Книга - The Fiancée Caper

The Fiancée Caper
Maureen Child


To Catch a Thief, It Will Take a Thief He comes from a long line of charismatic jewel thieves. But Gianni Coretti made a deal to save his family and now walks the straight and narrow. When Marie O’Hara, a beautiful security expert, asks him to steal for her as part of a sting, his interest is definitely piqued. The fact that she’ll be pretending to be his fiancée is an added bonus. But as their fierce attraction blurs the line between ruse and reality, Gianni has to wonder: does a man with such a dubious past deserve a glorious future with this woman?







“As you wish.”

“You’ll come to Tesoro with me.” Gianni stood up, scowling at having all choice snatched from him. He wasn’t used to being outmaneuvered, but damned if he hadn’t been this time. “We leave in three days.”

“Three days?” She chewed at her bottom lip and he knew what she was thinking. How could she keep an eye on him from her hotel—wherever that was?

He’d thought the same and there really was only one solution to this entire situation. “You’ll stay here.”

“Excuse me?”

“We’ll need the three days to practice,” he told her.

“To practice what?”

His gaze flashed to hers. Finally, there was doubt in her eyes. “Why, to practice being a couple.”

“A couple of what?”

Her voice hitched higher and Gianni enjoyed her outrage.

“My family will never accept my bringing a stranger along to my new nephew’s christening …” He paused for effect, and watching her reaction was entirely worth it when he added, “So for the next week or so, you’re going to be my loving fiancée.”


The Fiancée

Caper

Maureen Child






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


MAUREEN CHILD writes for the Mills & Boon


Desire™ line and can’t imagine a better job. Being able to indulge your love for romance, as well as being able to spin stories just the way you want them told is, in a word, perfect.

A seven-time finalist for the prestigious Romance Writers of America RITA® Award, Maureen is the author of more than one hundred romance novels. Her books regularly appear on the bestseller lists and have won several awards, including a Prism, a National Readers’ Choice Award, a Colorado Romance Writers Award of Excellence and a Golden Quill.

One of her books, The Soul Collector, was made into a CBS TV movie starring Melissa Gilbert, Bruce Greenwood and Ossie Davis. If you look closely, in the last five minutes of the movie, you’ll spot Maureen, who was an extra in the last scene.

Maureen believes that laughter goes hand in hand with love, so her stories are always filled with humor. The many letters she receives assure her that her readers love to laugh as much as she does.

Maureen Child is a native Californian, but has recently moved to the mountains of Utah. She loves a new adventure, though the thought of having to deal with snow for the first time is a little intimidating.


To my son, Jason … who would make a fabulous romance hero!

I love you.


Contents

Cover (#u7b78fc1a-73d4-5a2c-83dd-0ebb98a8b224)

Introduction (#u599e0ddb-c225-5c6f-9ff8-c40fbe0eb397)

Title Page (#u629b82f8-b8e8-50f8-b54c-bb8c4984b0fe)

About the Author (#u2b76b463-7a51-589b-b76b-52ce97b00d10)

Dedication (#ue7800aaf-e11b-5e22-b726-714a8225aabf)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Extract

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


One (#u7571f912-203c-580d-96c0-fc94e308a684)

“Papa was behind the Van Court emerald theft last week, wasn’t he?” Gianni Coretti kept his voice low as he looked across the table at his brother, Paulo.

The other man shrugged, took a sip of his scotch and smiled faintly. “You know Papa.”

Gianni scowled and shoved one hand through his hair. That answer was deliberately vague, he told himself. Yet he hadn’t really expected anything different. Of course Paulo would side with their father.

Letting his gaze slide from his brother’s, Gianni looked out at the well-lit, exquisitely tended lawns of Vinley Hall. Crouched in the heart of Hampshire, on the southern coast of England, the luxury hotel was always the Coretti family’s inn of choice—not only for its innate elegance, but also for its convenience to Blackthorn private airfield.

The Corettis never flew commercial.

Today, Gianni was taking his brother to Blackthorn for a short flight to his home in Paris. On the way, of course, they had stopped for a drink. Paulo had been in London visiting for three days and frankly, to Gianni, it had felt like three years. He didn’t care for visitors, not even family. And Paulo in particular could push Gianni to the ends of his patience faster than anyone else he knew.

A waitress in a black skirt and smart white shirt made her way across what was once Vinley Hall’s library and now served as an elegant bar. In response to her presence, Gianni switched from English to Italian as he reminded his brother, “You and Papa do remember that just a year ago I bargained with Interpol to get us all immunity for past thefts?”

Paulo shuddered visibly and took another sip of scotch before replying in Italian. “Being that close to that many police? Don’t know how you managed—or for that matter why you bothered.” He set the heavy crystal tumbler down onto the polished oak table and ran his fingertips around the rim. His gaze locked on his brother’s. “We didn’t ask for immunity.”

True. They hadn’t asked. But Gianni had secured that promise of safety for them anyway. Unfortunately, his family not only didn’t appreciate it, but they were also appalled at the thought of giving up the “family business.”

The Corettis had been jewel thieves for centuries. Skills were handed down from one generation to the next. Secrets and tricks of the trade were taught to children who grew into adults with quick hands, quicker minds and the ability to slip in and out of locked doors without leaving a trace of their presence.

There were police on every continent of the globe who would give anything for one iota of evidence against the Corettis. But so far, the family hadn’t just been good, they’d been lucky. And Gianni was convinced their luck, eventually, would run out.

Try to tell that to a Coretti, though.

“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” Paulo asked.

“About what?” Irritation colored Gianni’s tone.

Paulo snorted. “This new life of honesty and goodness, of course.”

That irritation inside him flared brighter. “You make it sound as if I’m becoming a—” he paused to think of the best way to put it “—Boy Scout.”

Laughing, Paulo asked, “Aren’t you?”

For a year they had been talking about this and still his brother and father didn’t understand Gianni’s decision. But then, he told himself, it was hardly surprising. A legacy of thievery didn’t usually lend itself to suddenly becoming a law-abiding citizen. But Gianni had had an epiphany of sorts more than a year ago.

His sister, Teresa, thank the gods, understood, because she had chosen years ago to leave behind their family traditions. But Teresa was the only one to understand, because the changes he had made to his life had not only perplexed most of his family, but also, at times, himself.

“You have a job now, Gianni.” Paulo gave a dramatic shudder again as if the very thought of being employed shook him to his soul. “Corettis do not have jobs. We go on jobs. There is a difference.”

Across the room, a fire burned in a stone hearth, casting flickering shadows on the oak-paneled walls. Outside the casement windows, stately trees rattled their leaves in the near constant English wind. It was a perfectly pleasant room that normally he would have enjoyed. If he weren’t faced with talking to his hardheaded brother.

“And that difference could send my family to prison.”

