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THE ENCHANTRESS

Song of the Sirens 2

Morgan Ashbury

EROTIC ROMANCE

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

IMPRINT: Rapture Erotic Romance

ABOUT THE E-BOOK VERSION:

Your non-refundable purchase of this e-book allows you to one LEGAL

copy for your own personal use. It is

ILLEGAL

to send your copy to someone who did not pay for it.

Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book.

THE ENCHANTRESS

Copyright © 2008 by Morgan Ashbury

E-book ISBN: 1-60601-365-3

First E-book Publication: November 2008

Cover design by Jinger Heaston

All cover art and logo copyright © 2008 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED:

This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

PUBLISHER

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

DEDICATION

With much love and many thanks to Carl Daniel Meredith Mart.

You’re a great web master and a good nephew!

THE ENCHANTRESS

Song of the Sirens 2

MORGAN ASHBURY

Copyright © 2008

Prologue

We have made our case. Now we can only wait for the verdict. We are sisters, we three, not of the blood but of the heart and of the soul.

I reach out my hands and find theirs. Ligeia, known for her clear-

toned voice and beautiful face. Peisinoe, they say she can seduce with just a thought. Me, Thelxiope, they call an enchantress, but I don’t know what that means. The goddess Demeter cursed us, and the gods of Olympus granted us a gift, a double-edged sword. Because of this curse and that gift, the lives of many men became forfeit. We are the

Sirens, and we await our fate.

Our time in life is done. Here we stand, having made our case to the great weavers of Destiny, the Moerae—the Fates. Will we be condemned to an afterlife of suffering or be granted redemption?

A trumpet sounds and they appear, another group of three who are as sisters.

“It has been decided. The Sirens will abide here, to join their voices to ours to sing of mourning and loss, to be heard by mortals on the wind. But once every three hundred years, they will return to earthly life. There, to seek redemption and love from one as such as they have wronged. All three must succeed, or all three will simply

6

Morgan Ashbury cease to be.”

My sisters turn to me, but I have no answers for them. We have been judged together.

Three women. Three destinies. One fate.

The Enchantress

7

Chapter 1

“Why don’t the two of us go someplace more…private?”

The just-this-side-of-sleep sexy voice ricocheted from her ears to her belly, stirring Twyla in a way she’d not been stirred in a very long time. The scent of musk and man circled her, and she inhaled deeply.

The smell of him headed straight to her glands. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him, tall, solid, with the kind of presence that could never be overlooked. She’d spotted the man the moment she’d entered the room.

Considering that partiers took up nearly every square inch of the comfortably spacious SoHo loft, that said a lot. Schooling her features in order to show this presumptuous stranger nothing more than amused half-interest, she slowly turned toward him.

Oh, my God.

Twyla couldn’t prevent the effect facing this ultimate specimen of manhood had on her body. It had been a long time since her female parts had reacted to a man. She secretly savored the sensations. Her nipples tightened into hard nuggets, her belly clenched, and moisture gathered between her legs. Still, she could see no reason to let him know of his power over her.

“Do I look like the sort of woman who would go someplace…more private with a man I didn’t know?”

“Sweetheart, if I told you what sort of woman you looked like, you’d slap me.”

“Afraid of a little pain?”

“No. I just don’t want the aftermath of the slap—you turning your back and walking away from me.”

Twyla wished this guy didn’t intrigue her. His smooth lines and

8

Morgan Ashbury sexy voice, that charmer’s twinkle in compelling blue eyes, all combined to spell trouble. He brought to mind the image of an Irish

Rogue, too much charm and good looks for his own good.

One thing Twyla didn’t need in her life right now was trouble.

Temporarily between jobs, looking to simply relax and decompress for a couple of days, she had no interest in cagey Irish rogues.

Of course, if she really wanted nothing more than to relax, she should have stayed home with a bubble bath and a good book, but

Alba had begged her to come to this party, and Twyla had never been able to deny her anything.

Alba Morel was one of the two people Twyla considered family, both her sisters in all but blood.

Turning her attention back to TD and H, she tilted her head to the right and gave him a mocking smile. “Oh, I don’t need you to offend my sensibilities for me to do that. I can turn and walk away all on my own initiative.”

“I know it, but I’m hoping you won’t. I’m hoping you’re as bored with Todd’s idea of the perfect party-slash-networking crowd as I am.

His girlfriend is nice, but the rest of them are too young and too full of themselves for my tastes. Besides, the music sucks.”

“You don’t like the Black-Eyed Peas?”

“Give me Melissa Ethridge or John Mayer any day.”

Click, click, click.

So far, everything about this man meshed with her. It seemed as if fate had brought them together on this night, two souls with something in common.

Twyla didn’t believe in fate. Things happened, or they didn’t, and along every step of the way, she made her own choices.

She could choose to walk away, or she could accept the most intriguing offer she’d received in years. She really had no choice. She liked living on the edge.

“Define ‘someplace more private’.”

The smile he gave her could have convinced a tight-fisted oil

The Enchantress

9

baron to release his wealth to tree huggers.

“There’s a pub about four blocks from here called Mickey Finn’s.

The name might be a little cheesy, but they have smooth drinks and a more amenable atmosphere.”

“More amenable to what?”

“Why, conversation, of course.”

She didn’t buy his innocent look for one moment. Very early in life she’d learned to recognize a man on the prowl when she saw one.

Those weren’t exactly the vibes she felt from mystery man. Yeah, he was interested in her sexually. Same went, truth be told.

“I’m really not the kind of woman to go someplace with a man I

don’t know.”

“I figured, so let’s take care of that first. Nicholas Coultrain from

Ocala, Florida.”

He held his hand out, one eyebrow raised as if daring her to take it all–his hand, his measure, and his invitation.

Irish. I should have known.

Twyla could never resist a dare. She shook his hand and tried to ignore the zing of contact, tried not to be impressed that his hands were a man’s hands, big and rough and strong. “Twyla Harper, from right here in beautiful New York. What brings you to my city, Ocala?”

“Business, mostly. Don’t know if anyone’s ever told you, Ms.

Harper, but your town sees a lot of that sort of thing.”

“And here I thought it just an ugly rumor created to justify all the huge skyscrapers in downtown Manhattan.”

Something shimmered here. Twyla didn’t know what exactly, but she did have a couple of days free. It couldn’t hurt to have a nice, quiet drink and a nice, quiet conversation and see how this little drama played out.

“I should find Alba and tell her I’m leaving.”

“Which one is Alba?” he asked even as he scanned the crowd.

“The one you thought a nice girl.”

“Ah. That might not be a great idea right now. I just saw her and

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Morgan Ashbury

Todd disappear together…upstairs.”

She scanned the crowded room but could see no sign of Alba or the party’s host. It had taken her foster sister so long to date again after having her heart broken two years before. Twyla really didn’t want to barge in on a private moment—however ill timed that moment might be.

“I guess I can call her tomorrow.”

“She’d likely appreciate that more. I know I would.”

His hand felt warm and solid at the base of her spine. Weaving deftly, they headed toward the door. Late spring, the temperature in the city could have been a preview of summer, the air outside the building refreshing in that it lacked the heavy scent of cloying colognes that had contaminated the loft.

“Shall I get us a cab, or can you walk in those?”

She didn’t have to look to know he referred to her shoes. She’d been walking in heels since she’d turned thirteen. She gave him what she liked to think of as her patented New Yorker stare.

“It’s only four blocks.”

* * * *

Nicholas couldn’t believe how easy that had been. Glad to be out of the crowded, noisy loft, he let his senses take in the city at night.

He’d grown up just across the river in Jersey, but he’d never felt at home here. Never felt at home anywhere, really. Florida suited for now, with its warm temperatures and slower pace. Of course, considering the events of the last three weeks, he’d likely have to relocate.

Hell, he’d probably be so completely bankrupt in the next month that he wouldn’t even have a pot to piss in, let alone a window to throw it out of. Relocating wouldn’t be a problem.

But first, he damn well intended to get some of his own back.

“Is something wrong?”

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11

Nick swallowed his bitterness and took a deep breath. The very last thing he wanted to do was spew his nasty mood onto Twyla.

Doing that would end things before they even got started, and he really wanted them to get started.

“Naw. Some of my business didn’t go the way I’d hoped. I know better than to let it get to me, and it’s no way important enough to disrupt our evening together.”

Nick relaxed when they got to the pub. There weren’t many people inside. A quick check of his watch showed him it was ten-

thirty, early by New York standards. He reached for Twyla’s hand and then led her over to a secluded booth in the back corner. Rather than crowd in next to her, he sat across from her and tried not to think what she’d taste like.

“What will you have, darlin’?” he asked the question easily, enough of a drawl on the last word that, as he hoped, she smiled.

“A Harp, please.”

“The same,” he told the waitress, then focused on the woman across from him. “You like British beer?”

“I do, on occasion. Coming to an Irish pub, it seems a shame not to indulge.”

“I agree.” He sat back while the waitress delivered their bottles of beer.

“So how many generations back would take you across the pond?” she asked.

“Two of my great-grand fathers were born in Ireland and emigrated. My grandfather had quite the brogue. My father, none at all. What about you?” He liked the way she so delicately poured her beer into the glass, though he bet she really preferred to swig right from the bottle.

“I’ve no idea of my roots, really. So I guess you could say I’m from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.”

Something about her smile really got to him. When they’d shaken hands earlier, there’d been a nice little jolt of raw sexuality between

12

Morgan Ashbury them. That, he figured, had everything to do with her and nothing to do with him at all.

He could feel himself sliding, relaxing, and responding to Twyla’s charm, and that would never do. He needed to remember his plan.

Twyla seemed appealing and charming and could oh-so-easily slip under his skin. He understood now how she’d earned the nickname, The Enchantress

. Enchanting people ranked as her greatest skill.

Well, her second greatest. Twyla’s greatest ability lay in an even more interesting venue, more to the point of his being there, of his having crashed a party just so he could meet her.

Twyla Harper might be a beautiful, desirable woman, but she was also something more.

She was a thief.

The Enchantress

13

Chapter 2

Nicholas Coultrain intrigued her far too much.

Twyla came to that conclusion the moment she decided to order a second Harp. One was her limit when socializing, and this would only be the second time in her life that she’d broken that particular personal rule.

Focusing her attention on his restless hands, she asked, “How long since you quit smoking?”

His startled look made her smile. He glanced down at his hands, and when he looked at her again, he shrugged, his expression sheepish. “Six months and fourteen days.”

“Not that you’re counting.”

“And eleven and a half hours.”

She chuckled with him. When he reached for her hand, she let him hold it.

“My sister read me the riot act at Christmas, made me step outside for each and every one of my fixes, and called me a bad influence on her kids.” He shrugged again and then continued, “That made me think. No way I wanted to be a bad influence on any kid, so—”

“I tried it in high school. What kid doesn’t? Plus the family I

fostered with at the time, the parents smoked. But I didn’t care for it, so I never developed a habit to kick.”

“Just as well. It’s not easy.”

“I would have pegged you as a man who could do whatever he’d made up his mind to do.”

“In most things, you’d be right.”

“So,” Twyla leaned on the table, her left hand supporting her chin

14

Morgan Ashbury while Nick slowly caressed the back of her right one, “we’ve discussed books and food and music, but nothing personal. You have a sister. That’s something personal. Let’s try for another. What do you do for a living?”

“Investments, mostly. Domestic markets. You?”

Twyla blinked.

That had been a rather abrupt answer, then she recalled that moment when they’d begun their walk to the pub.

Nicholas had seemed really upset. Perhaps his investments had taken a really bad turn. In which case, she realized, he’d likely not want to talk about it. She turned her attention back to the one-word question he’d asked her.

She’d rarely had to answer that question. For the most part, except for her sisters, Alba and PJ, who knew all her secrets, she kept to herself.

Life was a lot less complicated that way.

But she’d needed an answer for the odd time when she would be asked, and so she’d formulated one that actually lay not far from the truth. Interpretation was everything.

“I’m in acquisitions,” she replied.

“Oh. You mean you work for a museum?”

He looked truly puzzled and interested. For some reason, his reaction helped her to relax. She didn’t talk about her work. Not ever.

It surprised her she wanted to now, but she resisted, keeping her answer vague. “No, although I have had museums as my clients. I

freelance.”

“Specializing in…”

“Anything. Everything. Whatever the client wants or needs.”

“Well, that sounds interesting.”

“It sounds more glamorous than it is. Mostly, it’s just a lot of detail work.”

Over the sound system that had been turned down enough to allow for conversation, the familiar heavy beat of a favorite song began to play. Closing her eyes, Twyla tilted her head back and let her body

The Enchantress

15

sway to the rhythm of the music. She opened them again when she felt a tug on her hand.

“Dance with me.”

She didn’t respond well to commands. Usually. But this night, she found herself rising from the booth, following Nick as he led her to the small dance floor.

Alannah Myles’ steamy

Black Velvet had never sounded like pure sex before, but as Nick pulled her close and tailored his moves to the beat of the rhythm and blues tune, that was the exact image that came to mind. The image of sex—hot and hard and bring-you-to-your-

knees glorious sex—flooded her senses, becoming an appetite begging to be sated.

Twyla opened her eyes only to encounter Nick’s burning blue gaze.

She wasn’t a virgin, but it had been nearly a year since she’d been with a man she cared enough about to let into her body. That she even considered such a thing with a man she’d just met should have had alarm bells sounding loud and long in her head.

Those bells were ringing, but the tune they played wasn’t ‘step back’. It sounded a lot more like ‘why the hell not’. She could feel the ridge of his penis, aroused, pressing against her belly. Foolishly, recklessly, she followed a primal urge and undulated her hips against him.

She’d issued him an invitation. His lips, hot and hungry on hers, formed an eloquent response.

Beer and man, his flavor seeped into her, instantly addictive. The rough possession of his tongue and the force with which his hands lifted her into his erection shouted need, greed, and maybe a little desperation. How could she resist him? She craved him, her tongue eager to slide and slither against his. Her arms wrapped around his neck, clinging tightly, and she wondered if she would have an orgasm right then and there.

She pulled back, her eyes meeting his. His words, when they

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Morgan Ashbury came, echoed her own mixed emotions.

“I think it’s time for me to see you home.”

* * * *

He would have been all right if he hadn’t reached for her in the back seat of the darkened taxi. The one kiss they shared on the dance floor nearly had him coming in his pants. The woman was dangerous and he’d somehow known that, going in.

He began to not care.

Nick had no excuse for the hot and furious way he wanted her. It hadn’t been that long since he’d had sex. Up until three weeks ago, when his entire life started to go for a shit, he’d been fairly tight with

Brenda, the executive assistant of his best client, Roland Mercury.

They’d enjoyed a pretty lusty relationship.

Until Mercury’s home safe had been liberated of a few million dollars worth of gems in the form of a century-and-a-half-old necklace. He couldn’t blame Brenda for calling it quits. She had to protect her job in light of her boss’ newfound suspicion and enmity toward him.

