The Black Sheep and the English Rose (11 page)

Her smile was slow, knowing, and did things to him that were impossible to ignore. Which she likely knew and was quite enjoying.

“You, of all men, should know the answer to that.”

The hell with it
, he wanted to say.
Just do it already.
The sexual tension between them was all but shrieking, as it always was. He'd be doing them both a favor by taking her to bed, where they could take the edge off for a prolonged and quite gratifying length of time, thereby enabling them to focus more clearly on the task at hand afterward.

And yet…

He held her gaze for a moment, then said, “If you had, say, an afternoon. No appointments, no grants to award, no gems to steal. Nothing on your agenda at all. You're alone, without anyone observing you, completely private. How would you spend the time? If you could be doing anything you wanted.”

She tilted her head, as apparently surprised by his sudden question as he'd surprised himself by asking it. “Is this a trick question? Am I supposed to fawn, and bat my eyelashes, and say, ‘Oh, my darling, of course I'd choose to be naked, in bed, with you'?”

“No, you're supposed to be absolutely honest. In fact, I'll alter the question to add, if you had to spend the afternoon alone, doing something just for you, by yourself, that you enjoy, what would it be?”

She frowned, then looked somewhat pensive. Gone was the teasing, knowing smile. It was the first time he'd ever seen her look uncertain. About anything. Finally, he thought, finally he was getting a glimpse of the real Felicity Jane. And he realized that that was exactly what he was after. That was what he wanted. To know her. In ways that had nothing to do with carnal knowledge and everything to do with becoming more intimate than they'd ever been before. It was a dangerous path to pursue. Mostly because, rather than hope her answers diminished her appeal, thereby giving him the eventual easy exit he'd like to think he wanted, he was hoping a better understanding of her would give him a clue as to what to do about his already impossible attraction to her. Somehow he doubted there was going to be anything easy about any of it.

But then, that was part of her charm.

He waited, as patient as he knew how to be, but just watching the play of emotions across her face, he was already more interested in her than he'd ever been before. Which was saying quite a lot.

“The truth?” she asked, looking at him, for once, like the stranger he truly still was to her.

“Please.”

“Gardening,” she said without hesitation, then looked back toward the window, as if she didn't want to face the ridicule she was certain was about to follow. “Followed by a nice tea, made and served by myself, out amongst my flowers. Then reading. An entire afternoon of it. A grand adventure of the mind, while never having to leave your own patio chaise.”

Finn had no idea what he'd expected her to say. Shopping in Milan with friends. Jetting off to the Amalfi coast. A visit with the Queen. An afternoon safari in Africa, followed by pearl diving in Madagascar. He thought she could have said pretty much anything, and he would easily be able to imagine her doing it. Nothing would be out of bounds for a woman who had access to the world, and often took advantage of it.

He'd never expected it would be something so simple, so…basic. Essential, even. He was having an even harder time envisioning it. She was a woman who had gardeners to tend her flowers, and butlers to serve tea. And what could she possibly read that would be more adventurous than the exploits she herself had experienced?

He continued to watch her, as intrigued by her obvious discomfort as he was charmed by her honesty. “Vegetables or flowers?”

She darted a look at him, and for the first time he saw past the perfectly arched brows and expertly applied makeup, to the core of the woman beneath. It was barely a glimpse, and only the beginning. But he couldn't have been more intrigued, wanting to uncover even more.

“What?” she queried, blinking at him.

“Your fantasy garden. Vegetables? Or flowers?”

“What makes you think it's a fantasy?” She didn't let him answer that. “Flowers. An abundance of them. Untamed, thriving naturally.”

“No formal English garden?”

She shook her head, then asked, “Does that surprise you?”

“I don't know what surprises me about you. I don't really know you.”

“Ah,” she said, understanding dawning. “Is that what this is, then? Let's play twenty questions, get to know the real Felicity?”

“Would that be a bad thing?”

“Only if you're doing so hoping to find a chink in my competitive armor. I should know better than to lower any defenses around you.”

