Mad About You (boxed set of beloved romances) Page 7

  Nodding, Kat said, "I remember, but I think Guy was wrong. Jack Tomlin was guilty of overly admiring some of the gallery's jewelry, but I don't believe he was a thief."

  He mentally ticked down the growing list of suspects. "You trust everyone, don't you, Pussy-Kat?"

  *****

  Kat's breath caught at the pet name he bandied about with such ease. It was obvious he'd spent a lifetime perfecting flirtation. How many women had fallen victim to his charms? What shocked her most was she could sit here and logically analyze his methods, yet still be affected by them like a uniformed schoolgirl.

  Her hand tightened around the cold bottle she held. "No, I don't trust everyone, Mr. Donovan. While we're on the subject, though, where were you this morning at twelve-thirty?"

  His black eyebrows climbed. "Would you believe reflecting on our missed opportunity?"

  Her pulse vaulted. "Not for a second."

  Shrugging gallantly, he pulled a wry grin. "I decided to postpone my flight until today, so I checked into a hotel, watched some horrible TV interview shows, and tried to rest. I finally gave up and drove around the city for a while, then ended up back at the gallery. You know the rest."

  "So you were alone the entire time?" she asked, thinking it very likely he could have picked up someone in the hotel bar—an image which bothered her immensely.

  One corner of his mouth lifted. "Unfortunately, yes, I was alone."

  Faintly relieved, Kat crossed her arms triumphantly. "It seems your alibi is about as airtight as mine, Agent Donovan."

  He spread his hands wide. "But what motive would I have?"

  Kat angled her head at him. "Money?"

  "I don't need it."

  She thought about the remarks he'd made concerning the letter's owner, Lady Mercer. "Love?"

  James's brown eyes widened, then he shook his head with deliberate slowness. "Not in my vocabulary."

  Intrigued, Kat filed away his response. "Then maybe you stole the letter just for the thrill of it."

  He caught her gaze, then leaned forward on his stool until his face was only inches from hers.

  Kat froze, unable to look away, appalled at her thrashing heart. The man's senses were so superhuman, he could probably hear it.

  His eyes sparkled with warmth and humor, and his mouth was drawn back, revealing both dimples. His breath feathered across her chin three times before he smiled and said, "I'd rather get my thrills taking things which are freely given."

  Her pulse and the music from the stereo pounded in her ears. Her throat constricted, forcing her to swallow, painfully and audibly.

  He reached forward in slow motion until he touched her cheek with his warm forefinger. Kat's eyes closed involuntarily, her mind spun, her lips opened a fraction.

  "You," he whispered, "look good enough to eat."

  She opened her eyes as his finger swept a tiny semicircle against her skin.

  "Even without pizza sauce on your face." His grin widened, revealing white teeth. A splash of red sauce decorated his long finger.

  Embarrassment bolted through her and she pulled back, patting the counter for a napkin, then wiped her face as he laughed heartily.

  "You could have said something," she murmured.

  "I did," he said, his full-throated mirth surrounding her.

  At last, she gave in to the mood and smiled. Shaking her head, she pushed herself up. "Would you like another beer?"

  "No offense," he said, palming his empty bottle, "but American beer is a bit watered down for my tastes."

  "I have red wine." She looked around the jumbled kitchen. "Somewhere."

  "Thanks all the same," he said, standing up. "What can I do to help?"

  Kat started to protest, then relented. Telling herself she could use the help and ignoring the nagging feeling that she wanted to prolong his visit, she said, "I can't get everything back in its place tonight—you ought to see my bedroom."

  "If you insist," he said cheerfully, capturing her wrist and turning in the direction of her room.

  Her heart thudded in alarm—she was getting in over her head with this English Casanova. "B-But the kitchen would be a good place to start," she said, standing her ground. "All the dishes will have to be cleaned—God knows who handled them. Will you hand me plates to fill the dishwasher?"

  He sighed, but relented with a slight bow. "At your service."

  She opened the machine to find a few unwashed items, her eyes drawn immediately to two green coffee mugs in the top rack. "That's odd," she said, picking up one of them. "What?"