“It hasn’t yet,” Paulo reminded him with a smug smile.

No, it hadn’t. But Dominick Coretti—Gianni’s father—was getting older. And even the best of men lost some of their skills with age. Not that Nick would ever admit to such a thing. So Gianni had arranged for his father’s safety because there was simply no chance his papa would survive a prison sentence.

Of course, that hadn’t been the only reason Gianni had, as his father continued to phrase it, “betrayed his very heritage.” While being a world-renowned thief had its perks, it also wasn’t without its downsides. For example, having to look over your shoulder your entire life.

Gianni wanted something else.

And if his father and brother kept screwing up, Gianni’s future was in jeopardy, too. In spite of the deal he’d made with certain agents of Interpol, if it was proven that the Coretti family was still making off with the jewels of Europe, he had no doubt that his deal would be broken and that his new “friends” would find a way to lump him in with his family.

“You worry too much, Gianni,” Paulo offered. “We are Corettis.”

“I know who we are, Paulo.”

“Do you?” Tipping his head to one side, the other man studied Gianni for a long moment before saying, “I think you’ve forgotten. And when you finally remember, you will leave this new life of yours behind—eagerly.”

Gianni finished his own drink, then stared at his brother. “I know exactly who I am. Who we all are. I gave my word in exchange for the immunity, Paulo.”

He snorted again. “To the police.”

As if that didn’t matter.

“It’s my word,” Gianni growled. “And the deal I struck with Interpol only includes past crimes. If you or Papa are caught now...”

“Again you worry.” Paulo shook his head. “We will not be caught. We are never caught. Besides, you know Papa. He could no more stop stealing than he could stop breathing.”

“I know.” Gianni wished he could order another scotch. But once Paulo was on the plane to Paris, he himself would be driving back to his home in Mayfair. And he really didn’t need a cop pulling him over for weaving along the streets.

His expression must have been easy to read since Paulo laughed again. “Papa is who he is, Gianni. Also, Lady Van Court was practically begging someone to take those stones.”

And the ease of the job would have been impossible for his father to resist. With a sigh, he said, “When you see him, tell Papa to lay low for a while at least until the reporters move on from covering the theft. In fact, if you have to, lock him in the closet at your place.”

Paulo laughed, finished his scotch and set the glass down again before standing. “I won’t even respond to that last idea, as we both know that it would take more than a simple lock to hold our father when he doesn’t wish to be held.”

“True enough,” Gianni mumbled. He stood up and followed his brother out the door and along the gravel drive to Gianni’s car. The airport was a short drive from the inn and all too soon, the brothers were standing on the tarmac with an icy British wind buffeting them.

“Watch your back out there in the world of respectability, brother,” Paulo said.

“Watch your own,” Gianni told him, pulling his brother in for a hard, brief hug. “And Papa’s as well.”

“Always,” Paulo assured him, then picked up his bag, turned and headed for the private jet waiting for him.

Gianni didn’t stay to watch the plane take off. Instead, he walked back to his car and drove home to his new life.

* * *

“So,” Marie O’Hara whispered into the darkened silence, “clearly, crime pays pretty well.”

She was in a position to know, since she was, at the moment, sneaking through the private lair of one of the world’s most notorious jewel thieves. Her stomach jumped with nerves and breathing wasn’t easy. All of her life, she’d followed the rules, obeyed the law, and tonight, she’d thrown all of that away for a chance at justice. Sadly, that thought didn’t help the nerves much. But she was here now and she was determined to search the place quickly and thoroughly.

After following Gianni Coretti for weeks, studying his habits, she was fairly sure the man would be gone for hours, but there was no sense in taking chances.

Marie didn’t turn on any lights; she didn’t want to risk it. Though the chances of neighbors spotting her slinking through his apartment were slim to none. Gianni Coretti’s luxury flat was a tenth-floor penthouse with a spectacular view of London. There was a glass wall of windows displaying that view and letting in enough moonlight that lamps weren’t really necessary anyway.

“It’s pretty but it’s more like a contemporary museum than a home,” Marie murmured as she walked across the gleaming, white marble floor. The whole place was white. It was like walking through a marshmallow, except it had too many sharp angles and harsh lines to be that soft and comfy. Shaking her head, she left the sterile, if beautiful, living room behind and continued on through a long hall. The marble ran throughout the flat and her heels made light, quick taps on its surface. She winced at every tiny sound as if it were a bullhorn announcing her presence.

Her short black skirt, sky-high heels and red silk shirt weren’t exactly designed for stealth. But she’d had to get past the security guard/doorman and she’d had to dress the part of one of Coretti’s many assignations. That was lowering, but it had gotten her past the thief’s first line of defense.

The kitchen was as austere and off-putting as the rest of the place. It looked as though it had never been used—restaurant-grade stove and sub-zero fridge notwithstanding. Just off that kitchen was a dining room with a—surprise—glass table, surrounded by six ghost chairs, so that it looked as though there was nothing there even though it took up quite a bit of room.

Shaking her head at the fact that the wrong people had all the money, Marie moved on, headed past two guest rooms and straight for the master bedroom. The closer she got, the faster nerves swam in the pit of her stomach. Marie really didn’t have the breaking-and-entering personality at all. Unlike the man who owned this palace of white, glass and chrome.

“Honestly, would it kill him to have a little warmth in here?” Her voice seemed to reverberate through the empty flat, making the whole place seem a little creepy.

Shaking her head at her own errant thoughts, she told herself to focus on the reason for this little enterprise. She was there to find something she could use against Gianni Coretti. Sure. No problem. Police around the world had been trying and failing to get evidence against the Coretti family for years. Yet, she reminded herself, she already had one very interesting piece she knew would get Gianni’s attention. It had been luck, pure and simple, but sometimes luck was enough.

She just wanted a little...more. More was better, especially since she was planning something that most people would consider crazy.

“It’s not crazy, though,” she assured herself aloud. Creepy or not, she’d rather have the sound of her own voice echoing back at her than the strained silence in this white, ultramodern palace.

The master bedroom also had a wall of glass affording a view of a tenth-floor terrace and the spectacular sweep of nighttime London. Everything in the room was white again, of course.

The oversized bed was against one wall, facing a huge flat-screen TV that hung over a wide fireplace. There were built-in dressers and a walk-in closet and an attached bath that boasted miles of white tile, a bathtub that looked like a gigantic white canoe and a waterfall setup in lieu of a shower.

She might not love all of the white, but Marie could appreciate the luxury of the place even though the style was nothing she would have picked. “You’re not here to be a decorator, Marie,” she told herself firmly.

Turning to the closet, she looked through everything quickly, neatly. She didn’t want Coretti to know anyone had been here. She checked pockets of coats, jackets and slacks. At least the man had taste when it came to clothes. She rifled through drawers and tried not to notice that the thief in question preferred black silk boxers. So not the issue.

