Too Damn Rich (38 page)

Becky's eyes narrowed. "Are you certain about
that?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes," he sighed, pinching
the bridge of his nose, "I'm not certain about anything
anymore."

His passionate tone alerted her. "
Dit
moi
," she said slowly, in the tones of a woman who trusts her
intuition. "How do you really feel about Zandra?"

"How—" An anguished look came into his face.
"
Verdammt noch einmal
! How could any man feel about her?
She's enchanting, dammit! There is something magical about her!" He
added, savagely: "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Why, Heinzie!" Eyes aglow, Becky clasped her
hands against her bosom. "How wonderful! I do believe you are in
love with her!"

He flinched at the word love.

"Now then," she asked. "Have you made your
feelings for Zandra known?"

"To her?"

"Of course to her!" she said impatiently.

He shook his head. "No," he whispered
hoarsely.

"And why not?"

"For one thing," he said with stiff dignity,
"I do not relish rejection. For another, I am neither a lecher nor
a pederast."

"You! A pederast!" Becky laughed. "Don't be
ridiculous. Zandra is not a child. She is a mature woman. Far more
worldly and mature than you give her credit for."

"Perhaps," he admitted grudgingly.

"Heinzie." Becky's voice was quiet. "Don't
you see? You really have no choice. You must marry her!"

"That," he said a little tartly, "is easier
said than done."

"
Au contraire, cheri
. It really is
quite simple."

"Oh?"

"
Oui
. I will play fairy godmother to
you both!"

"I see," he said, rubbing his chin. Then,
with dawning suspicion, he added: "You wouldn't, by any chance,
have already begun planning this without me, now would you?"

"
Mais oui!
" she admitted brightly.
"After all, there is no time to lose! Now, the plan is this ..."
Placing her gloved hand on his arm, she lowered her voice and
guided him slowly around the perimeter of the gallery. "... I shall
invite you for a weekend to my house in the country. Zandra—and her
friends, the Goldsmiths—shall be invited by my neighbors, the
Faireys. That way, your ... ahem! ... chance meeting will appear
less obvious."

"Always the soul of discretion," he commented
dryly.

She gestured. "All I ask is that you trust
me. You will see. Two days around you, and Zandra shall be unable
to resist."

"Oh? Is that a guarantee?"

"I don't see why not.
Oui. Oui
." Becky
nodded to herself. "With your charm, you should be married within
the month."

"All right," he sighed. "Since you seem to
have all the answers, perhaps you can tell me something."

"
Alors?"
She looked at him
questioningly.

His voice was quiet. "What does Zandra get
out of this?"

Becky stopped walking and faced him squarely.
"Why, that's obvious, isn't it? She gets you—one of the world's
most eligible bachelors! She becomes the chateleine of one of the
world's greatest and richest families! Plus, she is elevated from a
mere countess to a princess! Mon Dieu!" She stared at him. "What
more could a young woman want?"

"Someone her own age, perhaps?"

"
Beta
." She reached up and touched his
cheek affectionately. "Can it be that you men really know so
little?"

He did not reply.

She smiled. "Remember, Heinzie. Don't ever
underestimate me. I always accomplish what I set out to do."

"Even this."

"Especially this," she said definitely.

He was silent for a moment. "Then what I
always thought about you really is true. You are the most
determined woman in New York."

Becky flexed her fingers, adjusting the fit
of her glove. "
Alors
," she

said, changing the subject. "It's lunchtime.
Do let's pop over to Mortimer's for a bite to eat."

She hooked an arm through his. "Shall we,
cheri
?"

Kenz," Arnold Li called from out in the hall,
"gentleman here to see you."

Kenzie, on an overseas call, put a hand over
the receiver. "Oh, tell Charley to cool his heels!" she snapped,
not bothering to turn around. "You know how long it took me to get
through to Miskolctapolca, Hungary?"

Then, uncovering the receiver, she segued
right back into the conversation, her voice bright, smooth,
professional. As if the interruption had never occurred.