The home’s security system—installed by Coultrain Inc.—had been breached easily, or as Mercury had hinted, from the inside.

Nicholas had been furious at the veiled accusation. Worse, Mercury made noises about suing him. Unfortunately, from what he’d been able to glean, the breach of the system did look as if someone with inside knowledge had done the job. Nick was an upstart from out of state; Mercury, a pillar of the community. It wasn’t hard to figure out who the jury would believe.

Nick stood to lose everything.

Which was why he’d traveled to New York, done some quick investigating, conducted an illegal wiretap, and ultimately crashed a party.

The cops in Ocala weren’t talking to him, but Brenda, bless her,

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17

had confided everything she’d overheard, which had been plenty. The heist bore all the earmarks of a pro the authorities on two continents couldn’t catch, a woman known only as The Enchantress. Rumors, unfortunately, couldn’t bring forth the fruit of warrants, so Twyla

Harper walked around free, and Nicholas Coultrain stood to be ruined professionally.

He turned to look at her and became lost in her eyes. Even knowing he’d regret it later, Nick reached for her. He didn’t court her kiss, he commanded it. Deliberately rough, he took what he wanted and didn’t in that moment give a good damn if she wanted to give it to him or not.

But she did give it to him, opening her mouth so magnificently, angling her head so that he could pillage to his heart’s content. Sweet, so damn sweet, with a flavor that set his blood on fire. He needed more, needed to bury his cock deep, deep inside of her.

“Legacy Apartments.”

The rough Brooklyn accent of the cabbie pulled them both out of their sensual stupor.

“Oh. I’m home.”

That couldn’t be an act, Nick reasoned, that bewildered and aroused expression in Twyla’s eyes. Feeling reckless but more alive than he had in the last three weeks, he threw some money at the cabbie, told him to drive on, and followed her out of the vehicle.

She turned to him, confusion plain on her face as the cab drove off without him. Not giving her a moment to think, he pulled her close, capturing her lips with his own, wrapping his arms around her so he could feel the heat of her tight against his erection. The words he spoke tumbled from him without his permission, but no way in hell would he take them back.

“Take me upstairs with you, Twyla. I want you. Let me make love to you.”

* * * *

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Morgan Ashbury

She should have said no.

In her head, she knew that, but she’d never reacted to a man the way she did to Nick. Never before had she felt that instant rapport, that sense of having known him forever. Or that heat.

It wasn’t in Twyla’s nature for her hormones to run amok. Her skill at deflecting flirty or outright lecherous men had been well honed. Traveling as she did from job to job, mingling with the rich and the bored, she’d had plenty of experience handling all comers, from the seriously trolling unhappy husband to the egocentrically horny trust fund baby. Saying no had never been a problem for her.

Until now.

Nick’s flavor coated her lips and the engorged ridge of his erection pressed against her belly. His hands squeezed her ass, and though they both remained fully dressed, she could have sworn they stood flesh against flesh.

“Take me home with you, baby.”

His words wafted against her neck, lapped away by his tongue.

Her knees weakened, and she couldn’t concentrate. His kisses obliterated her intellect, his masculinity eroding her logic.

“Yes.” Beyond all reason, she wanted him.

Her hands shook as she used her key to open the door to her apartment building. The trek across the lobby seemed miles long, and the elevator ride interminable. Only Nick’s hand rubbing up and down her back, tremors lending urgency to the action, kept her grounded.

She wasn’t in this maelstrom alone. A man couldn’t—

wouldn’t

—fake that kind of tension. From the corner of her eye, she could see the rigid outline of his erection bulging against the material of his pants.

The word ‘impressive’ came to mind. Her blood burned, her heart hammered, and she hungered.

She nearly dropped her keys when she tried to unlock her own door.

“Here.”

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19

Nick took her keys, unlocked the door, and then scooped her in and into his kiss. Trapping him against the door, she gave herself over completely to tasting him, to rubbing herself against him simply because the friction—what little of it she could feel through her clothes—was just too damn good to resist. She heard the sounds, a strangled, desperate whimper, and didn’t care that she gave herself away.

What happened to not letting him know how he affects you

? She told her inner voice to shut up. A wave of heat cascaded over her, and every lucid thought flew out of her head.

“Damn.”

She felt the vehemence of his curse and knew he was with her completely, then his hands fisted on her skirt, raising it. She wore only a thong underneath, and that he moved out of his way easily.

No gentleness in the way he suddenly reversed their positions, slamming her against the door. She didn’t care. She didn’t want gentleness.

All she wanted, needed, was the fulfillment of the promise she felt in his pants.

He kept the back of his hand against her heat. She could feel the action of his belt being undone, and she knew when his hand paused just before pulling down his fly.

“Do you have any condoms?”

The question pulled her out of her sensual haze, brought her just enough back from where she’d been that she felt jarred. It took her a moment to think about his question, then she remembered she’d bought a fresh box just before she and Rod had split.

“How long are they good for?”

“In my experience, one fuck per condom.”

Twyla laughed, his words tweaking her bizarre sense of humor.

“No, I meant I have some, but they’re old.”

“How old?”

“About ten months.”

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Morgan Ashbury

“They’ll be fine.”

When he pulled her into his arms, she went willingly. His hard cock pressed against her, and it felt damn good. She should be having second thoughts, but she knew if she did they would only be about moving this party to the bedroom.

“I should leave, but I’m not going to.”

“I should tell you to leave, but I’m not going to, either. I should be thinking about all the reasons this is stupid—”

“No thinking for the rest of the night.”

Twyla had never had a one-night stand. She never before understood how anyone could, but now she knew. She’d protect herself, and she could protect herself in more ways than just the sexual.

“Okay. No more thinking.”

She might be sorry come the morning, but if so, she’d deal.

Tonight she needed everything that came with the most intimate of acts between a man and a woman. Not just the orgasm or the sensation of being filled. She needed to feel connected. For one night, she needed not to feel so alone.

Reaching up, she kissed him, her tongue slow but thorough in its sampling of him, then she took his hand and led him to her bedroom.

* * * *

She’d turned on the bedside lamp and then pulled out a box of condoms, passing it to him. She hadn’t lied about that, judging from the date on the unopened box.

He knew that when she found out the truth, she’d be mad as hell.

At just that moment, he really didn’t care.

He’d meant what he’d said to her. For one night he wanted to not think. He wanted to lose himself in mindless, mind-blowing sex.

He looked up from the box in his hands in time to see her drop her blouse. The bra she wore beneath looked lacey and sheer, the hard

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21

buds of her nipples playing hide and seek.

“Let me.”

Setting the box on the bedside table, he stilled her hands with his own. Once she’d lowered them to her sides, he took over the task of undressing her. Her light summer skirt sported a zipper and a button in the back. It took only the flick of his fingers to open it. As soon as he released the material, the skirt dropped to the floor. Only that tiny scrap of lace covered her sex.

She was glorious. His hands rested on her waist for just a moment, and then he began to explore. Her skin felt smooth and hot to the touch. He let his eyes drink their fill of her. Her breasts weren’t overly large, but they impudently pushed against the fabric restraining them, her nipples long, pretty and pink. Unable to resist the temptation, he lowered his head, opening his mouth over a lace-covered nub, nipping lightly with his teeth. Twyla’s moan and the arching of her back told him all he needed to know. He reached around, unfastened the bra, and peeled it off her. Cupping her left breast, he rubbed his thumb over the nipple, marveling at how soft her skin felt. She had tasted sweet, and he needed more. Bending back to her, he swirled his tongue over it, then drew the button into his mouth, sucking strongly as if he could drink deeply of her. His right hand traveled down her body, under the band of her panties. He plunged his fingers into her pussy.

Wet.

So wet and hot, Nick’s cock hardened painfully, and he became lost. Frenzied need fired his blood as he scooped Twyla off the floor and followed her down to the bed. He knew she joined him in this sudden storm, and that knowledge pushed him higher. He didn’t bother to remove his pants and barely remembered the protection, rolling it on just in time. Shivers shot down his spine as he buried himself deep inside her. One long, glorious moment he held still, trying to gather the overpowering sensations so he could bask in them. Maybe if he let himself drown in the pulsing physical arousal, he’d come out on the other side renewed.

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Morgan Ashbury

Twyla altered his plans when she wrapped her arms and legs around him. He helped her lift her hips into his thrust. Groaning, he buried his head in the hollow of her neck. He inhaled her fragrance, luscious beyond perfume, and he knew her scent would forever arouse him. Opening his mouth, he lapped and suckled her flesh and felt her flavor flood his soul. The knowledge that this was more than just sex, more than he bargained for, swirled inside him. He focused on the physical, desperate to keep the emotional at bay.

“Oh, God, baby, your pussy feels so damn good around my cock.”

“More. Please, Nick. Harder.”

Her words enflamed him, burning back everything but the compulsion to thrust, to take, to consume. Surrounding his cock, her tunnel convulsed in orgasm. Cursing, he tried to hold off his own release.

“

Yes! Again

! It feels so good.”

He agreed. Unable to stop, Nick slammed into her, the rhythm sharp and deep. Even as he came, he kept moving, the rapture almost more than he could bear. Sprawled on top of her, breathless, he tried to deny the sure and certain knowledge that he’d just crossed a line.

He’d wanted her, and he’d taken her. He wouldn’t regret that.

But he had the overwhelming sensation that he’d just changed everything.

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23

Chapter 3

He opened his eyes and knew exactly in whose bed he lay.

For a long moment he stayed still, listening to the delicate sounds of Twyla’s breathing. Soft light filtered into the room, bringing definition to what he’d ignored in the night. Stretched out on his left side, his right arm casually draped over the blankets that covered the sleeping woman. Beneath the covers, the heat from her body surrounded him, lulling him into complacency.

But it was morning, and he couldn’t stay where darkness had concealed him any longer. Gently, he withdrew his arm from around

Twyla and waited. When she continued to sleep on, he eased himself from the bed.

A quick glance at the clock confirmed his guess. He never slept beyond seven, and it wasn’t that yet. Scooping his clothes off the floor, he headed for the bathroom. He wouldn’t shower here. He refused to name the emotion assailing him, guilt

. Instead, he decided that in the light of day, reason had returned. He just wanted to be dressed and be gone, but as he zipped up his pants, his brain overcame his glands and kicked into action. If he headed straight for the door, he’d be wasting a golden opportunity.

He planned last night hoping to make contact with Twyla, hoping to catch her attention. He never dreamed he’d be given the opportunity to search her apartment this soon, but he could do so now quickly, quietly, and be gone before she even awoke.

He remembered coming through the door with her last night, and the near total meltdown of the passion that so completely consumed them both. Telling his awakening dick to go back to sleep, Nick

24

Morgan Ashbury headed for the front door. Twyla’s purse lay on the floor where she’d dropped it.

Looking inside, he noted it was neatly organized. Memorizing placement, he pulled out her wallet. A fast flip through it revealed nothing new. She had a New York State driver’s license in the name of Twyla Anne Harper, registered at this address. She had just turned thirty. He pulled out her debit card, issued by First National. He’d do a computer search of her finances later and would start with them. It occurred to him if he could trace the money trail, he might be able to dig up some evidence that could nail her, and then he’d clear his name and save his company.

A small, red address book caught his attention. Opening it, fanning the pages, he noted the few entries on the pages. Only time would tell if anything here could be useful. Unrepentant, he slipped it into his pocket. He saw nothing else of interest in her purse. Tossing it onto the sofa, he looked around the apartment. The living room held little. Sofa, chair, coffee table, desk with no drawers, chair, and a sound system set up in the corner. No pictures, which would be interesting if he didn’t already know she grew up in the system. He made his way to the kitchen. Careful and quiet, he opened each drawer. He found no stash of papers, no incriminating notes hidden within any of them.

Moving back to the living room, he considered briefly whether he could be stealthy enough to search the bedroom while Twyla slept on.

It could be that anything of interest, or value, would be kept there.

He took one step to head in that direction when he caught sight of something leaning against the wall by the desk. As he went over and picked the object up, he felt as if he’d just hit the jackpot.

Setting it on the desk, he opened the laptop, a rush of excitement coursing through him.

The truth beckoned, a siren call. Unable to resist, he turned the computer on.

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25

* * * *

Twyla stretched, eyes closed. A twinge of soreness from between her thighs shot through her, and she winced and then smiled. The discomfort reminded her how she’d spent a great deal of the night. It had been a long time since she’d had an overnight guest, and never one as insatiable as Nick. They’d turned to each other again and again in the night. She had only to reach out, touch him, and he was ready for her. They had, she was certain, put a large dent in that box of condoms.

She wasn’t a hypocrite, so she wouldn’t regret having sex with him even though she acknowledged doing so hadn’t been very wise.

Splaying her hand to the other side of the bed, she wasn’t surprised to find it empty and the sheets cold. Listening, she could hear no sounds of showering. Sniffing, no scent of morning coffee filled the air.

Probably just as well that he’d left. It saved them both a boatload of morning-after uneasiness.

The two other men she’d been with in her life had had the good manners to stick around come the dawn. But hey, different strokes and all that shit. Opening her eyes, Twyla caught sight of her bedside clock. Just after seven, and here she lay in bed getting pissed off because a man she never should have had sex with in the first place had taken off without so much as a ‘thanks for the tumble’ or good-

bye kiss.

Twyla shook her head. She needed to get up and get moving.

Maybe an hour spent working out at the gym would clear the stupid out of her head. Stretching, she decided to do just that, then perhaps she could consign her uncharacteristic behavior last night to the affects of bad guacamole or something. Besides, she had things to do, plans to make.

A soft mechanical beep froze her in place. Listening hard, she heard a light tapping sound.

It took only a moment for her to understand what she heard. She

26

Morgan Ashbury slithered from the bed, landing softly in a crouch beside it. Slowly, quietly, she opened her night table drawer, reaching inside, all the while keeping her eyes fixed on the bedroom doorway. Relief flooded her when her hand found what it sought. Curling her fingers around the cold metal, she stood, and oblivious to her own nudity, she crept to the door.

The sound came louder now. Pinpointing the location, she moved stealthily toward it.

* * * *

Against all odds, he got in.

It amazed him how most people used such simple passwords to protect their privacy. Twyla proved no exception. He’d been able to log on to her computer using her birth date, which he’d memorized from her driver’s license.

Rather than going the obvious route of searching the “my documents” section, he went straight to the drive directory. There, on screen, appeared a massive list of files. If   had secret dealings, he’d he certainly hide them there. Chances were, this would be where he’d find what he needed.

The tiny ping that announced a new e-mail made him jump. He thought he’d turned the volume all the way down on the laptop.

Correcting the oversight now, he went still, held his breath, and listened. No sound came from down the hall. Likely, Twyla was still asleep. He gazed down at his watch. Quarter after seven. He’d give himself just ten minutes more. Any longer, and he’d really be pushing his luck.

The pressure of cold metal at the base of his neck made his heart skip a beat. The sound of a safety being thumbed to the ‘off’ position froze his blood.