When she found nothing, she went down on her knees to look under the bed. Everyone hid things under their beds, didn’t they? She spotted a flat, long box and grinned.

“Secrets, Coretti?” she whispered, stretching out on the floor to reach one arm out for it. Her fingernails scraped along the side of the wooden box and she frowned, scooting closer, wedging herself farther under the bed.

Suddenly she went still. Was that a noise? Marie held her breath and waited one second. Two. Then she told herself it was just the nerves battering at her mind and heart. Everything was fine. She was alone in this cold palace. And she was just moments away from discovering whatever it was Gianni Coretti thought was worth hiding. A little farther and...got it! She drew the box closer and whispered, “So what am I going to find in there?”

“The question is,” a deep voice announced from somewhere behind her, “what is it I’ve found?”

Marie only had a second to shriek in surprise before two strong hands grabbed hold of her ankles and yanked her away from the bed.

* * *

Gianni had known the moment he entered his flat that he wasn’t alone. Call it a sixth sense. Call it an ingrained survival instinct, whichever. He’d felt the difference in the place immediately and had slipped effortlessly into the kind of moves he’d left behind him more than a year ago.

Well, thought he’d left behind him. Seemed lifelong skills never really left you. He moved through the apartment without a sound, his body nearly liquid in the way he slipped past furniture and along the walls, blending into shadows. Moonlight slid through the rooms, painting walls and floors in shades of ivory and cream. Gianni listened, tuning his ears to the slightest sound. A whisper of clothing. An unguarded sigh. A scuff of shoes on the floor.

He didn’t so much as glance at the wall of windows as he passed, not noticing his own reflection stalking along with him. He moved through familiar rooms and felt that tingle of awareness bubble inside like fine champagne. He focused and followed the instincts clamoring inside him.

The hallway seemed longer than usual, since he was forced to pause and check out the guest rooms and the baths. But he knew even as he made that quick inspection that the intruder wasn’t there. He couldn’t have explained how he knew, but again, he felt it in his bones. Instinct, intuition, whatever it was, pulled at him and he went with it, continuing on down the hall to the master bedroom.

He heard her before he saw her. Talking to herself in hushed whispers. Her voice sounded low, throaty, and had him intrigued before he even saw her. Gianni stopped on the threshold and looked down at the woman lying on his floor, with one arm stretched out under the bed.

Not a cop.

No cop he’d ever known was built like that.

He did a quick, appreciative scan. Red silk blouse tucked into a very short, figure-hugging black skirt, long, shapely legs and on her small feet a pair of black, four-inch heels.

Definitely not a cop.

His body stirred with pure appreciation. He wanted a look at her. Not just to discover who she was, but to see if her face was as good as the rest of her.

He bent down, grabbed her ankles and pulled. Her shriek of surprise sounded like music. Not only had he caught his intruder, but there was also the added benefit of sliding her skirt up even higher on her thighs.

Even as that thought registered, though, she twisted in his grasp, yanked free of his grip, pulled her skirt down with one hand and kicked out at him with one of those lethal heels.

“Hey!” Gianni leaped back in time to avoid being impaled.

She scrambled back from him, green eyes wide, her tumble of short, dark red curls falling across her forehead until she shook them back out of her way. Climbing to her feet she braced herself as if readying for a fight and he almost laughed at the idea.

“I’m not going to fight you,” he said, voice tight.

The woman laughed and shook her head. “Your mistake.”

She made a quick move, sliding toward him, striking out with one hand. If he’d been less prepared, she might have caught him off guard. As it was, Gianni grabbed her hand, spun her around, then gave her a push that sent her sprawling across his bed.

Before she could even think about moving, Gianni straddled her hips, pinning her to the wide mattress.

“Get off of me!” Her voice was loud and commanding and clearly American.

Her eyes fired green ice at him and maybe that tone of hers would have worked on someone less motivated. But he wasn’t giving an inch. Not until he had some answers.

“You’re not going anywhere. Not just yet anyway,” he told her, dropping his hands onto her shoulders when she started to buck and writhe in an effort to roll him off of her. At the same time, she lifted one knee and slammed it into his back.

“That’s enough of that,” he ordered.

“Stop me,” she challenged, fighting his grip on her shoulders even as she continued to twist beneath him.

“Don’t think I will,” he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “In fact, I’m actually enjoying all of the writhing you’re doing.”

Well, that did it. As if he’d tossed a bucket of ice water on her, she went completely still. And a good job it was, he told himself, since his body was hard and getting harder. It wasn’t every day he had a gorgeous stranger beneath him and apparently, his groin was proud to show appreciation for the moment.

Her eyes were still flashing fury. Her breathing was fast and had her high, full breasts rising and falling in a temptation of movement that captured his complete attention. The red silk blouse she wore boasted tiny ivory buttons that were even now slipping free. Tempting, he mused, then forced his mind to focus more on the woman—intruder—than the delectable body beneath him.

“Good,” he said. “Now that you’ve calmed down, you can tell me what you’re doing in my home.”

“Get off of me, then we’ll talk,” she said through clenched teeth.

Gianni laughed. “Do I actually look that stupid?” Shaking his head he asked again, “What are you doing here?”

She huffed out a breath, thought for a moment, then tried for sultry as she said, “I was waiting for you. I thought we could...party.”

Amused and intrigued, Gianni watched her face and could see the calculation in her eyes. “Did you?”

It was a second or two before she grumbled something unintelligible and admitted, “Fine. No, I didn’t.”

A shame, he thought wryly. Finding a woman under his bed was nearly as tempting as finding one in his bed. Especially when she looked like this woman. But lust aside, he needed to know how she had gotten into his flat and, more importantly, what the hell she was doing there.

“If you’re not here for my company, then why are you here? What is it you’re after?”

She didn’t speak, merely glared at him, which Gianni told himself, she wouldn’t be doing if she knew how that flash of passion in those green eyes of hers was affecting him. It had been some time since merely looking at a woman had his blood burning and his groin aching. But this one had something special. Perhaps it was the fierce expression on such a short and curvy body. Or perhaps it was just that he’d been too long without a woman.

“Nothing to say then?” he asked. “Then let me explain for you. The only possible explanation for your presence here tonight is that you’re a thief. A lovely one to be sure,” he added, gaze sweeping across those full breasts before he continued. “But a thief all the same. If you think you will find me more forgiving than most victims of a break-in, I assure you I won’t be.”

“I didn’t break—”

He cut her off mainly because he sensed she wasn’t going to tell him the truth anyway. “I’m curious as to how you got into my flat and what you thought you were going to find. And, believe me when I say I will find these answers before you go anywhere, little thief.”

Her mouth dropped open. Shaking her head, she choked out a short laugh and stared up at him in complete wonderment. “You’re the only thief in this room, Coretti.”