She sat back in her seat, and he saw the moment she shifted gears, returning to the woman he did know. The knowing look was back, the confident attitude. She'd crossed her legs, and her arms. Her whole posture had shifted back into superwoman mode.

“Don't,” he said, giving voice to the thought before he could think better of it.

“Don't what?”

“That.” He gestured to how she was sitting. “It's almost like a persona you adopt.”

“What in the world are you talking about?” She didn't uncross her legs, but she did uncross her arms, looking a little self-conscious, even as she blustered a little. “This is exactly who I am.”

“When you're running empires or taking possession of priceless antiquities, maybe.”

“And you think that is somehow not who I really am? I hate to break this to you, but that is very much a part of who I am.”

“It's a large part of what you do. Not necessarily who you are.”

The walls were up in full force now, and the predatory gleam completely filled her eyes. How was it he'd never noticed that? That she used the tension between them almost like a shield. Like it was a safe place of sorts, working that attraction, working him, so she didn't have to…What? Reveal herself? Be truly intimate? Intimate in a way that actually might mean something. Or compromise a part of her she couldn't risk compromising?

“When did you become such an expert?”

“I'm not,” he said, but what he was thinking, what he was realizing, was that he was recognizing all this in her only because he was, and had been, doing the same thing with her. That had him sitting back in his seat, and he had to consciously not cross his arms, or put up his own shield. And he wasn't liking the feeling, the feeling of being exposed somehow, even though she had no idea what he was thinking or the realizations he was making. But it was enough to understand why she wasn't all that keen on pursuing the conversation. It was…threatening.

It would be so much easier to simply flirt back, play on the sexual attraction, seduce them both into bed. How interesting that that was turning out to be the safe place for them both. Naked and intimately entwined. Yet, not really vulnerable or intimate at all.

She held his gaze. “What brought all this on?”

He thought about deflecting the question, about making it easier on them both and going the expected route, by saying something intentionally provocative and flirtatious. With what they were likely going to be up against in the next day or two, the reality of the parameters of their temporary partnership should be at the forefront of his thoughts. The probable outcome of the mission they were on, and the fact that only one of them was going to be getting what they wanted, wasn't exactly conducive to forming any kind of ongoing relationship. So deflect and seduce, enjoy what they could have, and be happy with that, would certainly be the wise course of action. It was certainly the course of action he'd have always expected himself to take in such a situation.

So, no one was more surprised than him, when, instead, he heard himself say, “What brought all this on is that I'm realizing that while I'd very much like to spend the next five hours naked and sweaty with you, and should be doing everything in my power to convince you of the same…I also know it's going to frustrate the hell out of me. And I'm not sure I ultimately want that.”

“A man with a conscience?” she queried, trying to sound amused, but mostly looking a bit alarmed. “I don't believe it. The next thing you'll be saying is you want to—”

“I want to have you, don't mistake that.” He unlatched and swiveled his seat so it angled directly toward her.

She stopped, then simply shut her mouth and stared at him.

“It's been two years, and yet one look at you, one whiff of your scent, and it might as well have been yesterday when I had you last. I'm so distracted by the constant raging hard-on I've had since laying eyes on you in that hotel room that I can hardly think straight. So, clearly, the best course of action here is to get you naked and bury myself as deeply inside of you as I can, for as long as I can, until I can get myself back under control. Then, and only then, might I have a prayer of thinking only about the job I'm on, and how I'm going to accomplish my goals. And not how badly I want to hear that little gasp you make in the back of your throat before you come.”

Her lips parted slightly at that, and his body sprang even more fully and achingly to life. He wanted to taste those lips. Badly. He wanted to feel them on him. Every part of him. He wanted to watch, he wanted to participate. He wanted her. Fully, completely, and for as long as his body would hold up.

“So,” she said, her voice not remotely steady now as she gave voice to the very thought he was having, “what's stopping you?”

“I don't know you. And what I do know shouldn't attract me as much as it does. I don't know how to square myself with that. Because you're right, I do have a conscience. One that shouldn't allow me to want all the things I want, with someone who chooses to do things that I don't believe in or support.”

