She was torturing him, distracting him, but she was also torturing herself.
And if she was going to, why not take whatever she could get?
Pressing her lips to the side of his neck, she placed an openmouthed kiss there. Sucking his flesh into her mouth, she kept the pressure up until she knew he’d wear her mark tomorrow.
She slid the key card into her own waistband, then reached around them both once her hand was empty again.
And she filled it with him instead. She wasn’t surprised to feel the length of his erection straining against the cotton of his pants. She relished it. Reveled in it. Enjoyed the fact that he was man enough to let her hold him here and enjoy being at her mercy.
His breath whistled out between clenched teeth as she squeezed. Her hips rocked against his—no design, but rather an unavoidable reaction—as her palm stroked down the hard length of him.
This time, she was the one to close her eyes, lost in the pleasure of touching him.
She might have gone further—might not have been coherent enough to stop herself—if a squawk hadn’t split the cocoon of silence around them.
“Zane. Come in, Zane. Do you need backup?”
The voice coming from his other hip startled Elle enough that she stepped back, letting him go.
Slowly he turned, his body never losing contact with the wall. His eyes, shuttered and dangerous, flashed at her. The golds and greens and browns intrigued her, the colors more pronounced now than she’d ever seen them.
Without a word, he reached for the phone—the kind that doubled as a two-way radio—held it toward his mouth, pressed a button and said, “This better be good, Tom.”
“Well, s-sir…” The voice stammered out of the radio, followed by a squeal that had them both cringing and Zane pulling the thing away from his head.
“I’m sorry. I was scanning the monitors and saw you and her…” The words trailed off into silence as Zane slowly turned his head, staring straight into the eye of a camera she hadn’t noticed until right now.
Even from here, Elle had no doubt the man on the other end of that radio could see the promise of retribution as clearly as she could.
She should thank the man, whoever he was.
Taking the opportunity of Zane’s distraction, Elle slowly moved backward, one small step after another. By the time Zane returned his focus to her, she was ten feet away from him, her key retrieved from the floor where she’d dropped it. She watched him surge from the wall, a spurt of adrenaline and unbridled passion shooting through her.
He stalked toward her, an aroused animal on the hunt for his prey. He was all muscle and sinew and the promise of pleasure she couldn’t imagine. A shiver snaked down her spine.
She couldn’t stick around long enough for him to catch her.
Yanking open her door, Elle didn’t even bother to look back at him before saying, “Night, Officer Zane,” and slamming it in his face.
Her back pressed against the door, Elle’s chest rose and fell. Her eyes closed as she sagged against the wood. She could hear the sound of him standing on the other side. Or maybe that was her imagination. Was the door thin enough that she could really hear him?
She almost jumped when she heard the soft thwack of his palm against the wood behind her. But the blow hadn’t been in anger. In fact, it hadn’t been forceful at all.
But it did make her realize something. What if he decided to follow her into the room? Surely he had some way to access all of the guest rooms. Though the key card wouldn’t work on them, the hotel must have a few copies of each key for housekeeping and emergencies.
She wasn’t scared because he might break some moral code to follow her inside. She knew to the depths of her soul that the first time she said no, Zane would back away and leave her alone.
But they both knew she had no desire to say no.
Her problem would come when he reached for that key card and realized it was missing.
Pulling it out of her waistband, Elle flipped the card over to stare at the laminated side of the identification. Edwards. That was his last name. And for the first time Elle realized she’d come close to having sex—not once but twice—with a man when she hadn’t even known his full name. What did that say about her? Nothing good.
Zane’s stern likeness stared back at her. Surprise, surprise, he wasn’t smiling. But then, she couldn’t remember ever actually seeing the man smile. Smirk maybe, but really smile so that it lit up his eyes? She racked her brain and came up empty. Although she supposed they hadn’t exactly experienced any moments together that engendered laughter.
Guilt swamped her as she continued to stare at the pilfered card. What had she done?
Once again she’d gone off half-cocked. It wouldn’t take him long to realize his card was gone and start wondering if she’d taken it.
The moment her fingers had touched it, she’d realized the innocuous piece of plastic was her all-access pass to the private rooms that he’d told her about this afternoon.
The problem was, the second she used the card, he’d know it. In one of her earlier career choices—one that hadn’t lasted—she’d worked for a bank. The key cards they’d used for restricted areas had been coded so that security could keep tabs on access and higher-ups could monitor who came in late and left early.
Zane would have no less.
Damn it. Now what was she going to do?
She had the Holy Grail, the thing that she needed to move one step closer to finding her grandmother’s painting, and she couldn’t use it.
Not without getting caught.
Not without Zane realizing she’d stolen it from him.
And for some reason, she really didn’t want him to learn that his low opinion of her was justified.
So she’d have to return it without him noticing, and hope that he assumed he’d misplaced it.
With a groan, Elle covered her face with her hands. The key card dangled accusingly between her fingers as she slid down onto the floor. Pressing her forehead to her knees, she wondered if she’d ever learn to think before she leaped.
With a sigh, she acknowledged probably not. If she hadn’t learned the lesson by now, there was little hope that she ever would.
However, she promised herself that this was her very last foray into theft—of any kind.
She’d have to find another way to get her grandmother’s painting back.
