The Family Jewels (3 page)

J
ake took
a long pull from his glass of scotch and looked around the room. Opulence was apparently the theme of the day for this event. From the trays piled high with lobster tempura and shrimp puffs, to the flutes filled with Dom, it was a high-class affair. Once this was over for good, he vowed to spend the next six months eating nothing but fish and chips and the occasional burger. He was full to the gills of all the fussy food and drink.

"So I look up and there's this Italian woman standing in the doorway, and let me tell you, she was
en fuego
.” Alistair bit his knuckles and rolled his eyes for effect. “Ass for days.”

As his host prattled on, Jake tried to recall a time he'd been more bored, but he was coming up empty. An hour in and all he'd been able to find out that he hadn't already known was that, during parties, Hannigan closed off the personal wing of the house. Not because he feared anyone stealing from him, he'd explained. It was because the house was so big, people would get lost and it would take them hours to find their way back to the party.

Jake had nodded like he was impressed, but the boasts and jokes were grinding on his nerves more and more every day.

He should be happy. After all this time, he’d finally gotten into the hive of the bee. He’d played it perfectly, making Alistair all but beg him to show up tonight. Now that he had, he was Hannigan’s new favorite. All he had to do was stay aloof, stringing him along with this bogus investment opportunity until he was able to get the information he needed.

He tossed back the last of his scotch, setting his glass down on the nearest empty table. Tomorrow, he'd give it a rest. Drop a line in water, enjoy the weather, have a long think out on the boat. Maybe Mike would be able to take half a day and join him. It had been months since he’d spent any time with his brother, and he was sick of avoiding him.

"Well, when I was done with her, she could hardly walk," Hannigan continued, face stretched into a leer.

Jake forced a tight smile, but even that made him feel oily and he was just about to excuse himself when he saw her.

A woman in a gold dress. Maybe “dress” wasn't the right word for it. It was a second skin, really. A fall of effervescent fabric so thin, so sheer, that it cascaded over her body like water. Her hair was black as pitch and tumbled down her bare back in a mass of waves, nearly touching her pert backside.

His cock went instantly hard and he reached out and plucked a glass of champagne off a passing tray to wet his suddenly dry throat. Who the fuck was that, and why wouldn't she turn around?

"Countess Ilya Van Bergen,” Alistair said, sidling closer to him. “Word is that she's only in the States for a few more weeks. Here raising money for an arts school in Bavaria. I'll tell you what, I'll give those starving artists fifty grand if she'd bend over and let me get a little paint on that canvas, if you know what I mean."

Jake tuned him out, totally enthralled with the woman in front of him as she turned, giving him her profile.

He hated the thought of staring at her the way Hannigan was, but he couldn’t look away, either. From this angle, he could tell her face was as lovely as her figure, featuring full lips, wide eyes with impossibly thick lashes and a long, elegant neck that he had the sudden urge to nip at.

"I'm going in," Alistair said. "Wish me luck."

Apparently it was a rhetorical request so he didn't wait for Jake’s blessing, which was good, because he wasn’t going to get it. In fact, Jake had to grip the side of the mahogany bar to keep from physically restraining the bastard so he couldn’t get his greasy paws all over that beautiful woman. Surely she would see through him and send him packing straight off.

But she didn't.

Jake watched from his spot by the bar as Alistair Hannigan seemed to charm the knickers off the young Countess. He still couldn't see her face, but her shoulders shook with laughter at points, and she'd reached up and toyed with both Alistair's lapel and his hair in the past few minutes. He shook off the passing disappointment, set down the too-sweet champagne and ordered a second scotch.

It was better this way. He might not be able to get the information he needed tonight, but he still had to be on top of his game and Countess Van Bergen would have split his attentions. Not to mention, she clearly had terrible taste if she was charmed by Hannigan, so they made a perfect pair.

What he couldn't allow, though, was for her to monopolize Alistair's time. Tonight, it was crucial that he not only get a tour of the place, but also whet Hannigan’s appetite about the investment deal again. If not tonight, he'd have to go to the poker game on Friday as well, and he wasn't sure his stomach could take another evening of the man.

He scooped up his drink and handed the bartender a five dollar tip before crossing the room to where Alistair and the Countess stood, heads bent together like childhood conspirators, chuckling.

"Alistair, there you are. A word, please?"

Hannigan met his gaze with a sulky frown. "Little busy here right now, Callahan."

"Apologize, just need a quick second.”

He felt rather than saw the second set of eyes trained on him and turned his head to meet the Countess's irritated gaze, nearly jerking in surprise. Not because she was as beautiful up close as she’d been a half dozen yards away, although she was. Stunning, actually. Wide-set blue eyes were a stunning foil for all that black hair. The effect made her look more gypsy than Countess. But what was even more shocking was that he'd seen that face before. Sure, it had been hidden under a pair of unflattering glasses and obscured by terrible blondish fringe, and yes, those eyes had been the darkest of browns and not blue, but that face? He would know it anywhere.

Sadie the Waitress.

Mind racing, he tipped his head and tried to block everything else out and observe. Her expression gave away nothing, but that posture, the way she held herself, and that mouth? She was a dead ringer. Could she be a doppelganger? Or a twin, maybe?

Not likely. Which meant…

"Have we met before?" he asked softly, keeping his gazed locked with hers. To her credit, she didn't even flinch. In fact, the responding confusion knitting her smooth brow and the questioning tilt of her head were so convincing, if he was someone else, he might have let his wild conspiracy theory go right then and there.

But he wasn't someone else. He was Jake Callahan, con artist extraordinaire, son of Scotland Yard’s most decorated detective, and his young Countess had a tell.