“Meaning my…penchant for certain antiquities.”

He nodded. “But that doesn't seem to be stopping me. Which confuses me.”

“So you thought that perhaps, if you asked a few questions, scratched beneath the surface, all would be revealed, and all would suddenly make sense.”

“Something like that.”

“So this is about assuaging your guilty conscience before you bed me, not about truly wanting to get to know me.”

“I didn't say that. I do want to get to know you. I want to know everything about you. You fascinate me.”

“I like to garden. You find that fascinating?”

“Far more than anything else I've learned about you so far.”

She blinked at that, but he knew she heard the complete sincerity in his tone. “Don't you think that perhaps it's the mystery of who I am that makes me so fascinating to you? Perhaps if you knew me, and discovered that I'm not all that special or different, that, in fact, I'm rather mundane, it would dampen your…enthusiasm?” Her gaze drifted lower and settled on the now straining zipper of his trousers.

Her gaze alone made him twitch. It took enormous will not to shift in his seat. Not to touch himself, stroke his hand along that part of him she was looking at almost hungrily, just to see what she'd do.

“I'm not sure there is anything I could learn about you that would dampen…this.” He laid his hand along the inside of his thigh, his fingertips close to brushing against his erection, but not quite.

He watched as she instinctively shifted her legs, pressing them closer together. Assuaging her own ache, perhaps. He waited, then, until she lifted her gaze to his, and said, “But I'm thinking I want to find out.”

O
f all the things he could have said, he'd chosen the one most guaranteed to raise every defensive wall she owned. Partly as an instinctive security measure to protect her against the possibility that any element of her other life could or would be ferreted out. She could never allow herself to be exposed in such a way. Not if she wanted to continue with the work she was doing. And she did. Both for her own very selfish reasons and for the more noble goal of helping her country. She was somewhat ashamed to admit that it was the former that drove her far more than the latter, but then, she was already more than fulfilling her philanthropic duties to those less fortunate with her position as the head of the Trent Foundation. Surely she could be allowed a small measure of selfishness in her other vocation without its reflecting too poorly on her soul.

And here was poor Finn, whose soul was pure, as were his motivations in all avenues of his life, conflicted because he'd found himself attracted to a thief and had no way to square his moral self with that knowledge. It should amuse or gratify her in some way that despite his misgivings about her seemingly less than legal frolics, he wanted her anyway. Not only did he want her; he wanted all of her.

She did shift in her seat then, despite willing herself not to.

Because she was unable to find that place inside of her that would let her lie to herself, or at least come up with some small thing, anything really, that she could latch on to as a means of protecting herself. The truth of the matter—her instinctive and almost overwhelming immediate response to his baldly and intently stated desire—was that she wanted the very same thing.

It was shocking, really, and hard to even admit as much to herself. It shouldn't be. He'd never been far from her waking thoughts, despite the elapsed time since their last meeting, and with no promise of ever seeing each other again. And Lord knew he'd consumed her unconscious thoughts for far, far too many nights.

But still, she'd never allowed herself the fantasy of this. Of them seeing each other again and reaching out for more than each other's willing and quite ready body.

What he wanted was dangerous bordering on terrifying, and she discovered she was ill prepared to deal with any part of it. She had a job to do. An important one. People were counting on her to deliver, as she always did. This was no time for selfish pursuits, much less delusional ideas that there could ever be more here than a very intense, deeply passionate and fulfilling physical relationship. Hell, she didn't even think she could handle that and keep her head on straight, which was why she'd run so hot and cold with him already.

There was no way she could bring him in and tell him anything, no matter how badly she realized she wanted to. Not because she cared what he thought of her—though it mattered more than it should—but to ease his own conscience and allow him the peace of mind of knowing that his instincts were still on track, despite surface appearances.

Which left her sitting there, with no idea what to say. Or what to do. So, for the first time in her life, she took the coward's way out. It was the only course of action she could think of that wouldn't cause further risk of either of them being compromised.