7
ELLE WAS UP BEFORE DAWN again. She told herself it was because she wanted to head out and catch the early light. It was really because guilt had kept her up and she’d finally decided distracting herself with work was better than lying in bed mentally yelling at herself. That accomplished nothing.
With narrowed eyes she stared at the easel Marcy had managed to find and decided it was just too big to haul into the jungle. The island wasn’t that large, so she probably wouldn’t be going far, but she didn’t want to get the bulky easel stuck somewhere and have to abandon it. Instead, she threw the paints, brushes, sketch pad and the smallest canvas Marcy had found into the duffel she’d carried onto the plane.
Grabbing bottled water, pastries and a few pieces of fruit from the cold breakfast bar, she headed out. The path to the waterfall wasn’t paved like the rest of the resort, but it was fairly easy to follow. Apparently she wasn’t the only guest who’d ever ventured out onto the wild side of the island for a little adventure.
The vegetation closed around her, swallowing her up into a world of towering trees, climbing vines and tropical flowers. The first thing she noticed was the lush colors—intense greens, vibrant blues, pinks that popped and reds so deep the flowers looked as if they were bleeding. Sunlight, bright and clear streamed down through the canopy in stripes of gold, gilding the already brilliant surroundings.
The next thing she noticed was the sounds—birds and insects and chattering animals she couldn’t see buzzed, screeched and called to each other. It wasn’t still, and yet a sense of peace descended around her. She wasn’t alone, not really, but she felt as if she might be the only person on the island.
Her muscles warmed with the exertion of walking and the heat of the sun as it climbed higher into the pale blue sky. Stopping to pull a bottle from her pack, Elle dragged half of it down. And realized that another sound had joined the cacophony around her. It had probably come on gradually which was why she hadn’t noticed at first.
Rushing water.
Gathering her pack, Elle headed down the path at a sprint, eager to see what the jungle hid.
She broke through the trees to find a beautiful little oasis. It was breathtaking.
The water was crystal clear, only about three feet deep in the eddying pool. She could see all the way to the silt bottom that stirred beneath the currents. To her left, a small curtain of water fell over the jagged edge of rocks about twenty feet in the air. There were more rocks at the bottom. A ring, set around the bubbling water as it rejoined the pool at the base. The wall of water danced on its way down, shimmering and parting and closing again. She could tell there was a small cave behind the falls, but couldn’t see how far back it went. A small stream exited to the right, flowing back into the jungle.
Maybe later she’d explore the cave. But right now, her palms itched to have a paintbrush against them.
Tearing into her pack, Elle dropped to the ground right where she stood and grabbed for the canvas.
First, she sketched the picture she wanted to capture, frantically dragging a pencil across the rough surface in an attempt to grasp the ancient mystery of the place. Despite the sunlight, it had a dark knowledge, as if it had stood here forever, watching as humans and other creatures passed through its shadow. Remembering, but not judging.
She lost track of time. Not an unusual occurrence when she was engrossed in a project. The food she’d brought was completely forgotten. Even the water, despite the increasing heat as the height of the sun peaked above her, lay untouched inside her bag.
It wasn’t long before the paints followed the sketch, overlaying the crude charcoal markings with layers of vivid color that only barely seemed to match reality as far as she was concerned.
Her legs were cramped from sitting in one place. She stared at the canvas and the explosion of lines and arcs and colors that she’d pulled together to form the picture before her. She wasn’t happy. Something was missing, but she couldn’t figure out what.
That was the most frustrating part of her art. She looked up at the untouched world before her, and back down at the canvas balanced on her knees. They were identical. At least to her eye. And still it wasn’t right.
With a groan of frustration, Elle reached into the bag, took out everything that was inside and gingerly laid the wet canvas down onto the collapsed bag.
She’d eat something. Cool off in the water, explore the cave. Get some distance and then come back.
Maybe then she’d realize what was missing.
“WHERE IS SHE?”
Zane walked into the Crow’s Nest without bothering to say good morning to Tom. He was later than normal. Typically he would have relieved Tom around eight, but several things had delayed him. A call from his buddy at the CIA. The background check on Elle had revealed nothing earth-shattering. She’d been a rebellious teenager with a single sealed record and no run-ins with the law since.
She’d filed a report when her apartment had been broken into several years ago. The officer who’d been assigned the case had noted her insistence that an ex-boyfriend had been responsible. The officer had never found any evidence—or the ex-boyfriend—to corroborate her theory. That wasn’t to say he hadn’t been responsible. Elle seemed to have a habit of choosing the wrong men.
The sealed record had involved a boyfriend, an older one, and several friends who’d apparently broken into the school gym. They hadn’t done any damage, so the judge had given her and her friends community service. The boy, however, had an outstanding warrant for dealing drugs. Thanks to their little stunt, the man had ended up in prison for six months. A nasty fellow who had continued down the wrong path and was now behind bars for the third time. And set to stay there for the next ten years. The world was better off with him locked up.
But at least Elle seemed to have learned from the experience. Aside from her bad taste in men.
He’d also had a meeting with Simon and Marcy, which Simon had delayed for an hour. If he hadn’t been jittery himself, he might have enjoyed watching the steam pour out of Marcy’s ears. As it was, by the time Simon had called them into his sanctuary, Zane hadn’t exactly been smiling, either.