  "I didn't use these coffee cups."

  He frowned. "Someone did."

  "Do you suppose the policemen used them—perhaps for a drink out of the tap?" She lifted the cup and inhaled a deep, slightly acrid odor. "No, this one had coffee in it." Claiming the other one and turning it over, she announced, "This one too."

  "I doubt they would have made themselves coffee," James said. "What about your friend?"

  Kat glanced up in surprise. "Denise?"

  "Perhaps she had a guest over, after all."

  For the first time, Kat experienced misgivings about her girlfriend. "I'll call and ask her." She replaced the coffee mugs, only to have James reach past her with a handkerchief to retrieve them and set them on the counter.

  "Possible evidence," he explained. "And postpone ringing her until I can do some checking into Miss Womack's background."

  "You can do that?"

  James pursed his lips and nodded.

  "On anyone?"

  Another nod.

  "What could you find out?" she asked, intrigued and perturbed. "About someone like me, for instance."

  "If I invested some time," he said with a small shrug, "practically anything—the places you shop, the man you're sleeping with."

  Kat laughed nervously, gesturing for him to hand her a stack of mismatched, brightly colored plates. "Well, if you find out, I want to be the first to know his name."

  "Ah, no boyfriend?" He handed her a yellow and orange plate, his expression surprised.

  "Not currently," she supplied self-consciously. Not for ages, really, but he didn't need to know.

  "No aspirations for a family? Little Pussy-Kittens, perhaps?"

  He'd hit a nerve, but he didn't need to know that either. Kat attributed her longing for children and a family of her own to losing her parents and having no siblings with whom to share the loss. "It would be hard to raise children in the state penitentiary," she said, trying to lighten the mood.

  "So you do want children." His voice rose with new insight and he grinned as he handed her a pink and turquoise plate.

  "I don't dwell on it," she said wryly. "How about you?"

  Confusion crossed his brow and he averted his eyes. "I never allowed myself to think about it before, due to the nature of my job."

  The domesticity of their situation struck her—standing in the kitchen putting away dishes and talking about having a family. "And now?" she prompted.

  He brightened, his self-assurance returned. "And now I quite like the freedom of traveling to foreign countries and meeting charming women like yourself."

  So he was either a confirmed bachelor or loosely committed to the woman in England. "And does Lady Mercer share your enthusiasm for your spreading good cheer to women of the world?"

  "Tania has some admirable assets," he said roguishly, but I assure you our relationship is strictly business."

  Kat cocked an eyebrow. "No assurance needed, Mr. Donovan, I was simply being conversational."

  "Well then," he said, spreading his arms wide, "for conversation's sake, I'm an unfettered man."

  "And have you spoken with Lady Mercer since the break-in?"

  His smile disappeared. "She was out, so I shared the turn of events with her assistant. But I left word not to worry—we'll find the thief and the missing letter. And the whole episode will probably fetch her even more money in the auction."

  "Probably," Kat agreed as she racked m
ore plates, then pointed to the saucers. "But I wish I were so certain the police will find the burglar."

  "I didn't say the police," he corrected. "Detective Tenner is quite content to believe you stole the letter and the other pieces from the gallery. Which means," he said with a smile, "the real perpetrator thinks he or she is off the hook. Which means we can catch them off guard."

  "We?" Kat asked.

  "As in you and me," he affirmed. "I'd never forgive myself if an innocent woman were locked up and denied the chance to have a cottage full of children."

  Kat frowned at a chipped saucer and set it aside. "I'm sorry for the delay in your trip to New York. I know this has turned out to be more than you bargained for."

  "An understatement of gigantic proportions," he said softly.

  Kat glanced up and reached for a red saucer he held out to her, but when she curled her fingers around it, he refused to relinquish his grip. Instead he plucked the saucer from her hand and clasped her wrist, then pulled her toward him slowly, as if he expected her to resist.