She stood, and made far too great a deal out of smoothing her skirt. “I think I'm going to take advantage of that room in the back. Alone.” She forced herself to look at him. “I've heard all that you're saying, and I'm…I'm flattered.”

“Flattered,” he repeated, his voice toneless.

She shouldn't give him the slightest of edges. All of her training, and every bit of her hard-won experience, screamed at her to raise her guard and give him not so much as a toehold to latch on to. “If the circumstances were different…” She trailed off only for a second, then quickly went on, albeit far more shakily than she'd have liked. “But they aren't. And they won't ever be. So I don't see the point in pursuing anything beyond a strict working relationship. I do respect you, and because I respect you, and your directness and honesty, it's only fair to give you the same. Therefore, I'm telling you that I think it would be best if we made every effort to stay focused on the business we have between us. And nothing else.”

She didn't realize she was trembling until she had to take a moment to get herself under control before risking taking so much as a step toward the back room in the heels she was wearing. That she might have been stalling to give him time to respond also crossed her mind…and the thought wasn't easily dismissed.

“Okay,” he said at length.

She'd just steadied herself by placing her hand on the back of her seat, and was about to take a step, when he'd oh so calmly delivered his answer. So her consequent stumble would have been comical if not so mortifying, especially as it was accompanied, no doubt, by an obvious look of surprise on her face. It was just that given his temperament and drive, she supposed she'd expected at least a little battle.

She couldn't look at him, couldn't take the amused, perhaps even smug, expression she'd surely discover on his face. Well-deserved, but presently beyond her scope to endure.

But not looking up cost her even more, as she didn't see that he'd risen from his seat until he took her elbow in his hand and steadied her himself. She should have recoiled from his touch. After all, she'd just delivered her quite magnificent speech about how they were going to remain partners in business only. If he pressed his suit now, she wasn't entirely certain she wouldn't end up the biggest hypocrite ever.

“I understand,” he said, his tone quiet, even sincere, if not particularly warm.

She did look at him then, wishing mightily that he'd take his hand off of her so she might have a shred of a chance at straightening out her thoughts and feelings. But he didn't. And she found she couldn't quite pull away. “Do you?” she heard herself ask.

He merely nodded. But when she thought he would drop his hand and step away, he instead said, “I just want to know one thing.”

Danger, danger
, her inner voice screamed, but it didn't stop her from responding. “Which is?”

“Have you ever wondered?”

“About?”

“Me. The rest of me. Or the possibility of us.”

She should lie. It would end this. He wouldn't like it, but she knew a man with his code of honor would respect it. “There would be no point to it,” she said instead.

Of course he saw through that. “A conclusion you could only draw if you had. Thought about it, that is.”

“Avoiding the obvious doesn't require much thinking.”

Rather than look hurt or dismayed, he smiled. It was slow to start, but grew steadily, reaching fully to his eyes, which twinkled quite charmingly. “If only we could. Avoid it, I mean.”

“‘Business only' means just that. No sex, Finn,” she warned, quite shakily as it happened. Damn it all.

“Mixing the two never seemed to bother you before.”

“I didn't know you wanted more. I wouldn't—that changes things.”

“I could say I'd be willing to settle, but if that was the case, we wouldn't still be standing here right now.”

She swallowed against a suddenly dry throat. “So we're understood, then,” she managed.

He laughed. “Hardly. That's the problem.”

“What's not to understand?” she demanded, trying hard to find her righteous anger at his intentional obstinacy. “You want more than I'm willing to give, so it's only fair that we both step back and do our jobs without further entangling ourselves.”

“If things were fair,” he said, “we wouldn't be attracted to each other in the first place.” He crowded her the tiniest bit closer to the back of her seat. “We'd never have gotten entangled to begin with.” He shifted a bit more. She didn't stop him. “If things were fair, I'd have turned you in the first time I met you and caught you with that dazzling Columbian diamond.”

“A diamond you were also after,” she reminded him, though her heart was beating so hard now, she couldn't even hear herself speak.

“The difference is, I was just recovering an item that was stolen from my client and put on the black market.” He shifted closer, lowered his head slightly, so she had to tilt her chin to maintain eye contact. “Where did that diamond end up, anyway?”