“Ah,” he said, even more interested now. “You know me. So this is not a random burglary.”

“It’s not a—”

“You are definitely the most well-dressed burglar I have ever seen,” he acknowledged with another slow look over her body.

Gritting her teeth, she said, “I’m not a burglar.”

“Then you are a small-time thief come to me for lessons? If you know of me and my family, you should also know that we don’t take on apprentices and even if we did, let me assure you this is not the way to earn my admiration.” Amusement gone from his voice, he snapped out, “Who are you and why exactly are you here?”

“I’m the woman with enough evidence to see your father sent to prison.”

All right, Gianni thought coldly. Now she had his attention.


Two (#u7571f912-203c-580d-96c0-fc94e308a684)

The amused glint in his dark brown eyes disappeared in a flash. Marie took a breath and tried to get her heartbeat to stop racing. Not an easy thing to do now that her “plan” was shot. She hadn’t counted on him coming home early and catching her while she snooped. Hadn’t planned on him dragging her out from under his bed, then tossing her onto the mattress and taking a seat across her midsection, either. And, she was forced to admit that having his hard, oh-so muscular body pressing down on top of hers felt much better than it should have.

He was taller than she’d thought he would be and boy he smelled good—a subtle blend of spice and man that made her want to take a long deep breath and hold on to it, just to keep that scent inside her. But she wasn’t here to be seduced or to allow her own hormones to take over and fan the fires that were flickering within.

Because, she reminded herself, she’d already made that mistake once. She’d allowed a thief to distract her—and she wouldn’t do that again.

Damn it. How had this all gone so wrong?

The plan had been to confront him in her own time, in a place of her choosing so that she had the upper hand. Now, she was pretty much at his mercy. And judging by the hard light in his eyes, mercy was going to be in short supply.

So, Marie did what she always did when she was the underdog. She jumped in and went on the offensive. “Get off of me and we’ll talk.”

“You start talking and I’ll get off of you,” he countered.

So much for that attempt. Moonlight poured through the wall of windows and slashed across his hard features like a silvery warning light. What should have been soft and romantic instead looked somehow ominous, throwing his eyes and the grim slash of his mouth into shadow.

Marie took a breath—shallow though it was—and braced herself for the confrontation she’d been working toward for months. All of her careful plans had crumbled underneath her simply because he’d come home early for probably the first time in his entire life. If you thought about it, this was really all his fault.

Her attitude slapped back into place at that thought and she shifted beneath him, shooting him an angry glare. “It’s hard to breathe with you sitting on me.”

He didn’t budge. “Then you should speak quickly. What evidence do you have against my father?”

Clearly, she’d lost this round.

“A photo.”

He snorted. “A photograph? Please, Ms. Whoever-you-are. You’ll have to do better than that. Everyone knows photos are too easily digitally retouched these days to mean anything.”

“This one hasn’t been,” she assured him. She hadn’t had to retouch anything. “It’s a little dark maybe, but you can see your father clearly enough.”

She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but his features went even colder and more remote than they had been. And if possible, he became even more good-looking. “I’m supposed to take your word for this? I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Marie. Marie O’Hara.”

He eased up on her diaphragm just enough to allow her a deep breath and Marie appreciated it.

“That’s a start,” he said tightly. “Keep talking. How do you know me? My family?”

“You’re not serious, right?” she asked, stunned that he could even ask that question.

The Coretti family had been the focus of speculation for decades. Catching one of them in the act of relieving someone of their jewels was a recurring dream of police officers around the globe. That he could even ask that question was ridiculous.

“You’re the Corettis. The most infamous family of jewel thieves in the world.”

His jaw flexed as though he were grinding his teeth. Good thing? Bad? Didn’t matter.

“Alleged jewel thieves,” he corrected, gaze fixed with hers. “We’ve never been charged with a crime.”

“Because there was never any evidence,” she said. “Until now.”

That muscle in his jaw ticked continuously now. “You’re bluffing.”

She met his gaze. “I don’t bluff.”

He studied her for so long, Marie was sure he could have given a pore-by-pore description of her. But finally, he shook his head and asked, “Why should I believe anything a woman I caught breaking and entering has to say?”

“I didn’t break,” she reminded him. “I just entered.”

Fascinating really, to watch his eyes narrow until they were slits even as the muscle in his jaw twitched furiously.

His next question addressed the anger obviously churning inside him. “What do you mean you just entered? How did you get in here?”

She snorted at the seriousness of his expression. “Seriously? All it took was a short skirt and very high heels and your doorman practically bowed me into the elevator.” Marie remembered the lascivious glint in the man’s eyes and she knew that she wasn’t the first of Gianni Coretti’s women to be given that special treatment. “He didn’t even ask for ID. He assured me no key was required to let myself in since he keyed me in to the one elevator that goes only to your penthouse apartment. He wasn’t even surprised to find I was there when you weren’t home. Apparently there’s a constant stream of women running in and out of this apartment.”

He frowned a little at that and she had the satisfaction of knowing that she’d scored a point—however small—against him. She needed that. For what she had to do, it was necessary to have Gianni Coretti on board. Marie hated knowing that she required a thief’s assistance, but without him, she would never be able to do what she’d come to Europe to do.

“Clearly,” he said, “I’m going to have to speak to the doorman.”

Seeing the irritation on his face, she smiled. “Oh, I don’t know. Seemed to me like you already have him very well trained—escorting your ‘companions’ to the elevator and allowing them into your apartment—whether you’re home or not.”

His mouth worked as if he were chewing on words that tasted too bitter to swallow. “Fine. You’ve made your point. Now explain why you’re here. I rarely find a guest in my home searching under my bed. So what is it you were looking for?”

“More evidence.”

A short, sharp laugh shot from his throat. “More evidence?”

She scowled at him. “I have one picture. I wanted more.”

His frown deepened. “Why?”

“I need your help.”

He laughed.

Still sitting astride her, he threw his head back and roared with laughter. Marie was so stunned, she could only stare up at him and think wildly, he’s even more gorgeous with that wide smile on his face. She wasn’t here to notice the man’s obvious attractions, though, so she tried not to notice that his eyes were the rich brown of melted dark chocolate. Or that his mouth was enticing, his jaw was square and freshly shaven. She did not want to touch his thick black hair, which was just long enough to curl seductively over his shirt collar.

The heat from his body was sliding down into hers and as he laughed, her body shook in time with his. Her brain fuzzed out a little, but she fought for clarity. No doubt any woman would have felt a little...unsteady with Gianni Coretti planted firmly on top of her.

Finally the rolling thunder of his laughter died away and, still shaking his head, he looked down at her. “You need my help. That’s brilliant. You invade my home, threaten my family and expect me to help you?”

“If you think I’m happy about this, you’re wrong,” she assured him. Marie hated needing him. But, she told herself, to catch a thief, it was going to take a thief.