“Bored, darling?”

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27

Chapter 4

“You shouldn’t point a gun at a person unless you’re willing to use it.”

Twyla tried not to flinch at the ice that laced Nick’s words. He had a hell of a nerve being pissed when it was her privacy being violated. His arrogance made it simple to put away any softness she might have felt for him.

“Oh, I’m willing. Whether or not I do depends on you. Lay your hands flat on the table, and don’t so much as twitch.”

“You’re the boss.”

Whatever temporary insanity had gripped her the night before had evaporated, blasted away by the sight of Nicholas Coultrain helping himself to her computer files. Keeping the gun steady against the base of his head, she reached around and turned off her computer.

“You’re damn right I am. Now, we’re going to play a little game.

I’ll ask a question, you answer it. If I don’t like your answers—”

“What, you’ll shoot?”

“No, I’ll call the police.”

“Oh, please do. I have a wonderful story to tell them. About an enchanting woman, and safe cracking.”

Twyla stepped back a couple of feet but kept her gun trained on

Nick for another moment, then she pointed it to the ceiling and re-set the safety.

“That’s a story I wouldn’t mind hearing myself. Who are you?”

He didn’t, thankfully, charge her. He merely turned around and faced her. She told herself the look of contempt on his face didn’t matter.

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Morgan Ashbury

“It’s more a question of who I

was

, sweetheart. I

had a company, specializing in high tech, one-of-a-kind security systems. About three weeks ago, one of my best clients, Roland Mercury, had his security system breached and his safe emptied. The job was smooth, and the cops—though, of course, they’re not speaking to me

—have deduced that Mr. Mercury is but the latest victim of a thief dubbed

The

Enchantress

, so named, I’ve learned, because she charms her way in and out of people’s lives—and vaults.”

“That is an interesting fairy tale. Do the police actually name thieves these days?”

“Wait, you didn’t let me get to the best part. The very best part is my client and the cops are looking at me as being an accomplice of this dangerous female. What do you think of that?”

Twyla tilted her head to one side. “And you think I’m this

‘enchantress’?”

“That’s the gossip, baby. I haven’t found any evidence…yet. But I

will.”

She knew he gave her a lurid once-over with his eyes in an attempt to intimidate her. Good thinking on his part, as she was stark naked. It should have worked even though they’d been so hot all over each other in the night, but for some reason, Twyla felt perfectly at ease in her skin in front of him.

“Damn it, Nick. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“They accuse you of being in league with a thief. You think I am that thief, so you leave town and end up in my bed. Anyone paying close attention to your comings and goings is now going to be convinced of your guilt.”

She saw her barb hit home. He’d likely been so pissed about the situation he’d found himself in, he hadn’t thought things through.

“So you admit to being The Enchantress?”

“Not at all. I’m just playing along with your scenario. I have some advice for you, no charge. Find yourself a better class of client.”

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29

“I’ll have you know Roland Mercury is a well known, well respected man. He’s renowned for his generosity to the community and for his keen business acumen.”

“But not his honesty, and that should have been your clue.”

Twyla turned her back on Nick and returned to her bedroom.

Setting her berretta back in the bedside table, she shook her head and then snagged a silk robe out of her closet. When she made her way back toward the kitchen, it surprised her to find Nicholas still standing where she’d left him.

“You missed your cue to leave, hotshot.”

“You’re going to throw me out without breakfast?”

She shouldn’t have laughed, but his question was so ridiculous, she couldn’t help it.

Nick must have thought her laughter meant forgiveness. He smiled at her.

“Look. I can’t prove you’re a thief. Even though my sense of moral outrage should be screaming right now, I’ll make you a deal.

Just return the Stones, and I’ll forget what I know about you.”

Stones

? Twyla looked at him, hard.

“I really have no idea what the hell you’re talking about, Nick.”

She turned, intending to make coffee and salvage what she could of her pride. A hand on her arm pulled her to a stop. Nick spun her around, hard and fast. His face held no humor.

“Let me refresh your memory then. Though it’s widely known, The Courtesan’s Stones

, once seen, are quite unforgettable. The necklace has three golden strands embedded with jewels. The first inner strand of sapphires, the second of emeralds, and the third of diamonds. Legend has it the piece had been commissioned by

Alexander the Great as a gift to a courtesan who warned him of a plot against his life. I’ve seen the necklace and its provenance. It’s very pretty, pretty impressive, and impressively priceless.”

He’d had his hands on her shoulders and given her a couple of shakes while he’d been describing the necklace. Twyla had had

30

Morgan Ashbury enough. In a move so practiced, fluid, and, she judged by the look on

Nick’s face, unexpected, she broke his hold with her forearms, spinning away from him. In her outrage, she let her temper get the best of her.

“I did not steal any jewels, of any kind, from your client. I did not steal from him, period. I merely relieved him of the small statue of

Thelxiope, fabled to be one of the three Sirens of Greek Mythology, which your esteemed client commissioned to be stolen last year from the Museum of The Gods in Athens. And if that was your security set-

up protecting his house, then you need to find a new line of work, pal.

It was the easiest, one-layered system I’ve ever manipulated. Now, get out of my apartment!”

Turning her back once more, she worked hard to control the urge to throttle him. Through the shimmering anger that suffused her, she heard the sounds of his movements. Closing her eyes, she followed the slap of his shoes as he headed for the door. She didn’t have to imagine his mood. He slammed the door with such force, she felt a tremor beneath her feet.

She made coffee, going through the motions by rote while her numbed emotions began to break the surface.

She’d known she should never have invited a man she didn’t know to her bed.

Why did I do something so stupid

? She poured a mug of coffee. Making her way to the door of her apartment, she fastened the security chain and then wandered over to the window in her living room.

Her view of New York wasn’t much, a couple of streets, other apartments, people walking and cars driving all united in the constant need to   and go do

. An ordinary view, it lacked any sign of landmarks that would identify it geographically. Just another crowded city on a very crowded planet.

Everything about last night had been a lie.

Closing her eyes to the unexpected and overwhelming pain that realization brought, Twyla focused on keeping her breathing even, on

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31

riding out the strong emotions that surged within her. How many times in her fractured childhood had it been necessary to keep her feelings under rein and off her face? The latter didn’t matter at the moment. No one could see the silent tears tracking down her cheeks, but she did need to control the emotions. If she waited long enough, the pain would ebb to a dull ache, then she could think again.

She’d never fully understood how truly lonely she’d been until this moment. Her relationships in the past had been slow building and short, but at their core, they’d been casual. She never let anyone get too close, had never wanted to.

In one night, Nicholas Coultrain had gotten closer to her than anyone, ever. So close, that in one moment of pain and anger and hurt pride, she’d said words she could never take back.

As that cold realization settled over her, she sat where Nick had sat, by her laptop, and tried to think of the next logical move.

* * * *

He was mad as hell and stayed mad all the way home.

He’d refused to think as he’d returned to his hotel, thrown his things into the suitcase, and checked out. The five hours he spent at the airport waiting for the next available flight he spent refusing to let his mind reason.

The anger he felt, directed in equal parts at Twyla for ruining his business, and himself for falling for her, gave him something glorious to hang onto. For the last three weeks, he’d felt as if his life had been torn from his control and shredded before his eyes. The anger gave him a sense of being in control again.

But anger took so much mental and physical energy to maintain.

By the time Nicholas had wheeled his car into his driveway and lugged his suitcase into his house, he felt exhausted. Despite the fact it was early evening, he lay down face first onto his bed, fully clothed, and fell asleep.

32

Morgan Ashbury

And awoke, somewhere around two in the morning, thinking.

He didn’t want to think.

Stripping off his clothes, he stood in the bathroom and looked in the mirror. He’d slept for nearly eight hours, but he looked—and felt—like hell. As he showered, he tried to stop his mind from processing all the information he’d received over the last several weeks, but he couldn’t stop his brain from working. A damn shame, that, because blaming Twyla Harper for everything was easy. He had a sneaking suspicion that the truth wouldn’t be.

He toweled off quickly and pulled on a clean pair of boxers, nothing more. Entering his office, the hub not only of his business but his life, he noted the red light on his phone flashing, indicating messages waiting. They could wait a bit longer. Powering up his computer, he pulled a pad of paper and pen closer and began making notes.

He easily checked out the tidbit Twyla had tossed his way. Just over a year ago, the Museum of The Gods in Athens reported that one of its most coveted treasures—a statue of one of the Three Sirens of

Greek Mythology—had been missing. This particular piece depicted the Siren, Thelxiope, as she appeared in human form, before the transformation of the gods. Alex continued to search newspaper archives, focusing on the English language Hellenic Times. The authorities, it appeared, had been less than diligent in their pursuit of the thief, choosing to believe a member of the museum staff had misplaced the statue. The museum housed, after all, more beautiful and valuable pieces a thief would have stolen either as well as, or instead of, the small marble statue.

Nicholas had a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach.

Returning to the museum site, he read what little information they had with regard to the piece. Legend held the statue to be an exact likeness of the Siren, and although time had worn the once crisp edges slightly, he couldn’t help but notice the woman depicted with her head raised, her hand outstretched, brought to mind a certain blonde

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33

thief.

Shaking his head to dismiss the foolish notion, he read on and learned the statue was purported to be cursed—or blessed—by

Demeter, the goddess of fertility.

All right, so Roland has an affinity for artwork tied to mythology.

That didn’t mean he’d been in possession of the stolen statue. Yet

Nick couldn’t help but note the coincidence of the timing. Roland had first contacted him just a few weeks after the statue had been reported missing.

His Internet search also turned up various articles on The Sirens of

Greek Mythology, and he skimmed through these, stopping only when he came to a chart that listed each Siren by name, giving the

English version of each name, as well as a definition or common attribute of each.

Thelxiope, the chart claimed, had been known for her charm.

A cold shiver raced up his spine. The flash of an image, a rocky shore, a teeming storm, and a woman—long, lean, beautiful—

beckoning him forward, her song mesmerizing, her manner enchanting. And her eyes, begging him to go back.

The vision vanished almost before it fully registered, and Nick wondered where the hell his usual sangfroid had gone.

The red flashing light of his answering machine drew his attention. Inhaling deeply, that sense of something not quite right getting stronger, he pulled the thing closer to listen to his messages.

* * * *

Twyla gave up trying to read. Her apartment sparkled cleaner than it had in months. She’d stripped the bed and washed everything, even the pillows, in an effort to eradicate the scent of Nicholas Coultrain from her home.

Nothing seemed to eradicate him from her thoughts.

“It’s not my fault he fell in with a bad client.”

34

Morgan Ashbury

Shaking her head, she knew futility lay in trying to convince anyone—especially herself—that she was blameless. She could be considered many things in this life, but that wasn’t one of them.

By the time she woke up from an afternoon nap she hadn’t known she needed, it was time to eat dinner and time to face the truth.

Going after a stolen piece of antiquity and returning it to the owner constituted a good deed. The unintentional fall out—an innocent man’s business and reputation left in tatters—did not.

Twyla threw a Lean Cuisine into the microwave and then took it to her small work area, the same area Nick had invaded that very morning. She had work to do and she’d put it off long enough.

She began searching the Internet, looking for any information she could glean on Nicholas Coultrain as well as on a necklace known as

The Courtesan’s Stones

.

On the former, there wasn’t all that much. She did a search of an online telephone directory and went from there. The man had no criminal record—but then, neither did she. He’d served in the

Marines, then worked for a security firm in Los Angeles for five years before heading east and starting his own company. He’d only been in business for a year and had a few very select and seemingly very respectable clients. A little more digging where she really shouldn’t go, and she found that he’d paid his taxes on time last year, had earned just enough to let his business continue on for at least another year, and had never been married. A picture of him appeared in one of the Miami papers. She enhanced the picture just slightly. She could see Nick, his eyes all on the red-haired bimbo beside him. Crap, the man looked absolutely besotted. Something about the woman tickled

Twyla’s memory banks. Knowing herself well, she knew whatever it was would surface in her thoughts eventually.

On the necklace, she found slightly more information. Twyla traced the history of the piece, losing herself as she sometimes did as the story unfolded. A picture taken more than twenty years before didn’t, she bet, do the necklace justice. She could see what Nick

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35

meant about it being unforgettable. The last recorded appearance of the necklace occurred ten years ago when it was purchased at an auction through Sotheby’s for a bargain basement price of four-and-a-

half million dollars. The name of the purchaser, one Patrick Donnelly.

That name rang a bell, and Twyla felt almost certain she knew why, but she got up and grabbed her purse anyway so she could check.

Taking the tiny disguised jump drive from her key ring, she inserted it and pulled up her research notes on Roland Mercury.

Patrick Donnelly was Mercury’s father-in-law, the necklace given as a gift to his daughter. As she scanned the data anew, she looked at old information in a new light. When she finished, she sat back and thought through it. She’d told Nicholas he should find a better class of clientele, and that was true as far as it went. But she had the sneaking suspicion that this particular client had not only gone after Nick, he’d been Machiavellian, and far-reaching, in his schemes.

Sitting quietly as darkness fell, Twyla continued to move all the puzzle pieces around and about in her head until finally, everything clicked into place.

With the epiphany, she knew how Nicholas had felt. There came a sense of violation at having been manipulated, and Twyla thought it might not be dissimilar to rape.

So she had the answers she’d gone after. Now all she needed to do was to decide exactly what to do with them.

Reaching for the phone, she dialed a familiar long-distance number. Her call was answered on the third ring, and a familiar sound greeted her.

“Hi there, little sister.”

Hearing her sister’s voice always put a smile on her face. “Hi, P.J.

Don’t you have staff to answer the phone down there?”

“You sound like my husband. ‘We have staff for that.’ I keep telling him not everyone was raised with a silver spoon in their mouths.”

36

Morgan Ashbury

Twyla laughed, her mood feeling lighter. She heard a click that indicated an extension had been picked up and her brother-in-law chuckled.

“It is one of our ongoing marital adjustments. Hello, little sister-

in-law.”

“Hey, big brother.”

“Uh oh. Is something wrong?”

Somehow, the word wrong didn’t quite make the grade. “That depends. Has he arrived yet?”

“Tomorrow. Are we aborting?”

“No.” Especially now, when it seemed to Twyla that the stakes had just been raised. “No, we will continue with our plan. However, there has been a rather interesting new development, and its name is

Nicholas Coultrain.”

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37

Chapter 5

He’d been set up.

As that unhappy realization hit home, Nick felt an overwhelming urge to punch something. Or someone. And the person that came to mind was Roland Mercury.

He hadn’t realized the extent to which he’d been played until just now. Standing by his car in the parking lot of Brenda’s apartment building—or more correctly, her former apartment building—it finally sank in that from start to finish, he’d been had.

It’s a fucking wonder I haven’t been arrested

. That thought made his flesh crawl. He didn’t have a single client left. Mercury had made the rounds, spreading lies, showing—according to one former client—a few choice photographs of him with the purported thief, which meant Twyla had been right about that.