  She didn't. What woman could? He was irresistible, a larger-than-life image, a devastatingly sexy, charming superhero who seemed—at least for this moment—to want her. She had never felt more desirable. Kat became fluid in his arms, her curves surging against the hard planes of his body. He wrapped his arms around her and lowered his mouth with hard and fast intent. She held him loosely at first, tightening her hold around his neck as the urgency of their kiss increased.

  His lips were soft, but demanding. He stole her breath into his mouth in great gulps, and she gasped for air between the clashing of their tongues, their teeth. The bittersweet taste of beer remained on his tongue, and Kat lapped it up, echoing his moans.

  James crushed her against him, his hands roaming freely down her back and over her hips. Desire exploded low in her stomach and flamed out to her limbs as she felt his need for her growing hard against her belly. Reason fled, and all that mattered was his hands on her body.

  He slid his hands under her shirt and explored her like a lost traveler looking for home, his fingers searching, finding, revering. Her breasts bloomed as he caressed them through her satiny bra, teasing the peaks until her arms weakened and dropped to his waist. She kneaded his back muscles through the thin fabric of his shirt, pressing herself into his hands, opening her mouth to his plundering tongue. His groans resonated in her throat, sending a hum through her limbs.

  As he slipped the strap of her bra down one shoulder, he rained kisses along her jaw, triggering waves of shuddering desire. She rolled her shoulders, arching to meet him as his mouth traveled to her neck. He gently nipped at her lobe and flicked his tongue over the shell of her ear, sending liquid heat through her midsection and arrowing to her thighs.

  "Ms. McKray," he whispered between ragged breaths, "I should very much like to inspect the condition of your bedroom."

  Chapter Seven

  TEN HEART-POUNDING, flesh-grinding, bone-melting seconds passed before his words sank in and sanity returned. Kat froze and her eyes popped open.

  James increased the urgency of his caresses, and crooned into her ear, "On the other hand, the sofa would serve us just as well." He urged her to follow him, but at her resistance, he lifted his head.

  Kat disentangled herself and righted her clothes, her mind spinning. Ignoring the disappointment and longing surging through her body, she took a deep breath. "James, having sex is not going to help anything."

  James glanced down at the bulge straining the front of his slacks and grinned wryly. "I'm afraid I don't concur."

  She averted her gaze and backed away from him, trying to rid herself of the lingering burn of his hands on her skin. Gesturing around the room, she laughed wildly. "Look at this place—this represents the state of my life right now, and you want us to get naked!"

  His eyebrows rose. "You seemed to be enjoying it as much as I, Pussy-Kat."

  A hot flush spread over her face. "I...I lost my head. I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. It's been a crazy day, and I'm not myself."

  He slowly dragged his fingers through his hair, exhaling. "Forgive me—I don't make a habit of taking advantage of damsels in distress."

  Part of her felt flattered that he seemed so disappointed, but a larger part felt annoyed at his inference that she needed to be rescued. Her chin came up. "And I don't make a habit of being a damsel in distress."

  James sighed. "Once again I offend you," he said, splaying his hands. "Perhaps we should both get some rest and resume work on the case tomorrow. I'll drop the coffee cups off to the detective before I return to my hotel." He walked over to the counter and carefully wrapped the mugs in paper towels.

  Barbs of remorse pricked Kat—she didn't want him to leave, and that in itself scared her almost as much as the prospect of going to jail for something she didn't do. She found a plastic grocery bag and held it open in silence as he lowered the cups into it. Her mind raced for healing words, but as she opened her mouth, a knock sounded at her door. She jumped at the noise, her nerves a jangled mess.

  "Are you expecting anyone?"

  Kat shook her head and walked to the door, wondering what else could happen today. "Who is it?"

  "It's Valmer, Katherine."

  Her shoulders eased forward in relief and she swung open the door. "Come in, Val."

  "How are you doing, my dear?" The rotund man stopped when he noticed James, then addressed him, his voice tinged with suspicion. "I thought you were simply driving Katherine home, Mr. Donovan."

  James nodded, then indicated her apartment. "When we discovered this mess, I helped her straighten up a bit and we ordered dinner in."

