat meant to him, Rebecca’s safety was more important. He could always build another boat.

“Give me a cigarette.”

Colin looked up from the helm and grinned. “Now what kind of brother would I be if I broke my promise?”

Gideon sourly told him what he could do with his promise.

Colin threw his head back and laughed. “Sorry
, Gid. I swore on my life I’
d never give you a cigarette, no matter how much you begged.”

“This is an extenuating circumstance.”

“I remember there being a specific clause about extenuating circumstances in my promise. Why? What’s wrong—can’t handle the little ballerina?”

“I can handle her,” he muttered. And he would handle her.

“What are you going to tell Mom?”

Gideon looked over at Colin, puzzled. Did he expect him to lie? Their mother had always taught them to be open and honest with her no matter what they did. Both boys raised their fair share of hell and were never afraid to fess up. “The truth.”

“I thought you might. How’d she get those bruises? Ballerina, I mean.”

“You think I did that?”

“No, no. Don’t be getting your panties in a wad. Mom raised us better than that.”

Gideon was only slightly mollified. “The assholes following us gave them to her.”

Colin was quiet for a moment, then lit a cigarette. However casual the gesture, it was obvious he was trying to make Gideon suffer. He had to get back at him for making him come all the way to Cleveland at eight o’clock at night.

“You’re a bastard.”

Colin grinned and took another drag. “Yeah, I am.”

Gideon hadn’t heard a peep from Rebecca since locking her in the cabin and wondered if he should be checking on her. Then he remembered imagining her coming at him with a towel rack. The cabin had other objects she could use as weapons—like knives. Shit.

“Home sweet home,” Colin said, bringing the boat into the shallow water.

The island sat like a beacon in the night, lush and green against the moonlight in the middle of the great lake. The Avery family was the only inhabitants on the island and wouldn’t have it any other way. There, they could run their boat-building business in peace and quiet and didn’t have to waste money on shipping when they could travel by their own boats to pick up supplies as needed.