“And to ensure that I grant you this favor—you, what? Plan a bit of blackmail?”

“You wouldn’t have invited me in if I’d simply come to speak to you.”

“I don’t know,” he mused, gaze moving over her face and down to where the tiny buttons on her silk blouse strained against the fabric. “I might have.”

She flushed with both irritation and insult. “Despite the way I’m dressed at the moment, I am not one of your bimbos.”

One dark eyebrow winged up. “Bimbos?”

“Why so confused?” she asked. “You should know the word since the women you ‘date’ are walking, sometimes talking—but never at the same time—examples of the word.”

His mouth quirked and Marie had another chance to appreciate how a smile affected his features. Really, though, it didn’t matter that he was especially gorgeous, or that the heat from his body was absolutely hotter than anything she’d ever felt before. She just had to get past all of that—push it into the darkest corners of her mind, where she would never have to look at it or think about it again.

Because he was a thief.

And she wasn’t here to be attracted to the man she needed to help clear her reputation. That would just muddy up a situation that was already plenty murky.

When he started speaking again, she gratefully stopped thinking and concentrated on the moment at hand.

“Fine. You’re not a bimbo. You’re not a burglar. What exactly are you then?”

She shoved at him again but he was immovable, clearly determined to keep her pinned to his bed like a moth to a corkboard. With his hard body on top of her and the silky cool duvet beneath her, Marie felt both hot and cold—leaning more toward the hot, though, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

“Let’s make a deal,” she said after a second or two. “I answer one more question then you get off of me.”

“You’re not really in a position to bargain,” he reminded her.

That Italian accent of his flavored every word and when his tone dropped to deep and husky, the accent seemed to get thicker. Which just wasn’t fair. His looks? That accent? Heck, maybe he didn’t steal jewels. Women probably tossed them at him. That irritating thought helped stiffen her spine.

“I have evidence against your father,” she reminded him and was instantly sorry she had.

His features went hard and tight and the light in his eyes awakened by laughter died and dissolved into shadows that didn’t look particularly friendly.

“So you say.” He stopped, thought for a moment and said, “Fine. Tell me who you are and I’ll let you up.”

“I already did. My name’s Marie O’Hara.”

“You’re American.”

She frowned at him. “Yes.”

“And? Telling me your name doesn’t tell me who you are.”

Moonlight sifted into the room through the wall of glass on her left and shone in his eyes as he focused on her. “I used to be a cop....”

“Bloody hell.” He huffed out a breath, then narrowed his gaze on her. “Used to be?”

“I answered the one question. Let me up and I’ll tell you the rest,” she said.

“Fine.” He shifted off of her and Marie instantly inhaled deeply.

Sitting up, she adjusted the fit of her blouse then tugged the hem of her skirt as far down on her thighs as it could go. Flipping the hair out of her eyes with a toss of her head, she fixed a hard look on him.

“What’s a former cop doing in my home?” He pushed off the bed. Shoving both hands into his pockets, he watched her. “Why does she need my help and how did she get evidence against my father?”

Marie scooted off the bed, too. She felt more in control on her own two feet. Of course, that feeling only lasted until she looked into his eyes. No one would take control out of his hands. He practically oozed authority. It was, she guessed, an alpha-male quality and he was most definitely alpha.

“Explain to me why I shouldn’t be calling the police to report an intruder,” he said shortly.

She shook her head. “A world-renowned thief calling the police? Ironic.”

His lips quirked as he shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m a law-abiding citizen. Matter of fact, I work for Interpol.”

Marie had known that, but it didn’t change anything. A new job for an international police force didn’t mitigate how Gianni Coretti had lived his life. How the rest of his family was still living. But she knew how these things worked, too. No doubt Gianni had made some sort of deal with the international authorities—maybe immunity in exchange for his assistance. It wouldn’t be the first time that a thief switched sides to save his own hide.

“Well then, go ahead and call the police,” she said. “I’m sure they would be very interested in the photo I have of Dominick Coretti slipping out the window of a palazzo in Italy the day before the Van Court family renting that palazzo reported a burglary.”

* * *

Damn it. It was only through sheer force of will that Gianni managed to keep his features blank and not allow this woman to see what he was feeling. The Van Court emeralds. If this were a bluff, Gianni told himself, it was a damned good one. He knew the Van Court heist was last week. He knew his father had done it. And if she knew it, too, then she no doubt did have a picture of Nick Coretti—which would be enough to land his father in jail.

Gianni looked into the woman’s summer green eyes and wished her anywhere but there. For a solid year he had been working on building a new, walking-the-straight-and-narrow life and this one small, curvy woman was flushing it down the drain. Feeling a sharp stab of desire for her was one thing. Allowing her to screw up his and his family’s lives was another.

“Let’s see it.” He walked to the wall switch, impatiently hitting it. Light spilled into the room, scattering the gathered shadows.

“What?”

In the moonlit darkness, Marie O’Hara had been attractive. With the lights on she was amazing. Her eyes were greener, her auburn hair shone like dark fire and the curves beneath the red silk blouse and black skirt were lush and tempting. Everything in him stirred. Didn’t seem to matter to his body that this woman was threatening everything he knew. A flash of heat shot through him and settled in his groin.

Ex-cop, he reminded himself and the thought was as good as a dose of ice water. Ex or not, in his experience, once a cop always a cop.

“The picture you claim to have of my father,” he said shortly. “I want to see it. Now.”

“It’s in my purse.”

His gaze slid over her quickly. “Which is where?”

“On your couch in the front room.”

His eyebrows lifted. Gianni hadn’t noticed a woman’s purse on the couch. But then the moment he’d stepped into his flat, he’d sensed another’s presence and had been focused on discovering the intruder. “Made yourself at home, did you?”

“I was going to pick it up on my way out.” She gave him a hard look. “You were supposed to be gone for hours yet.”

“Are you expecting an apology for interrupting you?”

She inhaled sharply. “Do you want to see the photo or not?”

Oh, he really didn’t. Once he saw the photo, he would have to deal with her. Find a way to shut her up and protect his father. First things first, though. Did she really hold evidence that could be used against his family?

“Let’s go.”

Stepping back to allow her to walk in front of him—where he could keep an eye on her—he also took advantage of the view. Cop or no cop, she had a great butt, and thief or no thief, he was still a guy.

He followed her through his house, her high heels clicking against the marble floor like a too-fast heartbeat. Gianni flipped light switches as they went and the house lit up, displaying the clear, cold white walls and furnishings.

“Would it kill you to have some color in here?” she muttered.

Frowning, he glanced around. He’d paid a hell of a lot of money for the designer who had put his place together. It might be stark, but— Scowling now, he snapped, “Would-be thief and an interior decorator? Is that what’s known as multitasking?”

She didn’t answer but then he hadn’t expected her to.