Hell, she’d been right about everything. Thank God he hadn’t told her about Brenda. It would be beyond mortifying for her to know he’d been led around by the cock as completely as a pup on a leash.

Having to go back to her and admit his mistakes would be hard enough.

He really had no choice but to go back.

Because another truth had sunk in—he hadn’t been the only one

Mercury had screwed. It could very well be the bastard had sicced the cops on her.

“

Fuck

.” Quelling his anger, he got into his car. As he negotiated the familiar route back to his home, he wondered how much crow he had to eat before Twyla forgave him for being a complete asshole. Of course, his ego began to reason, she was a thief. She’d admitted as

38

Morgan Ashbury much to him, confessing, sort of, to having relieved Mercury of a stolen statue.

A statue that had been returned to its rightful owner.

Before he could fully ponder the ramifications of the news article he’d read that very day, he turned onto his street. There, parked in front of his house, sat a car he didn’t recognize. Even as he slowed, the driver stepped out from behind the wheel.

Crow was going to be on the menu sooner than expected. He caught a glimpse of Twyla’s face as he pulled his car into the driveway. The sight of her tripped his heart and fired his libido.

For one totally irrational moment, he thought she might be there to pick up where they’d left off, sexually, then reality returned.

Funny how the male mind can forget reality when the male organ wakes up.

Maybe some time soon he’d be able to share that insight with her, but that day likely would not be today.

Twyla didn’t look very happy to be there at all.

* * * *

She couldn’t read the expression on his face. Walking around her car until she stood by the passenger side, she kept her eyes on Nick as he got out of the vehicle and looked at her. Good thing she’d left her sunglasses on. They made her feel as if she wasn’t out on a limb.

When he continued to just look at her, she leaned her ass against her car, affecting as casual a pose as she could. He approached, but she had no idea what he thought or felt.

He’d left his sunglasses on, too.

When he stood beside her, copying her pose, she shifted her attention to his house. A nice-sized ranch style, it looked to have been built in the sixties or seventies. The brickwork brown, not orange, seemed sturdy. The lawn needed cutting, understandable since he’d just returned from being out of town.

“I want to apologize. I got a little rough with you the last time we

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39

were together,” Nick said. “Believe it or not, that’s not me. I’m sorry, Twyla. I’m sorry for manhandling you, for snooping around your stuff, but mostly, I’m sorry that in doing so I screwed up whatever chance I might have had to be with you again. Intimately. It might sound like a line, but the way it was between us, it had never been like that for me before. I know you’re a thief, but that doesn’t seem to matter, either.”

She hadn’t known Nick long, but she knew this quiet, pins-

knocked-out-from-under-him demeanor didn’t suit him.

“Been having a rough couple of days, have you?”

“My business is pretty much in the toilet, my reputation shot to hell. Two of my former clients are thinking about suing me, just on principle. A woman I thought of as…a friend, it turns out, never was one at all. I wouldn’t be surprised if at any moment the cops showed up to arrest me. And the one woman who could turn out to be everything, I’ve pretty much pissed right off. So yeah, I guess you could say it’s been a rough couple of days.”

Twyla turned her face toward him at the exact instant he turned his to her. For a moment she didn’t say anything. Just being next to him churned her up inside. He knew what she did, and he wanted her anyway. She’d never thought to experience that. She didn’t know what to do with the emotions this man brought to life in her. A part of her yearned to climb up his amazing body and just have at him.

But for all the arousal coursing through her simmered equal portions of caution. He’d hurt her once already. He’d admitted to seeking her out in order to use her. So she would have to move slowly in his direction, if she moved that way at all. In the mean time, they had other things to consider first.

Focusing her attention back on Nick, she shrugged her shoulders as if dismissing his litany. “Shit happens. Question is, what are you going to do about it?”

He took his glasses off and hung them in the neck of his tee shirt.

His eyes lacked the sparkle she’d been drawn to the night they met.

40

Morgan Ashbury

“I’m not really certain there is anything I

can do about it.”

“So…what? You’re going to give up? You’re just going to let that son-of-a-bitch ruin you?”

“This may come as a shock to you, Ms. Harper, but sometimes you have to cut your losses. This probably is one of those times. One, he’s spread rumor and innuendo far and wide, and being a pillar of the fucking community, everyone believes him. Two, despite the grand concept of being innocent until proven guilty, the opposite is more often the truth, and I have no evidence to clear my name. Three, I

have no evidence to point a finger at the real culprit since I know you didn’t steal that necklace. That’s three strikes, baby. End of game for yours truly.”

Twyla could actually sympathize with Nick’s interpretation. She knew from experience how hard it could be for someone to fight back when they felt as if they’d been shoved face first in the muck with someone’s boot print on their back holding them in place. So, she understood, but she had to admit she hadn’t expected him to feel that way.

“Well, if that’s how you want it.” She turned to face his house again but watched him out of the corner of her eye. There, now.

There

burned the fire she’d been hoping to see.

“How I want it? Hell, no, that’s not how I want it. I want to plant my fist in that asshole’s face, but with no evidence, my hands are tied.”

“You know what your problem is?” She turned right around now and took off her own glasses. One hand rested on the roof of her car, the other on her hip. A deliberately masculine pose, she could tell it got his full attention. “Your problem is, you’re thinking like a cop.”

“That’s because I

am a cop. Sort of. How the hell else am I

supposed to think?”

Twyla smiled because right then and there she had an inkling they were going to be able to work together just fine. “That’s easy. If you want to get your own back, you need to start thinking like a thief.”

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41

* * * *

At least she was speaking to him.

Nick looked up from his computer monitor and watched Twyla as her fingers flew over the keyboard of her laptop. Less than forty-eight hours ago, he’d had the most brain-burning sex and explosive morning-after of his entire life. Now, here he found himself, apparently in cahoots with a woman who might or might not be on the top-ten, most-wanted list of several police organizations, including the FBI. That his brain as well as his body seemed to accept this segue as normal should have been a sign. Shaking his head, he could only smile.

He’d moved a small table into his office for her to work on when she’d declined his offer of a corner of his desk. That she didn’t want to work so close to him, he interpreted as her need to keep her distance in order to concentrate.

Damn, we men are pathetic creatures.

“What do we do first?” he’d asked as soon as they had entered his office.

“You find out where Mercury is right now. I’m betting he’s not just out of town but out of the country.”

“Out of the country? Why do you think that?”

“We’re agreed, then, that he likely has the necklace?”

“Oh, yeah. The bastard has it, all right.” He couldn’t keep the anger from his voice. He never reconsidered his certainty that Twyla hadn’t lied when she said she hadn’t stolen it.

“Good. His next logical step would need to see him outside the

U.S. He’d need to make contact with specialized fences in order to make the most from that necklace. He’d be looking for either a collector who doesn’t care where the piece came from, or someone who can take out the gems and liquidate them. Option number one should net him the most money, but as the necklace is now hot, all

42

Morgan Ashbury bets are off on that.”

“Makes sense. Okay, I’ll see what I can do to locate him. What are you going to be doing?”

“I’m going to dig a little deeper on him than I did the first time.

There’s more to this prick than I gleamed the first go-round.”

He heard the note of regret in Twyla’s voice. Nick’s conscience had immediately kicked in.

“My predicament is not your fault. I never should have said that.

You had it right. I should have investigated my client more carefully.

Mercury took possession of stolen goods, and he took advantage of the circumstances to fake the theft of that necklace.”

“Yeah, but a piece of the blame   mine. Collateral damage. I

is didn’t investigate your client thoroughly enough, either, and that’s a rookie mistake.” She’d looked up from setting up her computer and given him a half smile. That smile did real interesting things to his various male parts, very nearly short-circuiting his brain.

“You think he’s taken off? Deserted his wife, his business? Or just taken a temporary leave of absence?”

“We’ll see.”

Nick returned his attention back to his work. Score one for Twyla, he thought as he continued to work. Mercury was out of the country.

After following several different trails in an attempt to discover where

Mercury had gone, Nick fell back on an old, standard, pre-Internet trick. In a ploy as old as time, he called the man’s house. Using every bit of his charm, he succeeded in getting a forwarding phone number from the maid he chatted up.

“I don’t recognize this area code,” he said after he hung up the phone.

“Let me see.”

He handed the slip of paper to Twyla.

“Huh. That’s the Dominican Republic.”

“So…what? He’s taken a break from screwing people up the ass to enjoy a Caribbean vacation?”

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The sight of Twyla’s full-fledged smile felt like a healing balm.

He smiled back, some of the tension that had soured his gut over the last couple of days easing off.

“Looks like. Which does seem odd, given what

I’ve just discovered.”

“And that would be?” he asked.

“Mercury invested a boatload of money in a venture, and the entire operation went belly up. From what I’ve uncovered so far, his losses are in the millions. Problem is, it looks like the capital he used had been diverted from shareholder funds.”

“Uh oh. That’ll get him ten to twenty for fraud.”

“At least.”

“So why is he in the Dominican? They do have an extradition treaty with the U.S. He wouldn’t be safe there from prosecution.”

“Oh, I think our boy believes himself clever enough to avoid prosecution.”

Nick had to agree with her. The man put on airs, called everyone mister or miss, and generally was one arrogant son-of-a-bitch.

“I wonder what his plan is then?”

“That is a question, isn’t it?”

* * * *

Working with Nick felt better than it should have.

Twyla focused her attention back on her keyboard. She should

feel awkward, hemmed in, including another person in her research and planning. She worked alone, lived alone, and had always liked it that way. Since she’d left her last foster home at the age of sixteen, that was how she preferred it. She’d made her way around the globe a couple of times in the thirteen years since and had felt whole and complete.

Or so she’d thought.

She still didn’t trust Nick, not completely. He’d have to earn that

44

Morgan Ashbury commodity, though it seemed he’d made progress by leaps and bounds. And, she admitted to herself honestly, she’d have to earn his trust as well. One step at a time. She would have to be careful what she shared with him and when. There were likely still eyes watching them. Not the man himself, of course. He seemed the type, from what she’d gleaned, to hire some two-bit help. So she finished sending an e-mail to her brother-in-law, then went to the web site for international telephone numbers.

“That number you gave me is a private, unlisted number,” she said.

“Not a resort then.”

“No, a private home. On a private island, as a matter of fact.”

“Mercury has his own private island?”

Twyla chuckled. “Not so far as I’ve been able to tell, at least not in the Dominican. No, that number belongs to the Moerae

Corporation.”

“Never heard of them. What do they deal in?”

“Oh, just all sorts of things. It’s a family-run company. They have hotels, casinos, and manufacturing plants, even a couple of museums.

The man who founded the corporation has retired, having passed the reins of control over to his second son. The eldest, tragically, took his own life a couple of years ago.”

“Sounds as if you know them.”

Twyla tilted her head, looking at him. Choosing her words carefully, she said, “I have a vast network of people I know, or know of. The Pierce family is very close knit and very scrupulous. They have a mansion on that private island, with a vault that rivals the best to be found in any American millionaire’s home. If Mercury is staying there, that’s where the necklace would be. Dylan Pierce would offer the temporary use of his own security to safeguard the possessions of a guest.”

“There is a sparkle in your eyes that absolutely became iridescent when you said the world ‘vault’.”

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One step at a time

. “I am what I am, Nick. That’s something you need to accept if we’re going to go any farther, personally or professionally.”

“Are we going farther, personally or professionally?”

“Could be.”

She waited and wondered at the emotions she saw flashing through his eyes. He appeared to understand this was a watershed moment for them. He seemed to get it, that she could pack up her laptop, get in her car, and drive off. She could do the rest of what needed to be done to set things right for him. Alone. And she would if it came to that.

Oh, she wanted Nicholas Coultrain. She wanted him in ways that she never thought she would ever want a man, but she wouldn’t take him at the cost of her soul.

“So what do we do next?”

And she understood, with his question, that she wasn’t the only one who had to weigh options and make choices.

“One thing I know about the current Pierce scion, he’s married to a woman who loves to party.”

“You’re not suggesting…”

“Do you have a passport?”

She smiled when Nick closed his eyes and then opened them again. He reached into the top drawer of his desk and tossed the document to her.

“Are we about to take a Caribbean vacation?”

“I think that’s the next step. Don’t forget to pack your sunscreen.”

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Morgan Ashbury

Chapter 6

“Damn, it’s hot here.”

“It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity.”

Nicholas chuckled at Twyla’s dry rejoinder. Just after three in the afternoon, they’d exited the arrivals portion of the airport in Puerto

Plata, Dominican Republic. Nick had been unprepared for the blast of heat that slammed into him.

“The bus will be air conditioned,” she pointed out.

“You sound as if you’ve done this before.”

“What, hooked up with a sexy security consultant to chase a suspected jewel thief from the States all the way to an exotic

Caribbean locale in hopes of recovering said stolen jewels and bringing the thief to justice?”

“You think I’m sexy?”

He threw his arm around her shoulders and gave her a comic leer to accompany his question. Twyla looked tired. She’d only napped lightly on his sofa the night before. She met his gaze, and he could see amusement lurking in her eyes.

“That’s the only thing you heard, isn’t it?”

“Men are pigs, what can I say?”

“Not much more. That pretty much says it all.”

The bus was air conditioned, and Nick could only hope the accommodations Twyla had booked at the resort had that comfort as well. He’d never been able to cope well with extreme heat, and what could be hotter than the Dominican in the late spring?

It didn’t bother him one bit to have Twyla handle the check-in procedure. Some men, he knew, thrived on being the one ‘in charge’.

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That had never been one of his hot buttons. Yeah, generally speaking, he liked to open doors and pick up the tab at restaurants, but if a woman had more cash and wanted to pay—for a date or a trip—he had no problem with that. Well, he amended, as he thought about it, not much.

The Emerald Peacock was several steps above what he’d been expecting. He’d surfed the web a few times last winter, thinking he’d take a week in the Dominican, since his sister had raved about her vacation here the year before. He’d kept his search to three- and four-

star establishments because his business wasn’t doing that well, and he’d been more interested in the sun and surf than the walls around him at night.

This resort far outshone anything he’d considered. He brought his attention back to the present just as Twyla handed back the form she’d signed.

“Welcome to the Emerald Peacock, Mr. and Mrs. Coultrain. Your suite is number one-twenty-three. It’s in the Emerald Building, ground floor, beach front.”

“Thank you. We don’t need a porter. We’ll find our way.”

Nick waited until they’d traversed from the lobby to the interior of the resort area. Seven buildings fanned out before them, and each building had a giant peacock feather painted on it. The one with the emerald-colored feather stood off to the far right.

As they approached their room, he looked at her.

“Did that man just call us Mr. and Mrs. Coultrain?”

“Yes. I hope you don’t mind. Despite the fact you’ll see half-

naked women sunning themselves left, right and center, this is a very

Catholic country. Of course, the hotels allow unmarried couples to cohabitate, but they really don’t like it. Better to do all we can to guarantee good will, should we need it.”

