The Black Sheep and the English Rose (4 page)

“Which is what he's counting on, to be certain. Only someone with an…ego the size of John's would dream of pulling that off.”

Finn scowled, not wanting to think about Felicity having direct knowledge of the size of any part of John Reese. “Won't seeing you there thwart that particular plan?”

Her smile spread. “I most certainly hope so.”

Finn propped his ankle on the opposite knee and willed his hard-on to subside. Jesus, it was as if he'd never had sex before.

“Not only do I hope to unsettle Mr. Reese, I hope that by seeing that I have not only rebounded from the unfortunate circumstances he left me in this afternoon, but having come back stronger and more determined than ever, he will realize that there is no place that he, or that lovely piece of sapphire, can hide.”

Finn noted that she'd made it sound as if this were still all her game, with him playing the role of nothing more than a convenient escort. He didn't bother to correct that assumption, thinking perhaps that would be to his advantage later. And God knew he needed one right about now.

“Seeing you pop up might make him that much more eager to dump the stone,” Finn warned. “Once he makes his deal, he's out of it, and the chase moves on to the buyer and the courier. Which gets tricky with Russian import/export laws being what they are.”

“I don't think Chesnokov will be as eager to take possession of an artifact with a less-than-pristine provenance if there is suddenly some less-than-discreet public attention being paid to it.”

“Less-than-discreet public attention?” Finn leaned forward. “What scheme are you cooking up now?”

“Why look, darling. We've arrived.” Felicity turned her attention to the side window, beyond which was the slowly rolling scene of the nightly line that formed outside Antoine's.

The car rolled to a stop at the entrance. Finn waited for the chauffeur to come around this time, using the extra few minutes to prepare himself for the gauntlet that lay ahead. He was used to operating behind the scenes, preferring to handle his affairs—both business and personal—in a one-on-one setting, without the attendant glare of public attention or speculation. He'd had enough of that during his days as an assistant district attorney in this very city, and even more so during the long months following his father's death.

He was several years into the private sector now, and his father had been gone long enough, his empire long since dismantled, that Finn rarely drew any attention beyond the local variety back home in Virginia. And even then, he kept a low profile. His neighbors in the privileged Middleburg horse community had never accepted his return upon his father's death, mostly because they considered what he'd done with his inheritance to be a sacrilege to success. The fact that he was using the remaining Dalton wealth to help people less fortunate than themselves didn't seem to up his social ante in the least. Which could have something to do with the fact that he didn't give flat damn what any of them thought.

The driver helped Felicity out of the car, eliciting a wave of murmurs from the crowd as they craned their necks to see who was emerging from the sleek, black town car. Finn followed, and immediately placed a hand on the small of her back, using his body as a shield between her and the crowd, who were now flashing cameras and cell phones, snapping pictures and calling out for her to stop and pose in case she was someone famous. There was a scattering of paparazzi as well, but not likely being aware of her stature in Britain, they were only minimally interested, which was perfectly fine with Finn.

Of course, Felicity didn't allow him to shepherd her into the restaurant with the minimum of fuss. She slipped from his protective stance and smiled and waved at the people in line, none of whom seemed to be the least bit offended that she was getting preferential treatment, as the mountain of a man governing the line slipped the rope free and motioned them both to go directly inside.

Finn leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I thought the sideshow began inside, for the benefit of Reese.”

“The show begins now, darling.” Keeping her smile intact, she added, “Do your best to keep up.”

It should have pissed him off, her insouciance and dangerously placed bravado. Instead it made him laugh. Because he had little doubt she could pull off whatever scheme she had planned. His reaction set off a whole new wave of pictures, but when she would have paused again, he shuffled her ahead of him, corralling her through the front door, effectively using his broad shoulders to block out the barrage of flashes. He bent his head closer to her ear. “Keeping it up has never exactly been an issue for us.”

She slowed just enough so that his hips bumped into the curve of her backside. She exerted the slightest bit of pressure, which had the immediate result of making him hard all over again. She glanced up at him. “Why, it appears you have a point. A hearty one, at that. We should discuss it in greater…depth, after dinner.”

He really had to remember who he was playing with.

Finn shifted to her side, using the fullness of her skirt as camouflage, thanking God he was wearing loosely pleated trousers. He turned to the maitre d'. “We'd like a table in the main room, preferably on the far side of—”

“Bon soir, Jacques,” Felicity said, leaning past Finn and placing her perfectly manicured fingers on the maitre d's forearm. “Could you please seat us at Mr. Reese's table.”

Finn glanced down at her. “That's rather…direct.”

“Darling, the man left me in a bit of a bind at the end of our previous engagement. I do believe he owes me a glass of champagne, at the very least.”

Less than discreet, indeed. Finn smiled at Jacques. “As the lady insists.”

Jacques frowned ever-so-slightly, clearly uncomfortable with the news he had to deliver. He cleared his throat and looked quite contrite as he said, “I'm sorry, Miss Trent. I believe Mr. Reese is already entertaining a dinner guest. They are on their second course. Perhaps you confused your meeting time?”

Felicity smiled, all charm and British polish. “I assure you, he'll be delighted to have us join him. Is Jason working this evening?” She glanced at Finn. “Antoine's has the most wonderful sommelier.” She looked back to the maitre d'. “Please have him bring us your best Chantal Neuf.”

“I'm not familiar with that one,” Finn said.

“It's relatively rare.” She smiled up at him. “And quite expensive.” She peered around Jacques's shoulder, and they both spied Reese at the same time, seated prominently, dead center in the main room.

Perfect, just perfect.

A brief wave from her elicited a nod from the rather serious-looking, dark-haired man, which apparently was enough to appease the maitre d', who proceeded to lead them directly to his table.