In the living room, she walked to the sleek, low-slung white sofa and snatched up a tiny black shoulder bag. No wonder he hadn’t noticed it. Just big enough to carry an ID and a phone, it had slipped between the cushions with only a narrow piece of the strap showing.

She flipped it open, pulled out her phone and turned it on. A couple of quick button pushes later, she turned the screen toward him and said, “I told you I had it.”

Gianni snatched the phone from her, studied the man in the photo and felt everything inside him tighten into knots. It was his father. There was no mistaking Nick Coretti. The only good thing was, the photo was dark and so others might have a harder time identifying the man caught slipping out of a casement window.

“Scroll the screen to the next shot,” she said.

Grimly, he did just that. In the second photo he saw Nick easing over the edge of the roof to climb down. His features weren’t as clear in this shot, but he was still identifiable. At least to his son.

“This could be anyone,” he said tightly, pulling up the menu and hitting Delete on both photos.

“But it’s not and we both know it,” she countered. “And you needn’t have bothered to delete the pictures. I have more copies.”

He tossed the phone back to her. “Of course you do. It’s as if you think you’re in one of those spy movies. All cloak and dagger. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“This is more like To Catch a Thief, really,” she said and for the first time since he’d pulled her out from under his bed, her mouth curved into a half smile.

He knew which old movie she was talking about and, as it happened, it was one of his favorites. Cary Grant, starring as a jewel thief who ends up not only outwitting the police, but also getting the beautiful girl in the form of Grace Kelly.

“What is it you’re up to, Ms. O’Hara?”

“Well, Mr. Coretti,” she said, tucking her phone back into her bag, “much like in the movies...I need a thief to catch a thief.”


Three (#u7571f912-203c-580d-96c0-fc94e308a684)

“Explain.”

Marie’s gaze swept over him in a wink of time. He stood there in his elegantly cut, obviously expensive gray suit, white shirt and fire-engine-red tie and looked like an investment banker. Until you looked into his eyes. That’s where the similarities ended. His eyes flashed with cunning, intelligence and a hint of danger that probably had women flocking to him in droves. Even Marie felt that flicker of awareness, of attraction. And she definitely knew better.

“Can I sit down?” she asked.

“Can I stop you?”

“Not really,” Marie murmured as she dropped onto the just-as-uncomfortable-as-it-looked sofa. “My feet hurt,” she admitted a moment later as she slipped out of her heels and reached down to rub the soles of her feet.

“Well by all means then,” he said tightly. “Do be comfortable.”

“Not really possible on this couch,” she said, running one hand across the fabric. “It has all the give of white steel.”

“Shall I fetch you a pillow?”

Marie stopped, looked directly at him and huffed out a breath. “Sorry. Okay, explanation.”

“I would appreciate that.”

He was being awfully civilized all of a sudden, but Marie wasn’t fooled. The truth of what he was feeling was in his eyes. That rich, dark chocolate seemed to be stirring with every emotion possible, all tightly controlled.

Not surprising, she told herself. She’d researched the Coretti family thoroughly over the last several months and everything she’d found on Gianni had led her to believe that he was the one most in control. The one who would go to any lengths to protect his family. The one Coretti most likely to help her. Even if he really didn’t want to.

“Okay, I told you that I used to be a cop.”

“You did.”

Did he just shudder?

“I come from a long line of cops,” she said. “My father, uncles, cousins, they all wore the uniform at one time or another.”

“Fascinating,” he said dryly, that Italian accent of his flavoring the sarcasm. “And how does this affect me and my family?”

“I’m getting to it.”

But she was really thirsty. Maybe it was nerves. Maybe she just needed to move around. Maybe it was sitting on the sofa with him perched on the stupid glass coffee table, so close his knees were practically brushing against hers. There was a near electric buzz of heat bouncing between the two of them and it was distracting enough that Marie felt her insides bubble in anticipation.

Irritated at the thought, she jumped to her feet suddenly, jolting a flash of surprise onto Gianni’s features. Well, good. She’d hate to think that he was all rigid control when she herself was starting to babble. She only babbled when she was nervous and tonight her nerves were jangling wildly.

“I could use a cup of tea. Do you have tea?”

“I do beg your pardon for being a thoughtless host,” he murmured and stood up as well. “And of course I have tea. We’re in London.”

“Good. Good,” she said and started for the kitchen, clutching her phone and tiny bag as if they were lifelines. The awful white marble felt cold against her feet, but at least she was out of the heels that had made her toes ache. He was right behind her. And she couldn’t just hear him—she felt him.

“Sit down and talk,” Gianni said as they walked into the kitchen.

Marie took a seat in one of the ghost chairs, frowning at the clear Plexiglass as she did. “These are really hideous chairs, you know.”

“I’ll make a note of it,” he assured her and filled an electric teakettle—white, of course—at the sink before setting it on the counter and plugging it in to heat. “You’re not talking about what I want to hear.”

“Right.” She took a breath and idly watched him move around the room, getting down mugs and a small white teapot. He scooped loose tea into the pot and then leaned both hands onto the white granite countertop and fixed his gaze on her. Waiting.

“I was offered a job as head of security at the Wainwright Hotel in New York several years ago,” she said, starting at the beginning in the hopes of keeping everything straight. “I left the force and took the job.”

“Kudos,” he muttered.

“Yeah. Anyway, everything was fine until a few months ago. That’s when Abigail Wainwright was robbed.”

“Wainwright.” Gianni repeated the name and his brow furrowed as he flipped through what had to be a huge catalogue of information in his brain. At last though, he said, “The Contessa necklace.”

“Exactly.” Nodding, Marie scooted in the chair, trying to get comfortable, then gave it up and folded her arms on the glass tabletop. It felt cold on her skin, like everything else in this mausoleum, she thought, but it didn’t matter. He knew what she was talking about just as she’d known he would.

“Abigail’s in her eighties and she’s lived in the penthouse of the hotel for the last thirty years.” A pang of misery swiped at Marie as she thought of the elegant, sweet older woman. She hadn’t deserved to be robbed in her own home, of a necklace that had been in her family for generations. The fact that it had happened on Marie’s watch made a bad situation even worse.

That it had happened because Marie had let her guard down made it untenable.

“I didn’t steal the necklace, nor did my family,” Gianni pointed out and unplugged the teakettle when it began to shriek.

“I didn’t say you did,” she countered stiffly. “I know who the thief was anyway.”

“Is that right?” He poured the boiling water into the teapot, then replaced the lid and set the kettle back onto the counter. “Who?”

“Jean Luc Baptiste.”

Marie was watching him carefully so she didn’t miss his reaction. Distaste twisted his lips briefly before anger flashed in his eyes. Tugging the knot of his tie loose, he tossed the tie onto the counter, where it landed like a splash of blood against the white granite. Then he unbuttoned his collar and shrugged out of his suit jacket. “I know of him.”