  Feeling guilty and exposed without her glasses and with her hair hanging loose around her shoulders, Kat was too aware of the hot flush climbing her neck. Valmer glanced back and forth between them—he obviously suspected hanky-panky.

  "Has there been a new development?" James stepped in smoothly to bridge the awkward moment.

  Val turned back to Kat. "I thought you'd want to know the grand jury will hear your case in one week."

  Her knees felt rubbery, so she sat down hard on the denim couch. "As of now, what are the chances I'll be indicted?"

  Val's grunt was not comforting. "Well, it's all circumstantial evidence, but it's strong. I'd say fifty-fifty, but you could shift the odds in your favor if you take a polygraph."

  Kat's heart pounded and she glanced up nervously at James, then back to Val. "Is that necessary?"

  "It would help, Kat, and it's a fairly simple procedure."

  Dread mushroomed in her stomach. "What kind of questions will I be asked?"

  "Simple things to set the baseline for your responses," he said, "with inquiries about the burglary thrown in at intervals." He walked over and patted her shoulder. "Don't worry, you'll do just fine. We'll beat these charges, Katherine."

  She conjured up a brave smile. "Of course we will."

  James briefed Valmer about the possible significance of the coffee cups and told him he would hand-deliver them to Detective Tenner.

  "Perhaps I'd better take them," Val offered hesitantly, still unconvinced of James's trustworthiness.

  "Be my guest," James said magnanimously, pushing the bag toward him. "But I plan to see him regardless."

  Val's mouth twisted. "I'll call Detective Tenner tomorrow morning to make sure he received them." Turning to go, he said, "Call me in the morning to set up a time for the polygraph, okay, Kat?"

  She stood on shaky legs and walked the few steps to the door with him. "Val, what if I'm nervous? What if I fail the test?"

  He smiled. "You won't—everything will be fine, Katherine. You'll see." Then he squeezed her hand and closed the door behind him.

  Kat held on to the doorknob and kept her back to James, trying to regain her composure. Her body was still rebounding from her lapse with James, and now she had one more setback to cinch a sleepless night: She would never pass the polygraph. One impulsive si
n would come back to haunt her.

  James studied her from behind, the droop of her shoulders, the white-knuckled grip on the doorknob. Offering comfort to her seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Walking up behind her, he gently wrapped his arms around her, covered her hands with his, and dropped his chin to her shoulder. Her hair smelled heavenly, and that sweet, soft smell lingered on her skin. She acknowledged his presence by relaxing into him slightly. When he could no longer will his body to remain calm, he whispered, "I'll call you early tomorrow."

  James reluctantly released her and she moved away from the door to open it. While shrugging into his jacket, he winked at her, glad to see her mouth turn up slightly at the corners. He didn't want to leave her alone, and the revelation stunned him. "I'll come back to stay if you need company," he offered. "I'll take the sofa."

  "No," she said softly. "I don't think that would be wise."

  He pursed his lips, nodding in agreement. He scribbled his number on a piece of paper. "Call my cell phone or my room at the Flagiron Hotel if you require my services—" He paused and searched for firmer ground. "That is, if you wish to speak to me."

  She smiled, but the spark didn't reach her blue eyes, which seemed a little too wide and a little too moist for his comfort.

  James walked to his car in the early dusk of the evening, passing off his antsy feelings as simple pent-up lust. Kat was a desirable woman in trouble, and he was programmed to offer assistance. It was natural to have protective feelings for her—but these strange sensations rumbling around in his chest felt alien to him.

  Then he grinned wryly. Perhaps it was his ego smarting from being turned down. He seemed to be losing his touch in several areas.

  James headed to the police station and circled for thirty minutes to find a parking place, then entered the nondescript building and asked an officer seated behind bulletproof glass for Detective Tenner. The uniformed man waved him through a door where he patted James down. He warned him of the gun before the officer found it, then presented various credentials and licenses. The officer also searched the bag containing the two cups, adding his own prints before James could stop him. Finally satisfied, the man checked his weapon and gave him vague directions, sending James on a journey through a noisy maze of cubicles and people, a hodgepodge of police officers, suspects, and witnesses.