Hidden Gems (4 page)

He cleared the knot in his throat. “Then what do you want?”

“I should want an average guy. Someone who spends the night. If he sneaks out the next morning, it’s to bring me back the Sunday paper and coffee and muffins instead of going to the gym to perfect his physique.”

Jamie wondered when she’d realize she’d described him, aside from the part about spending the night. Given her earlier question, maybe she already had. “You’ve thought this out.”

Her head angled back, tilting her face toward his so that he was staring into her eyes. Beautiful olive eyes struck with shards of amber, gleaming like gems he could only admire from afar. Her lips parted.

“This is crazy,” she said. “But ever since the airport, I’ve been wondering if maybe you…”

Jamie’s head roared like a blast furnace. She didn’t mean—she couldn’t be saying—

“You and me,” she blurted. “What if we, you know, tried it out to see? No drama. Just one kiss? In case we’re missing out on something that could be really fantastic.”

He spoke very slowly. “You’re not thinking straight.”

“Straight’s done me no good so far.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“Let’s not think about that.” Marissa reached up to brush her knuckles along his jaw. She rubbed, sliding her fingers to his chin, then his lips. Outlining them. “I want to know what it’s like to kiss you.” His lower lip rolled under her caress. “Haven’t you ever wondered…”

He couldn’t deny that. “Hell, yeah,” he said, and suddenly he was kissing her the way he’d dreamed of a thousand times.

Except that he’d made all the right moves in his fantasies. This was real. It was their noses bumping until they got the right angle, it was worrying if he had garlic breath, it was the sudden jolt of electric sensation when their tongues touched, making their teeth clash. She’d opened her mouth before he was prepared.

But it was also Marissa, her body familiar in his arms. The scent of her, rich and arousing. The night air that had seemed so cool had become hot, vibrant with the promise of a glorious discovery.

She moved against him, arching her body so that he felt her breasts, making an urging sound at the back of her throat—as if he needed to be encouraged. This time he was the one to deepen the kiss when he stroked his tongue inside her mouth.

Marissa pulled back. She looked at him with rounded eyes. “What do you think?”

“I think that was amazing,” he said in a raw whisper, unable to resist bringing his mouth down on hers again. The first kiss had been a shock, a mind-blowing assault on the senses. He wanted to try her again, taste her, with a thinking brain this time.

She resisted for a moment, then gave in with a low, inviting moan. Her lips opened to the first flick of his tongue. Her mouth was hot, salty. And so sweet.

This is right.

His palms stroked up and down her arms before locking on her hips, fingers spreading across her tight little ass and pressing her hips snug against his. Their heights were close, and her legs long enough to make up the small difference. Their bodies were in perfect alignment. All the appropriate parts matched up. The soft weight of her breasts pressed to his chest, the long, lean curves of her waist and hips melding to his lower body, where the hard bulge of his erection sought her warm hollow. He wanted to press further into her, he wanted the hot wet clasp, the intimate connection of a complete joining.

So much for the thinking brain. He was operating on pure animal need.

At first, the small noises of a pedestrian approaching barely penetrated his consciousness. Not until he felt a body stealthily brush by did he realize that something was wrong.

“Hey, you!” Jamie whirled around, wrenching Marissa out of his arms with more force than he intended. She cried out, stumbling toward the curb as she lost her balance. He turned back to grab her by the elbow, seeing that she was set safely on her feet before he went to confront the stranger.

His instincts had been right. The man had targeted the suitcase on the stoop, crouching low as if he was about to snatch it.

Jamie made a desperate lunge to yank the bag free. Doing so was easier than he’d expected. The thief hadn’t gotten much of a hold.

With a yell, Jamie toppled over backward, the bag clasped in his arms. The other man didn’t make another attempt, only raced off without a backward glance.

Jamie was stunned. Like most New Yorkers, he’d been confronted on the streets by a few crazies. But he’d never experienced a mugging, even in snatch-and-run style.