Wow. Out of that jacket, his chest looked broad and muscular and way too good. It was easier to ignore the attraction she felt for him when he was all buttoned up and stiff in that beautiful suit. But as she watched him roll up the sleeves of his shirt, baring tanned forearms dusted with dark hair, she had to swallow hard past the knot in her throat.

“Jean Luc,” he said, “is sloppy, arrogant and usually finds a woman to dupe into helping him.”

At that, Marie had to clench her own jaw and she knew that Gianni enjoyed seeing her irritation.

“Anyway...” Marie said, shoving her unsettling thoughts to the back of her mind. “Jean Luc stayed at the Wainwright Hotel for a couple of weeks and he was...charming.”

And oh, how it humiliated her to admit that she had swallowed that charm hook, line and sinker. But was it so surprising? He had been handsome and smooth and so...French. He had romanced Marie, sweeping her off her feet, dancing attendance on her, and she had stupidly bought all of it. At least, she reminded herself, she hadn’t been idiot enough to sleep with the man. Though if he’d been there another week or two, she might have.

Gianni snorted. He carried the mugs to the table, reached back for the teapot and set it down as well before going to a cupboard and grabbing out a package of cookies. He didn’t speak until he was seated at a chair opposite her. “Jean Luc wouldn’t know real charm if it hit him over the head. And yet, he conned you.”

Marie flushed and hated that she could feel that stain of red heat sweeping over her face. If she felt it then he could see it. Even worse, she hated admitting that Gianni was right. Marie’s entire life had been spent around cops. Her own father had raised her to have a healthy cynicism and a low, as he called it, “B.S. meter.” That meter usually clanged and gonged whenever someone was trying to pull one over on her. But Jean Luc had slid beneath her radar and left her feeling as foolish as any other victim of a con man. “He did.”

“And is he as good a lover as he would have everyone believe?”

Her eyes went wide. “I wouldn’t know. That’s one mistake I didn’t make.”

Chuckling, Gianni mused, “Jean Luc must be losing his touch. And so,” he added before she could say anything to that, “he used you to gain information on your hotel and security measures. Then he helped himself to the Contessa and disappeared.”

She sighed. “Pretty much.”

Shaking his head, Gianni poured them each tea and asked, “Milk? Sugar?”

“No thanks.” She picked up her cup, took a grateful sip and asked, “Why are you being so nice? Tea? Cookies?”

“No reason we can’t be civilized, is there?”

“Oh, no,” she agreed wryly. “The cop and the thief sitting at the same table sharing cookies. It’s practically a fairy tale.”

“They’re good cookies,” Gianni said, taking one before pushing the package toward her.

After a bite, she had to agree. This was so strange. Not at all as she’d imagined her first meeting with Gianni Coretti going. “Anyway, back to the story.”

“Yes, I can’t wait to see how it ends.”

She frowned at him. In the bright overhead light, his dark brown eyes shone with what might have been humor, but she couldn’t be sure. “Abigail didn’t blame me for the theft,” she said, remembering the older woman’s kindness. “But the board of directors did. I was fired.”

“Not surprising. You let down your guard to a thief.” Gianni leaned back in the chair, then frowned and shifted uncomfortably. “And not, I should add, a very good thief.”

“That makes me feel so much better, thanks.” Not only had she been conned, but it had also been done by a thief even other thieves didn’t respect.

Marie cupped both hands around her mug and let the heat seep into her skin. While she stared across the table at Gianni, she forced herself to admit, “I made a mistake and Abigail paid for it. That’s unacceptable to me. I want to get her necklace back. No,” she amended, “I need to get her necklace back for her.”

He gave her a brief, slow nod, as if to acknowledge that he understood the sentiment driving her. But then he started speaking and the moment was lost. “I wish you luck with that.”

“I need more than luck,” she countered. “I need you.”

He laughed shortly, shook his head and then took a sip of his tea before plucking another cookie out of the bag. “And why should I care what you need?”

“Because of that photo.”

His features swiftly went blank. “Ah, yes. Your blackmail.”

“I prefer the word extortion.”

“Tomato, tomahto.”

Ignoring that, Marie took a breath. “I’ve done my research you know. I left New York right after the robbery. I cashed in my savings, bought a plane ticket to France and I’ve spent the last few months traveling all over Europe. First I looked for Jean Luc in Paris but didn’t find him, obviously—”

“He lives in Monaco.”

“See!” She poked a finger at him. “That’s one reason why I need you. You know things I don’t.”

“So very many,” he agreed, then frowned and shifted on his seat again.

“Anyway, when I couldn’t find Jean Luc, the rat, I realized that I was going to need help.” She slumped back against her seat, then straightened up again because the darn thing was so uncomfortable. “Europe’s a big place and finding one thief just seemed like an impossible task. But every cop in the world knows about the Corettis and none of you make where you live a secret....”

“Why should we?” He shrugged. “We’re not wanted for anything.”

She skipped right over that. “I wanted the best and the Coretti family is it.”

“And we’re all so flattered,” he drawled.

“I’ll bet.” She smiled in spite of his sarcasm because she knew she had his attention. Had had it since the moment he’d seen that picture of his father. “I went to Italy, called in some favors with the force back home and got enough information that I was able to find your father’s place.”

That muscle in his jaw started ticking again and she noticed that his grip on the mug was tight enough to make his knuckles as white as the rest of this awful apartment.

“Then I followed him.”

“You followed my father.” His jaw clenched even tighter.

She nodded. “For days. I stayed in a local hotel and learned his routines. He’s very sweet. He actually bought me a cup of coffee once in his favorite café. He told me I had a charming accent and wished me a happy vacation in Italy.”

Gianni sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Your father’s very handsome—he reminds me of someone....”

“George Clooney,” Gianni suggested with a tight groan. “My sister calls him an older, shorter, more Italian George Clooney.”

Marie smiled at the description. “That’s it exactly.” Then she studied him for a second. “You must take after your mother.”

Gianni smirked. “Very humorous. Does this story of yours have an end?”

“Yes.” Back to business, she thought, despite the fact that she was actually beginning to enjoy herself. But she wasn’t here to be attracted to or even make small talk with Gianni Coretti and it would be best if she could remember that. Of course, to keep her thoughts from drifting, she’d have to avoid looking into those dark chocolate eyes of his.

“The picture I took was mostly luck,” she admitted. “I followed Nick to a party at a nearby palazzo and sat there for an hour, watching the rich and famous coming and going. Finally, after an hour, I was so bored I was about to leave. That’s when I noticed your dad on the second-story roof, coming out of the window.”

Gianni bit into a cookie with enough force to send crumbs shooting across the table.

Marie smiled. She understood that frustration. She herself had uncles who could on occasion make her furious enough to bite through steel.