“Oh, and here I thought you registered us as married just so we could shack up together.” He made his tone deliberately blasé. He wanted her. He wanted her naked and writhing under him. He

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Morgan Ashbury couldn’t think of a better way to pass the next few hours than buried deep inside Twyla’s hot and scintillating body.

He had no idea if he’d get what he wanted or not. He couldn’t read Twyla. It seemed she’d withdrawn behind a wall. Having tasted her, having had her, he wanted more. The longer he spent in her company, the more urgent that need became.

Taking the key she offered him, he opened the door. Cool air, slightly musty, surged out of the room, covering them both. He ushered her inside, then closed the door quickly to keep the cool in.

He watched as Twyla set her case down in the middle of the room.

They’d been given a suite comprised, as far as he could tell, of a sitting room, bathroom and bedroom. Big, patio doors stood directly across from the entry, and a room to the left with the door half open.

Twyla walked over to it, pushing it open.

Only one bed stood on the other side, and it looked very big and very inviting. She turned to face him, her expression serious.

“Maybe we could consider that a side benefit.”

It took him a moment to understand what she’d said. Dropping his own suitcase he walked over to her. When she didn’t back away, he reached out, combed his hands through her hair, and tilted her head.

“This time it’s going to be better. No secret agendas between us.”

“I didn’t have a secret agenda.”

“I know, babe. I did, and I’m sorry for it. So this time, you can relax. All I want to do is screw your brains out.” Her smile lifted him, the heat in her eyes compelling him.

“Less talk. More action.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

* * * *

His arms felt strong, and the burning light in his eyes thrilled her.

It had been so hard to hold herself back from him. Even though her brain and heart couldn’t yet trust him one hundred percent, her body

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wanted him with a hunger that bordered on desperation. This, she thought, had to be the definition of insanity.

The man posed a very real threat to her. He’d gone after her with the single-minded determination to prove her a thief, perhaps even see her thrown in jail, but she couldn’t help wanting him, couldn’t deny that at his core he was a good man.

Then his head lowered and his mouth took hers in a ruthless possession that drove every other thought from her head. His tongue demanded surrender, and without her consent, every bone in her body melted. She clung to him, wild to taste more, and even more of him.

He picked her up, carried her to the bed. She felt conquered, dominated, and wanted to rejoice in it. She didn’t care that it was a tired cliché.

His hand cupped her bare breast before she knew he’d opened her shirt. Eager for the feel of his flesh under her hands, her fingers delved beneath his tee shirt, caressing hot male, scraping against skin that felt better than anything she’d ever touched.

He pulled away from her. His gaze hot, she knew her own matched it. In that instant, she understood they were of one mind.

She pulled the clothing from her own body, baring herself to his needs just as he bared himself to hers.

“Yes, yes!

” She needed to feel the weight of him pressing her into the bed, needed to feel his mouth on her breast now

. No man had ever laved and nipped and suckled in just that way, pulling the nerves that connected her nipples to her clit. Her heart tripped when he cupped her face and kissed her, his lips and tongue sipping, tasting, cherishing

.

“Here, babe, put this on me.”

She’d never done this before, never taken the moment to smooth the sheath over a lover’s penis, preparing him to penetrate her. Such a singularly erotic sensation, to grasp his flesh, savor the heat and the silk of him, bending low to inhale the essence and sip the dew of him, and then to roll the thin covering down, a slow and lingering caress.

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“Vixen, you damn near made me come.”

Sultry laughter erupted from deep in her soul as he pushed her onto her back and impaled her in one long, glorious thrust. He filled her so completely. Surely, no other man could fit her so perfectly. The gentle brush of his scrotum against her most tender flesh tantalized.

The rhythmic nudge of the tip of his cock against the entrance to her womb enticed. Her heart pounded, her blood raced, and her pussy pulsed.

“Nick!”

“Mmm, Twyla, you’re so hot, sweetheart. So hot and wet and good. Squeeze me. I want that amazing pussy of yours to milk me.

Make me come, sweetheart.”

Opening her eyes, she met his gaze. Her hands slid from around his shoulders, seeking his. Their fingers entwined, and she felt more connected to him than she ever had to another, and in her heart, in that moment, she fell in love with him.

“Come with me, Nicholas. Oh, fly with me!”

She reached up, giving him her mouth, giving him everything, as her orgasm coursed through her and flooded them both.

* * * *

The shower was big enough for two.

Nicholas wasted no time in getting his wet, soapy hands all over

Twyla. They’d torn up the sheets for the last two hours, and he still hadn’t had enough of her.

“I really like the feel of you under my hands,” he whispered the words against her ear, then used his tongue to taste her there.

“And I like having your hands on me. You’re turning me into a sex maniac.”

The tone she’d used didn’t sound like a complaint.

“I think we just…match.” He’d pulled his punch, verbally. He knew he was falling in love with her, but he could see no reason to

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put that knowledge into her hands right now. For the most part, he trusted her.

But not completely, and not yet.

“So, what’s next?” he asked, willing the tension of that last thought out of his body.

“I’m hungry.”

“Woman, have mercy!”

“For food, you roué. Dinner is available in the dining room, buffet style. Or we can eat at the a la carte restaurant. Up to you.”

He turned her under the spray so that they faced each other.

Tilting her head under the spray, he concentrated on rinsing the conditioner from her hair. Unable to resist the temptation, he bent forward and kissed her, taking it very deep, very fast.

“I’m not particular. Let’s just eat.”

Afterwards, Nick dressed in light khaki pants and a collared shirt.

Watching Twyla in the mirror, he couldn’t help but admire the tiny thong panties before she donned the red and white sundress. She looked over and caught him staring. Her expression turned heated, and he very nearly said to hell with dinner.

Not many dined at this hour. A light breeze floated through the open air dining area, effectively blowing out the humidity of the day.

Waiters served water and other drinks, whisked away empty plates while diners returned to the buffet for second, and sometimes third plates. Nicholas thought the lighting could have been a bit brighter, but he understood the quality of the facilities, particularly the electricity, wasn’t the same here as back home.

The food was plentiful and, he soon discovered, quite good.

“Tomorrow, we’re going on a catamaran tour.” Twyla’s eyes sparkled as she spoke to him.

“Playing the carefree tourists?”

“Actually, more like playing the hard-working sleuths. The tour takes us right passed Pierce’s island. Be good to have a look at it, see what we have to deal with.”

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Morgan Ashbury

He sat back for a moment as the waiter came and refilled their wine glasses. The vintage tasted…interesting.

“Are we going to be sneaking ashore in the dead of night?” He could if he had to. He could do a lot of things if he had to.

“Not if we can help it.”

“All right. Still, it would be best if we saw all the way around the island, don’t you think?”

“I do. We’ll see if the captain of the craft is amenable to that suggestion. I’ve also arranged to get copies of the house blueprints and security system specs.”

Nick toasted her with his glass. “Between the trip here, accommodations, and bribes, it’s costing you a fortune to help me out of this mess I’ve found myself in.” He tried very hard not to wonder if she had another reason for her interest and investment.

She seemed to sense his thoughts anyway. Her back stiffened and the look in her eyes cooled considerably.

“And your point would be?”

“Considering I behaved like such a prick when we first met, it’s just…generous, that’s all.”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to use the past tense.”

Nick set his fork down and looked at her for a long moment. Any other time, he would turn on the charm—his mother had always claimed he had far too much of that commodity for his own good—

and get himself out of the dog’s business he’d just stepped in.

But his feelings for Twyla were complicated at best. He had no idea if they had any kind of a future beyond this particular adventure.

If they did, then he needed to begin as he meant to go.

That meant being honest, with himself and her.

Nodding slowly he said, “I want to trust you completely. I want to accept you’ve no hidden agenda. I’m not there yet, but I’m trying.

And yes, I do know part of my doubt stems from my own behavior.”

“It is human nature to think others share our own failings.”

“It is. It occurs to me you probably don’t trust me completely yet,

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either.”

As he watched, her shoulders relaxed. She picked up her wine glass and took a small sip. Her next words echoed his thoughts completely.

“Well, at least we’re on the same page.”

* * * *

It was completely illogical for her to be hurt by his lack of trust when she felt the same way about him, but when it came to her behavior toward Nicholas Coultrain, logic took a vacation. That realization gave her pause. She prided herself on being a logical woman. When it came to her work, the brain ruled. She could see patterns—in people’s behavior, and in events—and utilized that insight well. Nicholas thought she’d invested a lot of money into clearing his name? What she’d spent, and would spend, represented a pittance in the over all scheme of her finances.

Bringing her attention back to the moment, she closed her eyes and turned her face up to the mid-morning Dominican sun. The rhythm of the catamaran being powered over moderate waves soothed her even as she felt her professional senses go on alert.

“Does that contented grin mean you’re thinking about last night, or that the captain agreed to your ‘request’?”

“Both.” When his arms came around her, her muscles went limp and moisture gathered between her thighs. Her body trusted him completely. Only the rest of her held back, unsure.

Opening her eyes, she looked beyond the bow. They stood on the starboard side of the vessel, and occasionally spray washed back, a light mist to cool and refresh.

“There it is.”

It wasn’t a large island, really. Not more than a mile wide and two long, but as a private sanctuary, it impressed.

“No fences. That’s a plus.” Nick had been playing tourist, using

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Morgan Ashbury his binoculars, handing them to her and pointing at all manner of things all through the excursion. No one, Twyla thought, would think twice about him using the field glasses now to study the island.

“Well, one would be rather unnecessary. Only two ways onto the island from the water. The main dock, which we’ll see in a moment, and that beach there. A shallow coral reef about two hundred yards out completely shelters the beach.”

“No other place to climb ashore?”

“There are a couple of postage stamp sized bits of sand, but again the coral is shallow and sharp all the way around. And you won’t see the main house from the water. A virtual rain forest surrounds it.”

She watched Nick as he studied the terrain and knew he memorized what he could. As the boat pulled even with the west end of the island, the captain maneuvered the vessel and made a sweeping turn, deviating from his regular course.

The sight of an unscheduled boat created activity on shore where several armed guards stepped forward toward the two large docks.

“They don’t like tourists,” Nick’s voice held a note of amusement.

“And here I thought the Dominicans were such a welcoming people.”

“They are, unless they’re paid not to be.”

“Have a look, just at the edge of the trees.”

Twyla took the binoculars and peered where Nick had indicated.

A bikini-clad redhead waited at the edge of a path, looking at the guards. She had a hat tossed on her head, but wisps of hair stuck out.

She wore a beach cover over her skimpy suit and carried a bag over her arm. She’d likely been on her way to the dock, probably intending to catch a ride to another island or beach.

“Friend of yours?” Twyla recognized the woman from that newspaper photo she’d seen online of Nick, and from her surveillance of Mercury.

“I thought so. Son of a bitch.”

She knew he was pissed to have something confirmed that he’d only suspected. She felt a strong need to comfort him, and that

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confounded her. She’d never felt that for a man before. “We can’t always know when someone is deceiving us, Nicholas.”

“Maybe. But thinking back, I should have. The first couple of months, dropping in to see that bastard, refining the plans for his security system, she never even gave me a second look. Then all of a sudden, I’m the hottest thing with a dick.”

“Well, I think so.”

She much preferred the expression of hunger on his face to the one of self-loathing.

“Do you know what I want to do when we get back to our room?”

“No, why don’t you tell me?”

Twyla’s arousal ignited as he put his arms around her.

“I going to begin by undressing you slowly, one piece of clothing at a time. I’m going to stroke and pet every inch of your body. I won’t rush, no matter how badly you want me to, or how prettily you beg.

And darling, you will beg.”

He punctuated his whispered words with a sly licking of her ear.

She shivered, unable to control her body’s reaction when her nipples peaked. His low chuckle warned her that he was not only aware of her reaction but intended to elicit more of the same.

“I’m going to stretch you out on the bed, on your belly, and taste you from neck to toes. I’ll make you get on your hands and knees so that your lovely bottom is there, waiting for me. I’ll use my fingers, and then my tongue, to bring you within a breath of coming, but I

won’t let you come for a long, long time. Who knows what I can encourage you to do to me—for me—when the promise of release beckons. What do you think of that, darling?”

Her mouth had gone dry, and her pulse was racing. Her pussy dripped, and she wanted him so badly, she didn’t know if she could wait until they got back to the room.

“I think,” she responded in a whisper, “I’ll go see if I can bribe the

Captain one more time.”

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Morgan Ashbury

Chapter 7

Two arrivals awaited them upon their return to the hotel. Her travel agent had sent the first in the form of a package addressed to

Twyla. A good-sized envelope, Nick wasn’t given any time to question her or to even guess as to the contents. The second arrival came fast on the heels of the first, dressed immaculately in a white business suit, sporting a Rolex watch and thousand dollar Louis

Vuitton sunglasses. The man was handsome, Nick supposed, in that trust-fund-baby-pampered-bastard sort of way.

The fact that the guy had just wrapped Twyla in a huge hug after calling her darling and kissing both her cheeks had nothing to do with his critical analysis of the jerk.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you since Sonja’s birthday party in

Monaco last year. What a surprise to see you, right here in my own backyard!”

“Your own backyard? Darling, how wonderful! Oh, but please, you must meet Nicholas.”

About time you remembered me

. It took real effort for him to wipe the scowl off his face when Twyla and gorgeous George turned his way.

“Nicholas, come and meet an old friend of mine. This is Dylan

Pierce. You’ll never guess what. He has a place right near here.”

Nick had to give her acting credits, no doubt about it. She looked the epitome of a woman pleasantly surprised. The least he could do, he decided as she finished the introductions, was follow suit.

“Dylan, this is my Nicholas.”

Nick extended his hand and couldn’t resist flicking his glance

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toward Twyla in response not only to the possessiveness implied by her words but also the softness in her voice when she’d said his name.

“Nick Coultrain,” he supplied, shaking Pierce’s hand.

“You are a lucky man, Mr. Coultrain. I don’t believe Twyla has ever had quite that look in her eye before.”

“Nick, please. And yes, I am very lucky to have found Twyla.”

“You both must come to our home tomorrow evening! Pamela is having another of her soirées. I know she would be pleased to have you join us.”

“Is it a special occasion, Dylan?”

“No, just the usual. We have houseguests—business associates—

and you know how my Pamela loves to entertain.”

When Twyla turned to Nick with just the right amount of hope in her eyes, he didn’t know if he’d be able to play his part without laughing. Determined to show her she wasn’t the only one with thespian abilities, he turned to Pierce.

“It would please Twyla, so of course, we’d love to come. We haven’t bothered to rent a car, but if you give me your address, I’m certain we can hire a cab.”

“No, no need. I’ll send someone to collect you. Around eight?”

Nick waited until they were alone on their way back to their room before he snorted.

“What?”

“Your wide-eyed ingénue act. Then and now. Hell, woman, you should be on the stage.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” but she smiled at him and then handed him the bundle she’d collected from the front desk.