“Rightful ownership isn't always as clear cut a case as some would like to think,” she said, knowing this was already more than she should.

“Meaning what? Finders, keepers?”

“Meaning we both have our own views on what constitutes right and wrong.”

That smile flirted around the corners of his mouth again. “Why don't you illuminate me on your personal view.”

“You already think you know, so why bother?”

“I don't think I know anything when it comes to you, which brings us all the way back around to my initial proposition.”

“I don't recall you propositioning me. Quite the opposite. This time,” she added, trying and failing quite magnificently to channel the inner vixen that usually had no problem surfacing around him. Instead she'd come off sounding a bit…put out.

“If you're trying to slowly drive me mad, Your Majesty, you're succeeding quite brilliantly,” he told her, allowing a hint of her own accent to color his words as his amused smile once again reached his eyes.

“I'm just trying to get the job done without creating additional obstacles that will only make it more difficult.”

His eyes darkened slightly, and his smile hardened. “Interesting choice of words.”

She mentally scrambled back over what she'd said, but hardly remembered which words she'd used. He was standing entirely too close, and so she was missing whatever it was he'd picked up on. “Mixing business with pleasure might not be an obstacle for you, but—”

“That's not what I meant. We both know what we're capable of there, and whether we'd prefer it to be more or not.”

Now she tensed. What had she let slip?

But rather than illuminate things for her, he merely let his palm slide down her arm until his hand covered hers. He lifted it, turning it palm up, and pressed a kiss into the center of it, never once breaking eye contact as he curled her fingers over the damp spot. “Keep that safe for me, will you?”

With that, he turned around and dug the bag out from under the table. “I'm going to feed the hunger I can. Would you care for anything?”

She stood there, completely bewildered, before thankfully, mercifully, her anger kicked in. He was toying with her, and she most definitely did not appreciate it. “No, thank you. I believe I'll retire and get some rest. Once you've gotten whatever information you can from your partners, I'd appreciate it if you'd use the intercom to buzz me awake. I'll be happy to go over whatever plan you devise.” And with that, she turned her back and all but fled to the rear of the plane.

Forty-five minutes later, lying stiffly on her back on a bed that was far bigger and far more comfortable than she'd imagined an airplane bed could be—private jet or no—Felicity realized that she was too pent up to rest. Pent-up anger, pent-up desire, pent-up…a lot of things.

She sighed heavily, quite disgusted with her pent-up self, and tucked her arm beneath her head. She was staring at the ceiling, but seeing something else entirely. Someone, actually. Finn Dalton. Of the forever tousled blond hair, blue eyes that should be outlawed for their penetrative abilities alone, and ridiculously sexy grin that never failed to set her pulse to pounding. He wanted her every bit as much as she wanted him, so it made absolutely no sense that he was out there, she was back here, and neither of them was assuaging one bit of the sexual tension and need that had built up to volcanic proportions between them. All because he suddenly wanted more, or the chance at more. And now he was an all-or-nothing guy.

He was the most confounding man she'd ever met.

She curled her fingers reflexively into the palm he'd kissed, then realized what she was doing and instantly straightened her fingers. She didn't want him mooning over her, or doing anything tender and sweet. She most definitely did not want him wanting to get to know her more intimately, at least in any way he hadn't already discovered. Keeping things strictly physical was the only way there could be anything between them. And while she'd tried to push that aside for the good of the job, even she wasn't so foolish as to try to make herself believe she wouldn't be naked and climbing to that always stunning crescendo of pleasure right this very second if that had been his intent.

She shouldn't be disappointed. At least not to the degree she was. She liked her world, enjoyed the thrill her secret life gave her, the balance it provided to the stifling part that was the rest of it. Relentlessly public, relentlessly bound by etiquette and rules and ridiculous protocols, not to mention the endless expectations placed on her by everyone from her board members to every British citizen who read the daily sheets and believed their opinion on how she should conduct her life should weigh heavily on every choice she made. From what she wore, to when and where she ate, to whom she was seen with.