Mad About You (9 page)

The color had returned to her cheeks. She was, he decided, simply beautiful. Tumble-out-of-bed-looking-great beautiful. Her expressive brows held her looks just shy of classic—her features were unique, arresting...and had become alarmingly satisfying to his eyes in a short period of time. He blinked, forcing his attention back to the matter at hand. "What about your boss? Or even his boss? Perhaps this is a way to get rid of you since your so-called debt to them is nearly paid."

Kat pushed back a long lock of dark hair that had dried and fallen over her ear. "I suspect Guy knew I'd be leaving soon—they weren't going to have to push me out the door. Remember, they're the ones who wanted this working arrangement, not me. Besides, Guy was so excited about showing the King's love letter, he'd never do anything to jeopardize the show. I'm sure he's devastated."

"Does the gallery specialize in private auctions?"

She shook her head, dislodging more thick hair to distract him. "No, in fact, this is the first auction at Jellico’s to attract media attention. We typically give the pieces West Coast exposure, then ship them back east to the large auction houses."

"And how did the gallery learn about the letter?"

"Guy has European connections from a Los Angeles gallery he ran before coming to Jellico's. Since there are several document collectors in the Bay Area, he's constantly putting out feelers for new entries on the market."

"These document collectors—are they history buffs?"

She lifted the bottle of beer to her mouth for a quick drink. "Not necessarily—we've sold letters, movie scripts, autographs, even recipes."

He pursed his lips. "I suppose there is a market for everything. What about the other fellow, Wharton?"

She dismissed his notion with a wave. "Andy's harmless. He's quite a good painter, studied all over Europe, but in this city, good painters are a dime a dozen. He turned his talents toward restoration, and my dad hired him while I was working summers during college."

"Are you artistic?" he probed.

This prompted a laugh, a sound he definitely wanted to hear more often. "I was only blessed with an appreciation and a good eye."

"So you're good at what you do?" He hadn't meant it to be a loaded question, but the glance she gave him said she suspected a setup.

"Yes," she said simply. "Otherwise, Guy wouldn't tolerate me working there, no matter how much he thought I owed the gallery. For all his faults, he runs a top-notch operation." She took another bite, twisting the stretchy cheese around a finger and licking it off.

James ran a finger around the collar of his turtleneck "What about the security officers?"

Kat chewed slowly as she pondered his question. "Carl Jays and Ronald Beaman are the only ones I know past a first-name basis. Ron has been with the gallery since the day it opened and, as far as I know, has never raised an eyebrow."

"Mr. Trent mentioned a guard he fired because he suspected the man of stealing."

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 more 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.