“From your travel agent?”

“No. These should be the design specifications to Pierce’s home security set-up, including information on the vault itself. ”

Nick looked at the packet, then back at Twyla. “So, work for me this afternoon.” Her expression had become all business-like. Had it only been his imagination, that flash of avariciousness he’d seen in

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“It looks that way. If you want, I can go to the bar and get you a couple of pina coladas.”

He opened the door to their suite and waited for her to enter.

“Only if they’re virgin. I have a feeling I’m going to need my wits about me.”

* * * *

Twyla climbed out of the pool, the silky water cascading from her body. She’d left Nick to his own devices about an hour before when he’d begun muttering to himself in frustration. He’d barely looked up when she announced she wanted a swim.

She knew that Dylan hadn’t upgraded the security system when he bought the island, which meant he thought the system good enough.

Given enough time with those specs, she likely would have been able to find some sort of flaw or backdoor into the system, but why should she sweat the small stuff when she had a security expert so close at hand?

This entire situation had been a lot more rushed than her usual assignment. That made the potential for mistakes very high. She had a feeling a mistake on this particular job could be more costly than she could bear. She needed her own prep time, time that had nothing to do with security systems and everything to do with becoming calm and centered.

Stretching out on her chaise, she closed her eyes and let the sounds of the resort wash over her.

What Nick had said at dinner last night had been right on the mark. Despite being in a relationship, neither of them fully trusted the other.

He obviously didn’t trust her to recover only the necklace

Mercury had reported stolen. Only this morning as she’d been getting dressed, she realized where her mistrust came into play.

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She didn’t trust Nick to accept her, warts—or unusual occupations—and all.

And if he couldn’t accept her, then he couldn’t really love her.

Twyla had never planned to get into any kind of long-term relationship with anyone. Hearts and flowers, station wagons and picket fences were not for her. That was what she’d always believed.

She couldn’t even say what about Nick had her re-evaluating her entire life plan. No one had ever had such a disconcerting effect on her.

Heading into a tricky job, in the midst of the trickiest balancing act she’d ever attempted, she didn’t need this kind of distraction.

Drops of water landed on her bare belly, just above her bikini bottom. Twyla jumped and opened her eyes.

“Funny, Coultrain.”

“Yeah, seeing you almost jump out of that little bit of nothing was kind of funny. So, how come you don’t take your top off?”

“You want me to take my bikini top off?”

She narrowed her eyes as he took a moment to scan their surroundings. More than half the females sunning themselves this day did so sans bikini tops. She’d done the same the year before when she’d come here with Alba. Twyla wasn’t a prude. However, last year she had gotten a tad too much sun on sensitive skin. That burn had hurt like hell, making her hesitant to tempt fate a second time.

“No.” Nick pulled a chaise closer and sat down, facing Twyla.

“There are too many lechers here. There’s even one guy walking through the pool area with a digital camera, snapping pictures. Bet you some of these vacationing housewives find themselves featured on amateur porn sites, come morning.”

He stretched out, and putting his hands behind his head, he closed his eyes.

Twyla watched him for a long moment. “You don’t have your bathing suit on. Does this mean you’re only taking a break?”

“No, it means I don’t want to swim right now.”

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When he continued to lie there, silent, she considered getting some pool water and doing some dripping of her own.

He must have sensed her ire for he turned his head in her direction and opened his eyes. “I’m not taking a break. I’m finished.”

“And?”

“I found a way to bypass Pierce’s security system.”

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Chapter 8

“See? Here, and here. All you need to do is connect to this little baby right there. The system is primarily designed to keep people out of the house. Once you’re   the house, you can bridge this circuit at in that point, and then it’s just a matter of some good, old-fashioned safe cracking.” Nick shook his head. He’d have expected someone of

Pierce’s wealth and reputation to have a more modern system in place than this.

Though he could see why the man thought what he had would be good enough. With armed guards protecting the island, which itself was protected by the ocean and sharp volcanic rocks and coral, he likely figured himself safe.

“You look fit to be tied,” Twyla said, snagging his attention.

“I am. Under different circumstances, I’d sell the man a much better system. Do you need to study this some more?”

“No, I’ve got it. We’ll give it another review before he picks us up tomorrow. For now, this is good enough.”

Nick nodded. He began to fold up the papers then stopped. Ever since she’d left him on his own earlier to work on these specs, his mind had been working in another area as well. He didn’t know if now was the right time or not to broach what he’d been mentally wrestling with, but he just knew that he couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“I’m helping you breach the vault of a very wealthy man, and I

thought about asking you to promise me you’d only take

The

Courtesan’s Stones

, but then I realized I couldn’t do that. I can’t make what we have together conditional. I have to take you as you are, or not at all. And while I

can do without you, I don’t want to.”

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Nick hadn’t known what to expect from Twyla with his confession, but the slow blooming, brilliant smile was more than he’d hoped for and touched him in a way he couldn’t define at that moment. She bridged the few steps that separated them, gently took the papers from his hands, and tossed them onto the table. Her arms twined around his neck and she nestled her body tight against his.

“Thank you.”

He could feel the imprint of her hardening nipples against his chest. They both wore shirts but they might as well have been naked.

He’d become so sensitive to her, so needy for her, he hardened instantly.

“Make love to me, Nick.”

Had he thought her eyes only sparkled when she thought of vaults and treasures? The shine in her eyes now caught his breath and fired his libido to an even hotter level. Not wanting to wait even the few seconds it would take to carry her to the bed, he wrapped his arms around her and began to feast. Bringing her to the floor, he moved his mouth over her face and neck, needing to taste all of her. Frantic to have her, he didn’t care that the clatter he heard meant the buttons came off her shirt and hit the floor. All he cared about, all that mattered was getting her naked and then plunging into her body.

When he felt her resistance, he thought she pushed him away.

Shaking his head to clear it, he realized she wasn’t pushing him away.

She pulled at his clothes, trying to rid him of them. Her shirt and bra lay on the floor before he relented, allowing her to pull his tee over his head. Then his hands reached for her shorts, yanking them and her panties down in one sweep, his hand returning like a magnet to the wet folds between her legs, sliding first one finger and then two inside her. She drenched him in her passion, drowned him in her response.

He lifted when she tore open the front of his shorts and helped her push away the clothing that covered him.

He hit the floor hard when she pushed, reversing their positions.

“Let me.”

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And then she lowered her head and took his penis into her mouth.

* * * *

The desire to taste him, to pleasure him, felt like the strongest desire she’d ever known. Did he understand what his total acceptance meant to her? The concept loomed too huge, was too much for her to think about now. She only wanted to give him everything, hold nothing back.

He was hard and hot in her mouth. Sucking the tiny droplet of dew from the end of his cock, she swirled her tongue around the sensitive indentation. His hands fisted in her hair, the low, almost feral groan told her how much he loved her efforts. She took him deep, held him near the back of her throat while her tongue caressed his shaft.

“Baby. Yes.”

Bobbing up and down, she teased him, bringing her lips to the tip of his cock, then taking him deep again, faster and faster until his groan became a keening pant. As she cupped his balls in one hand, she held his cock deep in her mouth and sucked, steady and strong.

He rewarded her with a hot, salty stream of semen.

He collapsed back on the floor, looking completely boneless, straining for breath.

“Looks like I just sucked the energy right out of you.”

“You think?”

“Mmm, yes. I—hey!”

Twyla started to laugh. He’d surged up and reversed their positions. As soon as her back made contact with the floor, his mouth was between her legs. Already aroused from sucking him, her entire body shuddered as if jolted by a thousand volts of raw electricity.

“Nick…oh, Nick...yes, like that!” She’d never been set on fire like this. He knew her body so well, using his tongue and his lips and his teeth to drive her higher, faster. Flinging her legs as wide as possible,

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Morgan Ashbury she reached down, anchoring her hands in his hair, the irrational thought flying through her mind that if he stopped, she’d perish. Hot and wet and electric, she soared, climbing. There seemed to be no end to the sharp arousal that kept building. Then he inserted two fingers into her passion-drenched pussy and stroked her G-spot.

The sensations and emotions exploded together like twin skyrockets lighting the sky. On and on, wave after wave pummeled her until Twyla couldn’t control the tremors that wracked her. She didn’t even realize she cried until Nick gathered her off the floor and carried her to the bed.

“There, now. It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why—”

“I’ll choose to interpret this as being that I performed so well I

brought tears to your eyes.”

She heard the uncertainty in his voice and responded by wrapping herself tight around him. Though she wasn’t certain why she’d cried, she wanted to reassure him. “That’s no lie,’ she whispered.

“It’s been a hell of a few days. Let’s just rest here awhile. Let’s just stay cuddled together and rest.”

Snuggled tightly in his arms, the heat of his body warming hers, the beat of his heart steadying hers, she knew in that moment her life would never be the same as it had been before she met him. And she knew one more thing, too.

If anything ever happened to him, she’d simply die.

* * * *

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Should I be worried?”

Twyla smiled at Nick’s quick comeback. Swatting him playfully, she slipped her sunglasses off so she could see him better.

They’d had a lengthy swim in the pool and planned to have a quick couple of drinks before heading back to their suite for a nap.

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Twyla wanted to be fresh for the evening’s activities.

“I think you should stick with me tonight. Be there with me when

I open that vault. It will ease your mind when you see the only thing I

liberate is

The Courtesan’s Stones

.”

She enjoyed the look on his face, one that told her he understood her gesture for what it really meant: complete and total trust.

“I don’t need to, sweetheart.”

His voice had gone just a bit husky. For some reason, that made her feel special. “I know, but I want you there. Anyone watching us will just presume we needed to step away from the crowd for…amorous reasons.”

“So that’s my role tonight, besotted suitor.”

She laughed because he gave her such a comical leer, focusing his gaze on her barely covered breasts.

“That’s the role for both of us. We’re going to be so wrapped up in each other, that when we   vanish—”

do

“The only reaction we’re going to get is wink, wink, nudge, nudge.”

“Exactly. And if something goes wrong with our plan, and we somehow trip an alarm—well, the vault is hidden behind what appears to be a simple pantry. By the time the guards get there, we could be half undressed…”

“If those specs are right, nothing will go wrong. You seem a little nervous, Twyla. That surprises me. It’s not exactly your first day on the job.”

Something about this man’s voice going all soft in concern simply made Twyla’s insides turn all warm and gooey, which was one of the reasons she was nervous. A whole host of variables she’d never before encountered had come into play on this job.

It still wasn’t the time or place to reveal her heart, so she told him a partial truth. “I’ve never thrown a job together so quickly, nor have I

ever worked with someone before. It’s a different rhythm for me, that’s all.”

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“Then maybe a nap will smooth everything out for you.” He reached for her hand, and when she gave it to him, he brought it to his lips.

“Yeah. A drink before and a nap after will fix just about anything.”

* * * *

“This is incredible! Twyla and I took a catamaran excursion yesterday, and we passed this very island! In fact, I think I may have used my binoculars to try and get a really good look. Sorry about that.” Nick felt proud of their performances so far. He and Twyla had both appeared pleasantly surprised when the car Pierce had sent stopped at a small private marina. They made excited chatter as the island came into view for the benefit of the crew on the launch.

Nick hoped he hadn’t laid it on too thick as he greeted their host for the evening, but he knew instinctively that he’d needed to say something

. He recognized the guard standing next to Dylan Pierce.

He’d been on the beach yesterday sporting binoculars and a sidearm.

As he shook his host’s hand, he did his best to look sheepish.

“We get boat tours passing all the time.” Dylan laughed as he grasped Nick’s hand. “We’re quite used to being the object of interest and speculation by tourists. The house is shielded by trees, so our privacy is preserved.”

“It was so kind of you to meet us personally,” Twyla said, slipping her arm through Nick’s and giving both the bulldog-like guard and Pierce a big smile.

In that moment, Nick understood both how Twyla had earned her nickname and how she’d been so successful in going wherever she wanted and doing whatever she chose.

Both men resembled obedient puppies that would do anything for her.

“You are an honored guest, my dear. Pamela insisted I come and

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escort the two of you to the house.”

He motioned for them to proceed him to a golf cart he had waiting. He saw Twyla seated first, then turned to Nick.

“But first, a delicate matter. I have as a houseguest a gentleman who is head of a company in Florida seeking to do business with my firm. I have only just met the man. His name is Roland Mercury, and he had some very unkind things to say about you, Nicholas.

Specifically, he accused you of being a thief and therefore untrustworthy. He further intimated that your partner in crime was none other than Miss Harper. Of course, that last accusation completely discredited him, for Pamela and I have known Twyla for years and know she is no thief. But he and his fiancée both became quite agitated when they learned I had invited you to be my guests this evening.”

Nick might have handled this not unexpected turn of events differently, but he trusted that Twyla knew these people, and so he stayed with the script the two of them had devised that afternoon. He shook his head, his expression that of a man who had a bad taste in his mouth.

“I’m certain

Mrs.

Mercury would be quite surprised to learn her husband has acquired himself a fiancée.”

Dylan nodded. “It is precisely as my wife guessed. She doesn’t care for that Larson woman one bit.”

“I’ll do my best to keep my distance from the two of them. I

won’t, naturally, be indiscreet, but if he insults Twyla…”

“Say no more, my friend. If Roland Mercury insults Twyla, he will have the both of us to contend with.”

* * * *

A small orchestra played out on the patio where the smooth stones served as an impromptu dance floor. Twyla guessed there had to be sixty people scattered about the Pierce home. Most of the guests

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Morgan Ashbury occupied either in the main salon—a large, comfortably appointed sitting room—or the patio, or the library. Pamela and Dylan proved generous hosts as witnessed by the large buffet of delectable hors d’oeuvres and the free-flowing drinks. Waiters and waitresses served discreetly. Guests mixed and mingled, ate and drank in a flow of motion and sound that resembled a graceful dance. The moment

Twyla entered the room, she became conscious of everyone around her, though she knew anyone watching would think she had eyes only for Nick. She observed Mercury out of the corner of her eye as

Pamela Pierce greeted her in the way a woman greeted another she knew and liked. The look of surprise on Mercury’s face was exactly what she’d been hoping for. It didn’t hurt to let the bastard get uncomfortable. He’d commissioned a theft from a good friend, and it had been her pleasure to see the statue of the Siren returned to Athens where it belonged. On top of that, he’d badly used the man she loved.

Someone, she thought darkly, ought to arrest the man and throw away the key.

She caught sight of the redhead when the bimbo slithered up and clung to Mercury’s arm just as she turned her attention back to

Pamela.

“Thank you for inviting us.” They gave each other air kisses, and

Twyla thought the gesture such a lovely touch.

“It is entirely my pleasure. We must catch up later when time permits.”

“I’d be delighted.”

Pamela excused herself, and Twyla turned adoring eyes up at

Nick.

“I’ve just caught sight of your redhead. Big boobs, vapid expression. What were you thinking?

“Pretty much what you just said. I told you, men are pigs.”