And so he was surprised by his reaction. Adrenaline had pumped through his body, shooting him full of aggression and bravado. He was a pacifist, and yet suddenly he wanted to fight.

Marissa knelt at his side, filled with feminine concern. “Are you all right? You took a hard fall.”

Jamie put a hand to the gritty sidewalk as he found his breath. “Sure. Are you?”

“Yes. It was only—” She glanced over the empty street. “Only a pitiful attempt at a mugging. Not even an armed one.” She made a dismissive sound, but her voice was shaky. “Takes more ’n that to scare a couple of tough New Yorkers, right?”

Jamie set her suitcase on the sidewalk and jumped to his feet. He was charged, ready to chase down the itchy-fingered stranger. But the would-be mugger had vanished like smoke.

Jamie moved restlessly up and down off the curb, sucking air through his nose. “Did you get a look at him?”

“No. I was trying not to land in the gutter.”

“He wore a hood,” Jamie remembered. “He was about five-eight or nine. Skinny. I didn’t really see his face.”

“Should we call the cops?”

After a moment of consideration, they looked at each other and shrugged. Not worth the time and trouble, especially when the theft hadn’t been successful. “Let’s just get home,” Marissa said with a quiet voice. “This has been a helluva day.”

Of course. She had to be burned out. Jamie wrapped his arms around her. “Poor baby.”

She hugged him tight. “Is this a good idea?”

“What?” He jerked away. Was she afraid he wanted to take up where they’d been interrupted? He did, of course, but that wasn’t his first priority. Only the second through tenth.

“Distracting ourselves.” She averted her face. “Inviting another mugging.”

“Yeah, right. We should go.” God only knew that if he started kissing her again, a tornado could whirl up around them and he wouldn’t notice until they’d landed in Oz.

He left his arm around her the rest of the way home, whether or not she wanted the protection. She didn’t demur, but stayed tucked under his wing, now and then leaning her head on his shoulder and letting out a very quiet sigh.

He remained hyperalert to every sound and motion up and down the street. His body thrummed with excess energy, but he kept that under wraps as best as he could. Strange how the surging endorphins produced by the theft attempt and their astonishing kisses were so much alike. He suspected that something had been kick-started inside him. And he was damned if he’d go back, even if that were possible.

When they arrived at their brownstone, he took charge with the keys and luggage. “I’m going to collapse,” Marissa announced at her apartment door, forestalling him even before he attempted to get inside.

He tried not to let it bother him that she was so certain about ending their experiment that she’d given him not even the smallest opening to delay. “Let me check the place out,” he said, sliding past her without waiting for permission. What the hell. He turned on lights, glancing into the bath and bedroom, even her closet. Every room was in its usual state—topsy-turvy. Housekeeping was not one of Marissa’s talents.

“Find anything?” she called in a tone that said he was being overprotective.

“Hold on.” He swept aside a lace curtain and tested the window that opened onto the fire escape off the bedroom. More of the lace was draped over the bed. The faded rose wallpaper, white iron bed, scattered clothes, shoes and books gave the bedroom the look of an overturned Victorian wastebasket.

“It pays to be cautious,” he said, leaving the doors open behind him. “You’ve been gone for three days.”

“Is that all?” She blinked at her living room as if it were a street person’s cardboard box. Her shoulders were slumped. “I thought it was longer.”

Marissa rarely drooped. Jamie wanted to bust Paul for doing that to her, but he had to keep it cool or she’d know how deep his feelings truly ran. “You’re done in.”

She took one look at his face and moved away, masking the rebuff by lifting her arms and rubbing at the back of her neck. Avoiding looking at him again.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

He returned a minute later to find her curled up in her comfy armchair, her head tipping over. He dropped her cat into her lap. She said, “Oh-hh, Harry,” and clutched the beloved pet to her chest so gratefully that he couldn’t stay irked by her wordless withdrawal.