"I really appreciate you taking the time for
this, Professor Tindemans. I hate bothering you during your cure
... I'm so glad you understand, sir ... Yes, I'll keep an eye
peeled for your fax ... Of course I'll convey your regards to Mr.
Spotts the next time I speak to him! I know he'll be delighted ...
You've been most helpful, Professor ... I hope you enjoy the cure,
and please accept my apologies for the intrusion ... Thank you,
Professor Tindemans!"

She hung up the phone with a flourish. Rolled
back her chair. Flung both fists triumphantly into the air and
crowed: "Yes!"

" 'Yes'?" Zandra inquired in puzzlement.
"Darling, what is it? I mean, one would think your team had won the
World Cup."

"Naw. Only the next best thing." Kenzie
sighed happily, folded her arms behind her head, and smiled at the
precarious skyscrapers of books and catalogues on her desk. "What a
lovely, lovely gentleman. So gallant. And Zandra?"

"Yes?"

"You can stop researching the Holbein."

"Stop? What do you mean, stop?" Zandra
objected, more puzzled than ever. "You know we can't. This has
priority."

"Not anymore. I followed a hunch and hit
paydirt. You see, Mr. Spotts once told me that Professor Tindemans
is to Holbein what E. K. Waterhouse is to Reynolds. Well, not only
was he right, but—would you believe—Professor Tindemans actually
studied our very painting back in 1939?"

"He did? Oh, Kenzie, super!"

"Mmm-hmmm. All I had to do was track him down
from Brussels to

Hungary, where he's at some remote spa which
has—now get this— naturally radioactive grottos."

"Radioactive!" Zandra gave a shudder. "But
how awful. What is it—an underground Chernobyl?"

"Sounds it, but it's supposed to have
curative powers for asthma or something. At any rate, he's calling
his assistant in Belgium, who'll fax us the pertinent pages of his
new treatise. It's scheduled for publication this fall, and is on
German artists in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. And—are
you ready for this?—it includes our Holbein's provenance from A to
Z! So voila! Current ownership and smuggling issues aside, our part
of the work's complete."

"Gosh, Kenzie. Well done. You are the miracle
worker, and all in one morning!"

"Mmm-hmmm. All we have to do now is sit back
and wait for the fax. Then, keeping Bambi out of the loop, we'll
distribute copies of it to Mr. Fairey and our legal department, and
drop the entire case into the laps of those—" Her voice turned
smugly sarcastic "—super pricks of detection, Charles Ferraro and
Hannes Hockert."

"Kenzie!" Zandra hissed in a whispered
attempt to shush her. "Your visitor!"

Kenzie blinked. My visitor? Who—? She had
already forgotten. Then a mental lightbulb clicked on and shone
brightly. She thought, Oh, shit. Charley. Well, so what if he
overheard me? He is a bastard, and if the shoe fits ...

She spun her chair around.

But it wasn't Charley—

Everything inside her came to a dead stop,
then slowly rearranged itself. She drew a sharp breath and
swallowed.

—it was Hannes Hockert.

Kenzie's scrutiny started with the soles of
his brown Bruno Magli boots and traveled ever-so-slowly up his silk
and wool trousers, cut full and loose to accentuate his slim waist
and narrow hips. Ditto the double- breasted jacket of matching
lignite brown with its subtle, almost iridescent weave of taupe,
which he wore open and to great effect.

No constricting nine-to-five uniform this.
No, siree. And definitely not cheap. Kenzie knew an Armani suit
when she saw one.

Kenzie's heartbeat kept increasing as she
stared at him, at the masculine beauty of his face. Dear God. How
could she possibly have forgotten his drop-dead good looks? He
really was so beautiful, this bright blond Viking of a man, that it
was impossible to tear her eyes away from him, just as it was
impossible to retract her stinging barb.

Not that it had made any difference. That
much was clear from the intensity of his gaze.

She stared at him.

He stared at her.

Time itself was suddenly meaningless. Both of
them were in a world of their own.

Zandra, attuned to the sexually charged
chemistry, looked on with growing interest, as did Arnold, who
hovered just outside the door. Grinning, he gave Kenzie a
thumbs-up.

But the signal didn't register; neither she
nor Hannes were aware of their audience. All they had eyes for was
each other.