She could tell he tried hard not to laugh. “So you did. Let’s mingle and coo, shall we?”

“Mingle and coo. I’ll feel like a pigeon.”

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Twyla couldn’t resist. She stretched up to place a quick kiss on his lips. “No, darling. You felt like one. Now it’s time to turn the tables.”

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Chapter 9

He wanted to punch Roland Mercury square in his sneering snout.

Instead, Nick gathered Twyla into an embrace and led her out to the dance floor.

“Smoothly done, but the look in his eye said he’s going to square off with you.”

Nick had been watching for Mercury to come out onto the terrace.

He flicked a quick glance down at Twyla.

“I know. Now, if he follows—yeah, just like that.” He took his time, sweeping Twyla through the dancers in a way that he hoped looked to everyone like more ‘love play’. When the music ended, he’d positioned them at the far edge of the terrace just within the lights.

Some couples left the terrace as others came out, and looking about, Nick saw that no one noticed Mercury and Brenda approach them.

“Imagine my shock when my friend Dylan informed me of your presence, not only in the Dominican but his home. The very man suspected by Ocala police of having stolen an historic necklace from my safe.”

“Life is full of surprises, Rolly. That’s what makes it so very interesting. I don’t believe you’ve met Twyla Harper. Darling, this unfortunate piece of humanity is Roland Mercury. The piece

accompanying him is Brenda Larson.”

“Bastard!”

Nick watched the flash in Brenda’s eyes and braced himself for her slap. He considered it a fair price for the shot he’d taken.

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What he didn’t expect was for Twyla to intercept the blow, or her reaction.

“You’ll have to forgive Nicholas. He doesn’t understand that a girl’s got to make a living, whatever way she can. We each, after all, have our talents, and what a bonus when we can turn those talents into money-making propositions.”

“Bitch, let me go!” Brenda looked close to whimpering as Twyla held her arm.

“You’re right, of course, darling,” Nick put as much pity into his tone as he could.

Mercury, Nick noted, didn’t seem to care about the distress his companion suffered, or the fact that she massaged the arm Twyla had just held. His eyes held a glee that didn’t, to Nick’s mind, make any sense.

“Of course, I warned Dylan and that silly wife of his as well, that their dear friend Ms. Harper was being played by an unscrupulous villain. Their faith in her seems unswerving, but they don’t know you, do they? I’ve made certain that a number of the Pierce’s other guests have heard of your infamy, Coultrain. There will be eyes on you all night. I wouldn’t be the least shocked if, at some point, someone hauled you away in handcuffs.”

Fortunately, the man turned on his heel and went back into the house. Nick had been on the verge of saying ‘to hell with it’ and leading with his right. Now, as Mercury stepped through the doors and out of sight, Nick felt a sense of unease.

“I expected something that would be loud and attention getting, not something venomous and private. Just what the hell was that all about?”

“He baited you, as if he knew something we don’t.”

“That’s the impression I got, too.” Nick tried to think what

Mercury could possibly think he knew, and then he recalled the man’s unconscionable arrogance, his belief that he was above basic societal mores. When he’d been courting the man as a client, he’d thought the

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Morgan Ashbury guy just had a large set of balls. Now that he knew him better, now that he’d been conned by him, Nick understood that Mercury suffered from an extremely inflated ego.

“I think he has no idea we know he has the necklace.” As he said it aloud, Nick knew it for truth. Mercury actually believed he’d been successful in blackening Nick’s name. Hell, he had been, come to that, but he must have believed the police in Florida had been about to arrest him.

When he looked down at Twyla, she said, “I don’t like either of them.”

“Smart lady. I not only don’t like them, I don’t trust them. Maybe it was brass. And maybe they’re up to something.”

“Agreed.”

The music started playing again, a slow song, and Nick cocked his head to the side.

“Do we have time for one more dance before we have to go to work?” he asked her.

Twyla’s low chuckle as he pulled her into his arms chased away the distaste of coming face to face with Mercury.

“Oh, I think we have time for one more.”

* * * *

Twyla lost herself in Nick’s kiss. The flavor of him went straight to her clit, making her wet, making her want. His tongue explored her mouth as if they were alone, tasting and teasing. She needed more.

Wrapping her arms around him, her tongue danced and slid with his.

In that moment, nothing else mattered.

Slowly, the murmur of conversation all around her penetrated.

The attention they’d garnered made it easy for her to act embarrassed.

Nick bent low to her, and she imagined it looked like one lover telling another a deep secret.

“That should do it,” he whispered. Then he straightened, slipped

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his arm around her, held her close, and led her out of the room.

Twyla saw smirks on a few faces and knew she and Nick had judged it right.

They’d exited the salon through a door that would lead to a dining alcove, another patio, Pierce’s home office, the kitchen, and the pantry. The house stood completely open to guests, some of whom had been houseguests for a couple of days.

As Twyla headed toward the pantry, she listened for voices. She could hear some, just ahead of them, in the kitchen. The catering staff worked hard replenishing the tasty treats and confections that Pamela

Pierce served her guests. As they approached the open door to

Dylan’s office, Twyla froze. Nick bumped into her, then placed his hand on her waist. He didn’t say a word. She set her hands on his and gave a gentle squeeze.

Dylan was in his office, on the phone. Twyla crept forward carefully. They needed to move on. Even the servers would wonder at their presence there if they got caught simply loitering.

Edging toward the corner of doorway, she peered in quickly. At just that moment, Pierce turned his back to the door and began looking for something on the credenza behind his desk.

Twyla didn’t wait. She grabbed Nick’s hand and quickly moved past the open door.

“Here,” Nick whispered as he indicated a small recess in the corridor. Twyla reached for the doorknob but stopped at Nick’s barely audible hiss.

Almost invisible beside the door was a small, eight-by-eleven inch panel. Twyla stood aside as Nick pulled out a small screwdriver and loosened then removed the two screws holding it in place. Hidden by the deceptively ordinary piece of wood lay a circuit board that controlled the alarms and electricity to the room beyond.

He’s good

. Twyla watched his fingers move quickly as he re-

routed two circuits then by-passed a third. It had taken him less than two minutes. When he nodded, she slowly turned the handle.

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“Good,” she sighed when they got through the door. Walking to the end of the room, she looked at the wall that had shelves lining it.

“I kept my eye on Mercury. He and Brenda went upstairs—likely to their room—just before we left the salon, but I forgot to account for

Pierce.”

“Yeah, me, too. I don’t think he saw us, though.”

Nick stepped forward and reached under the one that stood about waist height. Half of the wall sprang open, and behind it hid a steel door with a dial on the front of it.

“This thing is right out of the nineteen sixties.”

Twyla chuckled at the disgust in his voice. “When we’re all through here, you can sell him a nice, new one.”

“Like that’s going to happen.”

“You never know until you try.”

“Three numbers then?”

“Four, I think. I’ve studied this manufacturer’s products. It’s a model thirty-five twenty-one A.”

She had her ear against the vault and her fingers gently on the tumbler. It took precious minutes for her to feel the clicking of the combination. She didn’t know what strange mishmash of genes allowed her this one bizarre talent. Her first theft had been a vault very similar to this, in the home of the dean of a university. That first job had netted her about two thousand dollars in cash and a bracelet she’d later pawned for a hundred bucks. Getting away with it had been the most incredible rush she’d ever felt.

Of course, that was before her foster sister’s ordeal.

The sound of the last tumbler falling into place gave her a similar, if smaller rush.

She stepped back and looked at Nick.

“No luck?” he asked.

She answered him by pulling open the door of the vault.

* * * *

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Nick had never seen anything like it in his entire life.

A single light served the vault, casting a dim glow over the interior, and yet the contents all seemed to glimmer. He wanted to look at everything but at the same time felt compelled to keep peering over his shoulder.

“You look ready to jump out of your skin.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think I have a future as a thief. Being in here is making me nervous as hell.”

“Glad to hear it.”

He wanted to decipher just exactly what Twyla implied by that, but he knew time grew short.

“When I saw the necklace, it had a burgundy velvet carrier.”

“It won’t now. According to the police report, the pouch was left behind.”

Nick blinked. He’d been so wrapped up in the drama his life had become the last few weeks he’d forgotten that.

The shelves were lined with jewelry boxes, some ornate and made out of glossy wood, some just plain, the sort one might find on anyone’s dresser. Drawers had been installed under each shelf. A very old-looking tea service stood on the top shelf made, Nick judged, of very high quality silver. One middle shelf actually held a stack of money, in the corner.

“The man’s the head of a multi-million dollar international conglomerate. Why the hell would he have a stack of money in his home vault?” The idea simply boggled Nick’s mind. He knew several of the well heeled didn’t even carry much in cash. They, like much of the world, relied almost entirely on plastic.

“Family tradition?”

“Very funny. What sort of family tradition would demand a stash of cash like this?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Twyla answered. He watched her checking the jewelry cases systematically. “I suppose the kind of tradition

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Morgan Ashbury where one’s grandfather got hauled off to a concentration camp during the Second World War, and his bank accounts cleaned out by the Nazis. That kind of experience where the loss is in the millions could prompt you to, you know, keep a million bucks on hand, just in case.”

“A million dollars?”

“Yes, in fairly new, crisp twenty dollar bills.”

“That can’t be—” he wanted to say the stack of money couldn’t be big enough to be a million dollars. He judged it sprawled for about a foot and a half along the shelf, stood maybe a foot and a half deep, and two feet high.

“Five hundred packets of one hundred twenties. You do the math.”

The math Nick performed had nothing to do with Pierce’s cache of money. He watched her for a long, silent moment. “You really do know these people fairly well, don’t you?”

She must have heard something in his tone, for she stopped searching and turned to face him. “I told you I did.”

“And you can do this, no problem?”

To his utter amazement, she leaned back against the shelf, folded her arms across her chest, her gaze so cold it gave him shivers.

“Just what is it I’m doing, Nick?”

* * * *

Twyla tried very hard not to show how much his question hurt her. She reminded herself that realistically, though he’d said he trusted her, what he’d actually expressed had been his willingness to trust her and it would take time for him to completely adjust his thinking about her and her career. There would therefore be bumps in the road. She told herself to be hurt over something he likely asked without considering the ramifications would be silly and potentially damaging to their relationship.

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But damn it, it did hurt.

She focused on his eyes and noted the exact instant he realized what he’d asked, and where he’d suddenly put the two of them. She took some comfort in the knowledge that at least she’d fallen in love with an intelligent man.

“It’s just that you’re standing in the man’s vault.”

“As are you.”

“Yeah.” He looked around. Twyla read his expression perfectly.

He wondered how he had come to be there, in the middle of a ‘heist’, when he’d made his living guarding others against people like her.

“I know what we’re doing here. We’re saving my ass. I’ve been watching you—oh, not to make sure you’re not taking things, just watching you. Your face, your body language. You’re working. This is just a job to you.”

She gave him a good scowl. The clock ticked, and she wanted to get back to the job at hand, but this was more important. Getting him to finish his line of thought ranked high on her priority list right at this moment. If everything went the way she thought it would, there might not be time later for him to do so.

“You knew that before we even met.”

“No, you don’t understand. A few times in the last couple of days, I could have sworn this was your passion. You’d be thinking about what had to be done, the steps that needed to be taken, and you’d get a look in your eyes. That’s what took me so long to let it go—that you’re a thief. That look told me your heart was in the heist, but it’s not because looking at you going through another person’s things, there’s no avarice or lust for jewels in your expression.”

Clearly, he’d been working it out as he’d been talking. Twyla thought maybe he finally, really got it. Got her. But that was too much to hope for. He had, however, taken one step closer to that. Her tone sounded dry when she asked, “So you’re not worried I’m going to cop

Pamela’s beautiful and expensive diamond earrings?”

“I don’t think possessions, or money, motivates you.”

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“They don’t, success does. Look, we’ve been in here nearly five minutes, already. The longer we take, the greater the chance someone is going to catch us. Why don’t you start helping me search instead of just watching? I want this over with,” she suggested gently. She could only dally so long.

“Yeah. Why don’t I?”

Twyla wondered why Dylan had so many things in his vault. The man has a serious issue with trusting banks, obviously. Their summer home should be for vacationing, not business.

Shaking her head as she went through another tray of baubles, she considered that the Pierce family never did anything just for the hell of it. Business was the mantra. Here, in the Dominican, Dylan was closer to North and South America than he was at home. That meant cutting travel distance in half for clients and business associates. It only followed then he’d wind up with a lot of stuff in this vault.

Setting her attention on the next shelf, she caught sight of another jewelry pouch, this one looking old and a little worn. Reaching for it, she had the sense that this was what they’d been looking for.

“I think I have it.”

Nick looked up from a drawer he’d opened, his gaze zeroing in on the pouch Twyla held. She unwound it deftly, the weight of the piece inside feeling solid and real in her hand.

It didn’t matter the vault had but a weak light.

The Courtesan’s

Stones glimmered in hues of sapphire, emerald, and white ice, the gold itself seeming to breathe as if alive. Heavy and ornate, the necklace represented the work of an artisan centuries dead, the style and craft of his hands long since overtaken by lighter, more intricate lines.

The piece, Twyla mused, belonged in a museum, draped against black velvet.

“Beautiful. Have you read the history on this?” she asked deliberately.

“Just what I told you about it.”

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Twyla caught his frown and knew he no doubt thought they should just wrap up the necklace and leave quickly. They would, in a few moments, so she stalled for time.

“The history of a piece always fascinates me. You have to wonder about the kind of man who can offer such a token in appreciation for a good deed. Or the kind who, in later years, cheated and killed to possess what another had acquired, only to bring a curse to himself in the process.”

“I’ve never been one to be concerned with possessions, either.

I’ve always been more interested in deeds. Doing, rather than having.

Going, rather than staying.”

“An explorer blazing new trails, or a sailor set to sail seas that legend says are fraught with monsters and nymphs with a mythical lure?”

He gave her a fast smile. “Apparently.”

She chuckled when he gave her a once-over. She began to re-wrap the necklace.

“Speaking of myths, what the hell is this?” Nick had pulled out a statue from the drawer he’d been looking in. Only about six inches tall and half that high, the artist had carved three women and a spinning wheel. The women looked similar, as sisters would. The attention to detail had been exquisite, and the gold seemed to pulse with warmth.

Twyla opened her mouth to answer, but someone else did the honors. The male voice that echoed in the vault vibrated with passion.

“That, Mr. Coultrain, is

The Moerae

.”

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Chapter 10

Mr. Big carries a berretta. Definitely a sissy gun.

But, Nick qualified, a sissy gun that currently pointed at both himself and Twyla.

“Gee, Rolly, you just keep showing up. Sort of like dog shit smeared on the bottom of a shoe.”

“Your attempt at humor is pathetic, Mr. Coultrain, but then you’re such a pedestrian little prick. How easily Brenda led you by the dick exactly where we wanted you to go. Come in, darling. There’s plenty of room.”

“Oh, look, honey, it’s Wendy, the Wonder Slut.”