“Thank you for taking care of my kitty while I was gone,” she said, practically purring herself as she rubbed cheeks with the blue-eyed Angora. They were a pair—pampered, elegant, aloof, but affectionate under the right circumstances. “You’re too good to us.”

Too good? Jamie shoved his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t touch her.

Too bad.

THREE A.M. on the fire escape outside of the apartment of Marissa Suarez, and Allard was huddled against the cold drip of a misty rain. The shallow warmth of the day had dissipated from the building’s stones hours ago. He huffed a breath into his turned-up collar to warm his face. Patience and precision were a thief’s stock in trade. Acting rashly was never wise.

A droplet fell off the tip of his nose. His mouth puckered. Resorting to an attempted snatch on the street had been a foolish mistake. He’d been seduced by the couple’s distraction into thinking he could slip the amulet from the bag before they realized what was happening.

Flimsy as it was, the plan had almost worked. The alluring White Star had been at his fingertips when Marissa’s boyfriend had torn the bag away.

A switchblade had waited in Allard’s pocket, but he’d chosen to run. Better to escape than to risk a struggle and possible identification. There would be other opportunities.

He shifted into a squat and peered through the window. Dark and quiet inside. Marissa was sprawled on the bed, her white, long-haired cat a huddled lump on her chest. The feline’s eyes shone at Allard, freezing his hand on the windowsill. He hated pets, cats especially. They were unpredictable creatures. One loud meow at the wrong moment and the girl might be jarred out of her sleep.

Allard tilted his head. There was the bag. He’d watched as a lethargic Marissa had lugged the suitcase into the bedroom and dropped it on the floor. He’d been prepared to intervene should she discover the treasure he’d hidden inside, but his luck had held. She hadn’t bothered to unpack. Instead she’d given the thing a kick to shove it under her bed.

One corner stuck out, tempting him.

The window was locked. He was certain that he could get in after a bit of jimmying. Hadn’t he already bypassed high-tech security systems in his quest for the White Star?

But there was the cat.

The damn cat. His nemesis. Allard’s father, a minor thief and total asshole, had taught him that the smallest detail, if overlooked, could ultimately exact the greatest cost. Yet when he’d seen his son’s irrational fear of cats, he’d sneeringly called Jean La Souri Noire—the dark mouse—on their midnight excursions. To this day, he believed cats were bad luck.

The feline watched Allard, twitching its fluffy tail. After a moment of debate, he eased away from the window. For now, the White Star was safe.

Unlike his drunken lout of a father, he was a patient man. He would watch and wait for his next chance and when it came, he would be ready.

Not even the cat would prevent his fated reunion with the amulet.

S OMEONE was breaking in!

Marissa bolted upright from a dense sleep, sending Harry shooting off the bed with his tail upright. The cat yowled and streaked away into the darkness—toward the sound of the front door closing. That was odd, but Marissa didn’t think it through. She was scrabbling over the nightstand to find her phone.

Not there. Not freaking there.

She heard a person moving around in the living room without even trying to be quiet. Marissa swallowed thickly as she slid out of bed. Fear was acrid; her mouth tasted like she’d been chewing on tin foil.

Two crimes within hours. Shocking even for a New Yorker.

A light went on in the other room. Marissa dropped down, crouching behind the far side of the bed. She felt around for a weapon, finding a silk scarf, a flimsy chain belt, a Chinese takeout container that had fallen beneath the bed. Maybe there were chopsticks? Why hadn’t she obeyed her mother, who’d said that the city was dangerous and Marissa must always sleep with a butcher knife under the mattress?

Aha. A shoe. Her fingers closed on a four-inch heel that could serve as a dagger.

She crept toward the door, shoe in hand. Would a spike heel through an eyeball work as a defense? Only in the movies, but maybe she’d gain time to run out the door.

A thud sounded from the other room, a thud she could have sworn was the sound of feet dropping onto the wood coffee table. She’d heard that thud a hundred times when Jamie came over to watch TV.