"I don't believe so. But then, I travel extensively, perhaps we've crossed paths at one time or another." Her red lips curved into a gracious smile, but all the while, the pulse in her neck was beating like a drum at a
ceili
. "Countess Ilya Van Bergen. And you are?"

She held out an elegant hand and he took it in his, letting his fingers trail over her wrist down her palm where he found exactly what he'd been looking for. Soft, familiar skin.

"Jake Callahan.”
What are you playing at, pretty Sadie?
“You know, Countess, I'm usually a crack-shot at guessing accents, but I can't place yours."

“I’m from Bavaria.”

"Ah, German,” he said with a nod. “
Ich spreche ein wenig Deutsch
.”

Her eyes widened just a bit and he almost grinned.

Gotcha.

But then she wrinkled her nose and winked. "
Nicht sehr gut, leider
.”

He barked out a laugh, unable to hold it in. Sexy
and
smart. A lethal combination if there ever was one, and he had no doubt this girl was trouble.

“What’s so funny?” Alistair demanded.

“I was telling the Countess here that I speak some German and she very graciously let me know that, while that may be technically true, I don’t speak it very well. I think it’s the Irish coming through.” He’d learned just enough of four major languages --French, Spanish, Italian, and German-- to get by, but his German accent was shit. The thing was, he’d heard it enough to know that hers was almost as bad.

If this woman was a Countess, he would eat his proverbial hat.

"Mr. Hannigan and I were just talking about my foundation for the arts. If you have something more important to discuss with him than a children’s charity, though…?"

Whatever fear she'd felt when she'd thought he might recognize her was gone now, replaced by determination. She wasn't a hundred percent sure whether he’d bought what she was selling, but either way, it wasn't going to sway her from whatever she was about with this little farce. He’d liked her spunk, and he was intrigued beyond belief, but he couldn’t let her interfere with his own plans.

"Hold that thought, Countess,” Alistair said with a frown as he peered down at the mobile phone in his hand. “I have some business I need to take care of. Give me five minutes.”

He strode off and Sadie the Countess Waitress stared after him like he was the last life boat on the Titanic.

She sucked in a breath and turned back to Jake with a cheery smile. "I should probably take a moment to step into the powder room and freshen up," she murmured and made to sweep past him in a cloud of citrus perfume that made him want to lean closer and smell her nape. Before she got by him, he reached out and clasped his fingers lightly over her wrist.

"Why don't you dance with me first?"

Said the spider to the fly.

She stiffened but when she met his gaze, she nodded, a crafty twinkle in her eye. "Certainly. Maybe we can use the time to talk about my foundation."

The surge of disbelief that followed her words was only eclipsed by the surge of admiration. That was the second mention of what he was almost one hundred percent certain was a fake charity run by a fake Countess.

Sadie the Countess Waitress wasn’t sure if he recognized her or not, but in the interim, she figured she might as well try to work him over, too.

The irony of it all was enough to make him want to belly laugh. How long had it been since he’d felt that way?

Too long. But as much as he was enjoying this little detour from his regularly scheduled program, he needed to stop her before she actually became a problem.

He led his companion to the dance floor just as the band struck up another song.

The plan had been to call her out right there, while she was trapped in his arms. Flat out ask her who the hell she was trying to fool. Tell her he knew who she was, and send her packing.

And then, she’d looped her arms around his neck, and her soft breasts had brushed his hard chest, and suddenly the very last thing he wanted was for her to go away.

He couldn't deny that a part of him, long dormant, had come roaring back to life the second he'd seen her. The past few years especially, this thing with Hannigan had consumed him and it seemed like his joy for life was leaking out of him one drop at a time. Now, though, with the mysterious Sadie’s lithe body pressed against his and her scent filling his head, he felt alive again, and made a split-second decision.

He'd still have to set her straight and send her on her way soon enough, but for now? For just a minute, he was going to kick this game of cat and mouse into high gear and have some fun.

* * *

I
rish Spring soap
.

The scent had haunted her since they’d collided at the restaurant and she’d practically plastered herself against him, swiping at his muscular chest with that bar rag. She’d figured it was him right off. He was the only guy with enough confidence to skip the cologne, but the fact that she’d known it all along didn’t make it any easier to think straight this time or the last.

In fact, being this close to the man again and trying to think at all was an exercise in futility.

He was so tall and broad, she should’ve felt dwarfed by him, even in her high heels. Instead, it was like their bodies had been sculpted to fit one another. Not cool.

Just as she was plotting a way to get him to sit down and talk before she melted into a puddle at his feet, he tipped his head so that his lips were close to her ear, and a puff of warm breath sent a shiver through her.

"That dress should come with a bloody fire extinguisher,” he murmured.

So should that accent,
she wanted to reply, but she managed to restrain herself. He was a wedge. A barrier between where she was and where she needed to be. Time to kick it out of the way and move things along. He was already suspicious. She needed to find out exactly how suspicious so she could determine whether to scrap plan A and move to plan B.

“I’m glad you like it,” she said with a smile, hoping against hope he didn’t test her rusty German again. Luckily, this wasn’t her first rodeo as a Bavarian aristocrat, so she’d muddled through, but it had been a close call.

“So tell me, Mr. Callahan, how do you know Alistair?”

“We’re business associates.” He pulled back to gaze down at her. “And you?”

“We just met this evening, actually,” she replied through her suddenly dry lips. “We had corresponded via email for several months when I contacted him about a painting I was interested in acquiring. We got to discussing our passion for art and my organization, and he invited me to the gala.”