Finn had seen several photos of John Reese in his preparation for the case, but in those he had been smiling. Definitely a different vibe at the table this evening. Finn had no idea what her plan of attack would be, but had every expectation that it would be an interesting one. He decided the best plan, at least initially, was to sit back and watch her work, take mental notes, then decide how best to proceed.

This partnership wasn't exactly panning out as he'd hoped, but why he'd ever thought she'd defer to his judgment or even attempt to work as an actual team, he had no idea. At least they were in it together, where he could keep close tabs on her.

“John, how lovely to see you again.”

Reese stood and extended a well-manicured hand. He was tall, tan, and wearing a very expensively tailored suit. “An unexpected pleasure, to be certain.” His accent was much the same as Felicity's; polished and well-educated. He had still yet to smile.

She stepped back so that Finn could move in next to her. “Allow me to introduce a friend of mine, Finn Dalton.”

Finn accepted Reese's offer of a handshake. They were close to the same age, matched in height and build, except Reese had dark hair and gray eyes, whereas Finn was blond and blue. They were a contrast as well in their approach to business. Finn knew Reese's reputation to be all work and no play. Finn, on the other hand, thought that when work was done right, there was no better playground in the world.

Reese shook his hand firmly, without any overt power play. Finn hadn't expected anything so blatant anyway. Reese nodded to his dining companion across the table, who had also stood as Felicity approached. “Allow me to introduce Yvgeny Andreev.” He didn't add anything else, but Finn didn't require further information, and was betting Felicity had done her homework as well. At least Reese hadn't insulted them by pretending Chesnokov's agent was someone else. Or maybe he simply thought they wouldn't recognize the name.

Finn had. Andreev was a well-known mule used by several European buyers. He was reputed to be excellent at his job; quiet, efficient, and, when required, very good at remaining undetected by those who might otherwise have a quibble with his possession of certain cargo.

Finn extended his hand to the slight man and received a tepid, at best, handshake in return. Andreev had thin, sandy brown hair and skin that was almost too smooth, without a hint of beard. His eyes were such a pale blue they appeared almost translucent, framed with lashes so blond as to be invisible. Finn had stood in courtrooms and boardrooms filled with all manner of human beings, ranging from the stone cold and psychotic to the wounded and broken. He'd observed enough in his life to know that this man with the dead eyes was essentially soulless.

Suddenly John Reese wasn't the biggest threat in the room.

Finn pulled out Felicity's chair, seating her on one side, between Reese and the Russian, then taking the only other available seat, which was opposite hers. His wait-and-see strategy was no longer an option. He trusted Felicity to hold her own, but in this case, he was taking no chances. He took the heavy linen dinner napkin from Felicity's plate and handed it to her before picking up his own. “So, Reese, I understand you have an interest in international trade.”

If the Brit was surprised by Finn's direct offensive, his smooth expression didn't give it away. Felicity, on the other hand, paused ever-so-slightly spreading her napkin in her lap, but did nothing more than shoot him a quick, expressionless glance, before continuing to settle herself in. Good to know she was willing to follow his lead on occasion.

Finn turned his attention exclusively to Reese then, though he kept Andreev in his peripheral vision. He was frankly more interested in what the Russian was thinking at the moment than what was going through Reese's mind. Reese would likely react to this disruption somewhat predictably. He'd want to mitigate the fallout of Felicity's unplanned intrusion so as not to lose the sale. Not that he couldn't get another buyer for such a precious piece. But setting up another transfer would take time. And that was the one thing Reese couldn't afford now that he had possession of the artifact. Especially not with Felicity Jane smiling at him so guilelessly.

“Yes, I do,” Reese said, casually shifting his gaze from the gentle swell of Felicity's creamy breasts, to Finn's face. He hadn't bothered to hide his prurient interest in her, but there was no gleam of challenge in his clear gray eyes, either.

Finn struggled a little with the fact that though Felicity claimed Reese had shown no sexual interest in her, there was both the manner in which he'd left her, and that blatant stare just now, that said perhaps it was otherwise. And yet, Finn still believed that Felicity had been telling the truth. Perhaps Reese just wanted to stir the pot. Finn supposed time would tell who the fool was. Time was becoming quite the precious commodity all the way around, it seemed.

“Do you have a specific area of interest?” Finn asked, not expecting a straight answer, but wanting Reese to know he wasn't simply Felicity's man candy for the evening.

Reese easily held Finn's gaze, not the least bit intimidated. “Oh, I dabble in quite a few areas.”

Finn merely smiled. Perhaps it was better if Reese underestimated him. “A man of many talents, then.”

Reese shot Felicity a brief, but surprisingly personal smile, then turned back to Finn. “So it's been said.”

Finn dug his fingers into the napkin he'd been spreading on his lap, but otherwise did nothing to give away the surprisingly strong impulse he had to suddenly rearrange Reese's aristocratic nose. “Anything specific capturing your interest of late?” He kept his tone harmless. His gaze, if Reese was even a remotely good judge of character, was anything but. “I understand you are tapped in quite well to the international grapevine. Any good tips on currently available…commodities?”

From the corner of his eye, Finn noted the Russian's jaw visibly tighten. He didn't make eye contact, but Finn had little doubt when Andreev speared a stalk of asparagus on his plate, he was imagining cleanly skewering something else entirely. Good. Finn wanted him pissed off, wondering if Reese was playing him, worrying that this deal might slip right out from under him. Because even a soulless man like Andreev had to be a little unnerved at the prospect of returning to Chesnokov with his pockets empty. That was bad for business.

“There are always items of interest available,” Reese said smoothly, as if oblivious to the tension circling the intimate setting. “The global market moves swiftly. You really need to stay on top of things if you want to succeed.” He glanced at Felicity again as he said that last part.