"Good morning, Kenzie," he greeted softly,
finally breaking the silence.

Kenzie forced herself to speak. "Hans," she
acknowledged, her voice trembly and barely audible.

"It has been a long time, Kenzie."

"Yes," she whispered, still holding his gaze,
"it has."

Three months, she thought. That's how long
it's been since I told him—him!—to take a hike! Christ, I need to
get my head examined! What single girl in her right mind would
chase away a hunk like him?

"Then you don't mind my dropping by like
this?" he asked. "Unannounced? Without an appointment?" The smile
emanating from his lips and eyes was warm and embracing, so utterly
enveloping that it made her go weak all over.

"So ... what brings you to ... to my neck of
the woods?" she murmured, thinking: I must pull myself together.
For Chrissake, I'm an adult—not some young twit with a schoolgirl
crush!

He drew a few steps closer. "There are
several reasons, Kenzie," he said quietly.

She was silent, unable to wrest her eyes from
his.

"Business," he murmured. "And pleasure."

He leaned casually against her desk and
folded his arms.

"You see, Kenzie, I'm a great believer in
combining the two."

Kenzie, conscious of her hands fidgeting in
her lap like some trapped, high-strung animal, forced herself to
still them, and struggled to regain at least a semblance of
professional decorum.

"Why ..." She had to clear her throat. "Why
don't we stick to business?" she suggested in a tightly gartered
voice.

"If you like. Yes." He inclined his head in
acquiescence. "Why not? That sounds reasonable enough. And we are
both reasonable people, are we not, Kenzie? Reasonable and . . .
well, perhaps a bit impulsive?"

She remained silent, not trusting herself to
speak.

And then he smiled again.

To the casual observer it was a public smile,
the crowning touch of Continental politeness and old-world charm,
while to its recipient it sent a different and altogether very
private message.

For Kenzie, it spelled memories, promises,
passion, bed.

And, under the bright wash of the overhead
fluorescents, she became aware of something else. His pale bluish
eyes weren't really a matched set. Rather, each was a slightly
different shade, the right iris a hint bluer, and the left a tad
greener, an irregularity which she found compellingly intriguing
and—banish the thought!—terribly sexy.

"Now then." He rubbed his chin. "To get
business out of the way ..."

She waited.

"What can I tell you besides what you've
already probably guessed? That yes, this is an official call on
behalf of Interpol regarding the Holbein. And yes, it's at the
specific request of the Federal Republic of Germany and the U.S.
Department of State. As to whether I'm empowered to use all
necessary resources to help the courts resolve the issue of
ownership—yes again."

He spread his hands, palms outward, and
grinned.

"And there you have it," he said. "In a
nutshell, of course."

Kenzie's expression had not changed. The
soughing of hot air from the heating duct was the only sound in the
room at the moment, other than the rustling of paper coming from
Zandra's desk.

"That's not to mean that you need any
assistance," Hannes added. He turned up his smile to its most
devastating wattage. "From overhearing you, it seems you have
everything well under control. However, I'd be delighted if you'd
drop this case—"

He leaned over her gently in order to whisper
in her ear.

"—and anything else you'd like—into my
lap."

The come-on was unmistakable, and Kenzie's
face colored with the heat blooming under her skin. With a massive
effort, she tore her eyes from his, made a quarter-turn on the
swivel of her chair, and pretended to busy herself at her desk.

Her emotions were in turmoil.

Why was it that men were suddenly dropping
into her lap? For three long months she had been celibate; had not
even dated anyone. Now all of a sudden, her cup runneth over.

Last night had brought Charley.

Today—Hannes.

And she wanted him, dammit! That was the
worst part.

Only one snag. His temporary
partner—Charley.

She sighed to herself. The last thing she
needed was having the two of them fighting over her. Or—God
forbid!—exchanging bedtime stories and locker-room jokes about her
behind her back.

So . . .

To rebuff or not to rebuff? That was the
question. And the time to decide was now. Before things got out of
hand.

"Here is my work number, Kenzie," Hannes
said. "You can reach me there during the day. If I'm not in, just
leave a message."