Nick reacted with gut instinct when Brenda, having just come entered the vault, slapped Twyla hard across the face as payback for that comment. Seeing red, he stepped forward and got Mercury’s gun in his face.

“Step back, Mr. Coultrain, if you please. Miss Harper, your mother should have washed your mouth out with soap when you were young. Oh, wait, you were an unwanted baby abandoned to the state.

You didn’t have a mother. Now, the two of you just turn around and face the wall. But first, Mr. Coultrain, hand Miss Larson

The Moerae

.

And do keep in mind I will kill Miss Harper if you so much as twitch the wrong way.”

If Nick had been alone, he’d have risked it, but seeing that bastard pointing his weapon at Twyla chilled his blood.

He handed the statue to Brenda and then slowly turned around.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mercury hand Brenda the gun, and then Mercury pulled his hands behind his back, quickly binding

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his wrists together, not with handcuffs, but the plastic zip ties some police forces used. The bastard pulled it too tight, and Nick felt the bite of the strong cord.

“You all right, sweetheart?” he asked softly, his gaze landing on the red handprint blooming on Twyla’s cheek.

“Just peachy. Shit, leave some skin, will you?”

Her words confirmed that Mercury had been just as brutal fastening Twyla’s restraints.

“I must say, my dear Brenda, that everything has unfolded precisely the way we hoped it would.”

“So I get my million?”

Brenda’s voice had lost the smooth tenor, the question asked in a hard-edged Bronx accent. Nick closed his eyes as he realized their manipulation of him hadn’t ended with the reported disappearance of

The Courtesan’s Stones

.

“Yes, you get your million, and what ever else you want to help yourself to here. Except the Stones, and

The Moerae

, of course.”

“You won’t be able to pawn either one.” He could only think to goad Mercury, stall for time. He and Twyla had already been gone from the party too long. At this point, the only hope he had was an inadvertent rescue by one of the guards or other staff members.

“Oh, I have no intention of pawning

The Moerae

. It’s a treasure, too unique and special to be appreciated by the masses. No, it will have a place of honor in my new home, in the Cayman Islands. Yes, I

know, such a tired cliché, wealthy American fleeing to the Caymans with their tax havens and what-have-you. What can I say? As for the

Stones, I’ve a man lined up who can remove the jewels and re-set them. I’ll offer them for sale on the open market and make a very handsome profit, not counting the insurance money I’ve already gleaned.”

“Hardly seems worth all the trouble you’ve gone to. You’ll never be able to go back to the States.”

“Why would I want to? My business there is over. By the time the

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Morgan Ashbury vultures pick over the carcass, there’ll be nothing left. The bitch I had the poor luck to marry can go back to daddy, and I’ll be free and set for the rest of my life.”

It occurred to Nick that Mercury spoke freely because he had no intention of letting them live. He chanced a glance at Twyla. One look in her eyes told him she recognized the same thing.

“At least let Twyla go. You know she’s not going to go to the cops.”

“Oh, did I forget to mention I’m also going to collect a bounty?

Quite a few gentlemen and at least one lady have been very put out by you, Miss Harper. What’s the sense in hiring a thief to liberate desired goods when someone comes and steals them back again?”

Nick’s fury exploded. “You’re just an all around piece of fucked-

up shit, aren’t you?”

Mercury responded to his outburst by punching him hard in the kidney.

* * * *

“Nick!”

Mercury’s blow had put Nick on his knees. He closed his eyes and gasped for breath.

“I’m okay.”

She knew he likely wasn’t okay, but she could do nothing right then and there to help him or help herself.

She had the sense that while Mercury kept them in his sights, Brenda moved around the vault, scooping what goodies she could.

Likely, Pamela’s pretty diamond earrings weren’t going to survive the raid.

Brenda, of course, went for the greenbacks. Twyla wanted to shake her head. It didn’t seem to occur to the bimbo the bills might be marked or their serial numbers recorded.

“That’s enough. We still have to get out of here.”

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Obviously, Mercury believed himself to be in charge. Twyla caught the finger Brenda gave him that he didn’t see. If tension existed between the two, she and Nick might be able to use that to their advantage.

“How in the hell do you hope to get away from this island? In case you didn’t notice, there are guards all around the place.”

“Oh, please, I would have hoped that you, of all people, would know better than to employ that old saw, ‘you’ll never get away with this’. You have plenty of times, Miss Harper, and you know that I

will, this time, as well. There are guards everywhere but the north shore. I found a path down to a very small beach. I already have a boat waiting for us.”

“You want I should carry the gold thingy for you?”

Twyla thought she actually heard Mercury cringe.

“No, I have it. Now, Mr. Coultrain, Miss Harper, here’s what we’re going to do. Directly across the hall from this little pantry is a door that leads outside. Brenda will go first, followed by you. Miss

Harper and I will be right behind you. You need to know this, so that you understand if you try to play the hero, your woman will die.”

“We’re going to die anyway. Isn’t that right, Rolly?”

Twyla couldn’t help but smile at the way Nick continued to dig at the man. Get him mad, keep him mad, and he would be off guard just that tiny little bit.

“Well, yes, but not until we get you out on the water. You have from here to there to hope for a miracle.”

“Can we just fucking  ?” Brenda sounded either bored or go stressed, Twyla wasn’t sure.

“By all means.”

As soon as she stepped out of the vault, Mercury grabbed her, one hand firmly on her shoulder, his gun against the base of her neck. She locked gazes with Nick as he moved in front of her. His eyes held such fury and, she thought, something more, too.

“I’m sorry, babe. I feel as if I manipulated you into this mess.”

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Morgan Ashbury

“You didn’t. I knew what I was getting into.”

“Quiet.”

No help miraculously appeared as they made their way across the hall and outside. Mercury kept them close to the shadows, taking them the shortest route into the trees. From there, Twyla knew, it would be a brief walk through the small forest, then an open narrow field, and then a path leading down to the water. The beach Mercury referred to measured no more than about six square feet. The coral grew so sharp and close to the surface that getting any kind of a boat out of there—even the smallest canoe—would be a challenge.

In under a minute, they entered the woods. It was difficult to see the path. Brenda had a very small penlight, which she only used as a strobe every few feet. Twyla stumbled a couple of times, each time rewarded by having her shoulder painfully squeezed.

“You know, Mercury, your lover Brenda there is such an uncultured, trashy woman, I wouldn’t be surprised if she has some bruiser of a boy toy waiting in the wings to kill you at the first opportunity.”

“Divide and conquer, Miss Harper? That is so passé.”

Twyla had just two steps to go before she emerged from the trees.

“Hear that, Brenda? He didn’t deny you’re uncultured and trashy. To him, you’re likely just another whore, but then, that’s all you really are, right?”

Everything happened at once. Brenda stopped dead in her tracks, screamed “You fucking bitch!” and spun around, hand raised as if to strike Twyla. Mercury increased the pressure of his hand on her shoulder, but Twyla ducked and spun away. Nick seemed to have anticipated Twyla’s actions because the moment Brenda turned around to attack, he pushed the shrieking woman to one side, sending her sprawling on the ground.

“Twyla, I love you,” and having said that, he shoved Twyla out of the way just as Mercury’s gun fired and the area exploded with light.

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Chapter 11

Nick could see stars with his eyes closed, and his shoulder felt on fire.

“Damn it all to hell, Dylan, did you have to wait so long?”

He closed his eyes in relief. Twyla couldn’t be yelling if she’d been killed.

“You’re welcome. Always glad to be of service.”

“Damn it, damn it, damn it. I need a doctor here!”

Nick’s heart turned over in his chest. “You need a doctor? What’s wrong? Where are you hurt?” It felt as if he’d shouted those questions, but he barely heard his own voice.

“I’m fine. What’s wrong is that you’re bleeding.”

Opening his eyes, he saw Twyla’s worried-looking face above him. Slowly, Nick became aware that he lay on the ground on his side. He cursed when his on-fire shoulder received a jolt.

“Sorry, sir. The restraints are gone now.” He barely made out the image of the guard who’d cut his wrists free, the same guard he’d dubbed bulldog earlier in the evening.

“Doctor Calderon is at the house, sweetheart.” Dylan’s voice.

Why is he calling my woman ‘sweetheart’? He has a wife of his own

. “One of my men has gone to get him. Your Nicholas will be fine. Don’t worry.”

“You’re making a mistake.” Mercury’s voice rang with authority.

“I apprehended these two thieves trying to make a run for it with your things, Mr. Pierce. I merely got turned around in the dark. I demand that you release me at once!”

Twyla looked as if she wanted to throttle the man.

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Morgan Ashbury

“Nice try, you big ass. We wired the vault for sound. Your host, as well as these fine gentlemen from the police department, heard everything. You’re fried, and so is your bimbo companion.”

Mercury never offered another word. He’d been hauled to his feet by two very big Dominican police officers. Two more held Brenda.

They’d been taken out of sight but not hearing when she started screaming for a lawyer.

“I think I’m missing something, here,” Nick said. He knew he was missing something. He could hear everyone talking, but the words made no sense.

“First things first,” Twyla said. “We’ll have the doctor make sure you’re all right, then I’m going to kill you.”

He felt a smile spreading slowly. Even though his shoulder still hurt like hell, he knew he wasn’t seriously hurt. “You want the doctor to make sure I’m okay before you kill me? Why, so you don’t have to share the credit with Rolly?”

“Jerk.”

The sight of her tears undid him. “Don’t cry, baby. I’m okay.”

“You have a lot of nerve, playing hero that way.”

“He had his gun pointed at your head, sweetheart. No way in hell I

was going to let that bastard kill you. I love you.”

“Yeah, I get that. I love you, too. Maybe I won’t kill you. This time. But if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll reconsider.”

“Deal.”

* * * *

Twyla didn’t relax until Nick had been made comfortable in one of the Pierce’s guest bedrooms, with his shoulder cleaned and bandaged. The bullet from Mercury’s gun had gone straight through, but the doctor didn’t think there’d be any irreparable damage. Dylan promised to arrange transport for the next day to take them back to the

States.

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When the doctor left, Pamela and Dylan came into the bedroom.

Pamela immediately ran over to Nick and kissed his cheek. “That is for saving my sister’s life.”

Nick looked from Pamela to her, but no anger marred his expression. Considering what she hadn’t told him, that was amazing.

“Pamela, whom I always called PJ

before she married Dylan, is my other foster sister. The three of us—her, Alba and me—lived in the same foster home from the time we were about eleven.”

“And Mercury just happened to land here on your doorstep?”

Nick asked of Dylan.

“Well, yes. As soon as he made the police report about the missing necklace, Twyla knew he’d stolen it himself—even before you met her,” he answered.

“You’d already decided to go after him,” Nick guessed, looking at her.

“I had. The day after the theft, when I realized what he’d done, I

arranged for him to accidentally find out that Dylan Pierce had the statue of

The Moerae in his vault—”

“I didn’t, of course,” he interrupted. “Mother had to have it couriered to me from our home in Athens. She wasn’t happy about that, but she felt she owed Twyla for the return of

Thelxiope

, and so she sent it.”

“My God,” Nick muttered. “Patterns within patterns.”

Twyla read the confusion on his face and gave him a big smile.

“Oh. Didn’t I tell you that Dylan’s mother is Maria

Andropolis

Pierce, and that she indulges her lifelong love of Greek Mythology and Art by acting as curator—and patroness—of the Museum of the Gods in

Athens?”

“No, that tiny detail must have skipped your mind.”

“Sorry.”

Dylan rubbed his hands together as he picked up the narrative.

Twyla sat beside Nick on the bed and let the man she considered her brother-in-law have his moment. She knew he’d enjoyed, immensely,

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Morgan Ashbury his role in the recent drama.

“Mercury had already been making overtures to the Moerae

Company in the hopes of getting close to some of the antiquities it’s rumored we have. Interpol has actually had their eye on the man for nearly a decade, but they could never get enough information to pass on to the Florida police, so no warrant had ever been issued.”

Twyla turned her head to encounter Nick’s wide-eyed stare.

“You’re not a thief at all, are you?” he asked.

“Well, not any more.”

“Pamela and I will leave the rest to you,” Dylan said. She accepted his kiss on her cheek and waited until he’d closed the door behind him.

“Not any more?”

Twyla smoothed a hand over his head. She felt so damned happy he would be all right. “I started out as a thief after college because I

seemed to have a genuine talent for it. Strange. Of the three of us—

Alba, P.J. and I—P.J. loved art and art history, Alba loved to design jewelry, and I loved to steal both.”

“I thought Alba worked as a government clerk.”

“Well, she does work for the government. Anyway, before she got that job, she designed jewelry. It had been a favorite hobby and looked as if it might become her career even before she graduated university. She’d been commissioned to design a brooch, her first really big break. This happened about ten years ago. The client had three very beautiful and expensive rubies delivered to her, and someone stole them.”

“She got blamed?”

“Yeah. The cops didn’t charge her because they had no evidence, but they didn’t make any bones about what they believed. The incident devastated her.”

“And you what…found the real thief?”

“I did, and I made certain he got caught. The rubies were returned to their rightful owner, who then did apologize.”

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“You did a good thing, helping your sister. Why did you stop being a thief? Guilt?”

“No, because the rush I got doing the right thing beat the rush of the heist. It really never has been about money or things.”

“Now you go around the world stealing from thieves and returning stolen property to rightful owners?”

“Yeah. Like I told you the night we met. Acquisitions.”

“You get paid by the insurance companies?”

“Insurance companies, grateful owners. It’s a living. A very good one.”

“And you didn’t tell me before because you needed me to accept you as you were.”

“Yes. I can’t explain why I felt so strongly about that, but I did.”

Twyla snuggled down next to Nick on his uninjured side, the feel of his arm going around her the sweetest feeling in the world. Even with the planning, everything could have gone so wrong tonight.

While they’d been in the vault, they’d been   vulnerable. If Mercury so had decided to pull the trigger then and there, they’d have been dead.

“I’m not letting you go, you know. You’ve enchanted me completely. So I guess we’re just going to have to find a way to make our unique talents…mesh.”

His kiss was gentle and reverent.

“I think,” Twyla said, snuggling in to him, “we can probably work something out.”

THE END

WWW.MORGANASHBURY.COM

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Whether comedy or suspense, romance remains Morgan’s favorite genre to write. She especially had fun creating

The Enchantress

, an installment of The Song of the Sirens trilogy. She promises the next two installments—

The Seductress and

The Beauty

—will be as much fun to read as they are hot.

Visit Morgan at MorganAshbury.com.

Also by Morgan Ashbury

Adult Fairy Tale:

Beau and the Lady Beast

Lily in Bloom

Made for Each Other

Magic & Love 1:

The Prince and the Single Mom

Magic & Love 2:

The Princess and the Bodyguard

Magic & Love 3:

A Prince for Sophie

Coming soon:

The Song of the Sirens:

The Seductress

The Song of the Sirens:

The Beauty

Available at

SIRENPUBLISHING.COM

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

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