“He never saw me and he went straight home from the party.” Marie took another long drink of her tea. “I made copies of the picture, stashed the copies in different places and then I came looking for you.”

“Why me?” he asked. “Why not my father? Or Paulo?”

“Because you have the most to lose,” she said, her gaze locked with his. “I’ve been following you for the last week, and I think the London cops might be very interested to know just how much time you spend browsing high-end jewelry stores in the city.”

His brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed. “I didn’t steal anything, I was shopping. For a gift.”

“Oh, I don’t think your bimbos would know the difference between designer and discount. And as I said, I think the London police would be curious about your interest in the shops.”

She could actually see him grinding his teeth together.

“I think the cops have better things to do.”

“Possibly,” she agreed. “But there’s Interpol to think about, isn’t there? I know about your deal. You’ve retired from the business, but your family hasn’t. If this photograph gets noticed, your father will go to jail and it’s even possible that Interpol could tear up your immunity deal.”

“What makes you think so?”

She smiled. “This whole law-abiding thing is so shiny and new for you, Gianni, I don’t think it would take much to have the local authorities doubting your devotion to honesty.”

He scrubbed one hand across the back of his neck and sighed heavily before meeting her gaze again. “Think you’ve sewn me up nice and tight, don’t you? Fine. Tell me exactly what you want. Be specific.”

“I want you to help me find Jean Luc and get the Contessa back for Abigail Wainwright. I want to clear my reputation.” She folded her hands together on the clear tabletop. “Once I get that, I give you the photo of your father and disappear from your life.”

* * *

Gianni took a drink of his tea and wished it were scotch. He was trapped and he knew it. An edge of cold fury slid through his veins like ice water.

First, he didn’t like intruders. Second, he hated finding out she’d been following him—and hated even more that he hadn’t noticed. Third, his brain kept flashing back to her lying beneath him on his bed and the feel of that curvy body pressed up tightly to him. But mostly, he hated that she was right.

She had him exactly where she wanted him. His new law-abiding-citizen role was so new that London police and even Interpol might look at him with doubts if Marie O’Hara contacted them. He had spent a lot of time lately in the city’s more prestigious jewelry shops. It would look to the cops as if he were casing the buildings, plotting out their security systems, planning a heist. When in reality he had been trying to find a “new mother” present for his sister.

Gianni couldn’t see the police believing that story, though. Even as he sat across from her, distracted by the tumble of dark red curls and sharp green eyes, his mind raced to find a way out. Hell, any way out. There simply wasn’t one. If he didn’t go along with this woman, his father could end up in jail. Nick Coretti would never survive a prison sentence. He was a man used to life’s comforts, to the company of women, to the freedom to go when and where he chose. Being locked away would kill his soul and damned if Gianni would allow that to happen.

“I’ll take care of it,” he blurted out, shifting again and wondering just how the Plexiglass chair with rounded edges was managing to dig into his spine. “I’ll recover the Contessa and once I have it, I’ll contact you.”

“I don’t think so.” She shook her head and her wonderful hair seemed to dance around her face in a tangle of fiery curls. “I’m not letting you out of my sight until I have that necklace in my hands.”

“You come to me for help but you don’t trust me?” He snorted derisively.

“You expect me to trust you when I had to blackmail you into helping me?” She smiled, and took another sip of her tea as if she had all the time in the world to enjoy herself. “Used to be a cop, remember?”

He wasn’t likely to forget, Gianni thought as irritation clawed at the base of his throat.

“Look,” he said, trying to be reasonable and failing, “I have to attend a family gathering on Tesoro Island in a few days. I can’t go after Jean Luc until after that.”

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Fine. I’ll go with you.”

He sucked in a gulp of air and tried to force the bubble of anger rising inside back down into the pit of his stomach. It was one thing for her to extort his cooperation in a ridiculous theft recovery. It was another entirely for her to expect him to introduce her to his family as a lovely blackmailer.

“This is the baptism of my sister’s child. I can’t bring a stranger along with me.”

Not a flicker of emotion crossed her face. “You’ll have to find a way.”

His gaze shifted from her to the wall of windows at her back and the dark view of the city beyond the glass. In the distance, he saw the lights on the Millennium Wheel—better known as the London Eye. Any other night, he might have been distracted by the sight. Tonight, though, there were too many thoughts. Too many mental images flashing through his brain.

He couldn’t avoid going to Tesoro. Not only would his sister, Teresa, never forgive him for missing her infant son’s christening, but there was also going to be a big jewelry show on the island that week and Interpol wanted him there. Gianni smirked to himself at the irony of Interpol wanting a thief there to keep an eye out for other thieves—when Marie O’Hara wanted the same thing.

Taking another sip of the tea he no longer wanted, he silently toasted himself. Suddenly so very popular.

Accepting the inevitable, which was a trait that had kept him alive and out of jail too many times to count, Gianni looked at her. “As you wish. You’ll come to Tesoro with me and when we leave, we’ll fly to Monaco to retrieve your bloody necklace.”

“Sounds good to me.” She stood up, slipped the long, cross-body strap of her purse over her head and settled it into place. “When do we leave?”

Gianni stood up, too, scowling at having all choice snatched from him. He wasn’t used to being outmaneuvered, but damned if he hadn’t been this time. “We leave in three days.”

“Three days?” She chewed at her bottom lip and he knew what she was thinking. How could she keep an eye on him from her hotel, wherever that was, and prevent him from ditching her?

He’d thought the same and there really was only one solution to this entire situation. “You’ll stay here.”

“Excuse me?”

“We’ll need the three days to practice,” he told her, stepping away from the table and giving his chair one last frown.

“To practice what?”

His gaze flashed to hers. Finally, there was doubt, questions in her eyes. Somehow, that made him feel a bit better about all of this. “Why, to practice being a couple.”

“A couple of what?”

Her voice hitched higher and Gianni enjoyed her outrage.

“My family will never accept my bringing a stranger along to my new nephew’s christening—” He paused for effect and watching her reaction was entirely worth it when he added, “So for the next week or so, you’re going to be my loving fiancée.”


Four (#u7571f912-203c-580d-96c0-fc94e308a684)

“Fiancée?” Marie repeated the word as if somehow hearing it again would make a difference. It didn’t. “Are you crazy?”

“Not at all.” He stood with the windows at his back and the city of London spread out behind him, aglow with light and color. “If you want to accompany me to the island, then this is how we do it. My family would never accept my bringing a stranger to a christening—”

“Oh,” Marie interrupted, astonished at this whole idea, “but they’ll accept that you’re engaged to someone they’ve never heard of?”

He shrugged and the play of muscles across his chest at that action was impressive.

“My family knows nothing about my private life. They’ll believe me if I tell them you swept me off my feet.”

She laughed shortly. This couldn’t be happening. Gianni Coretti’s fiancée?

“I don’t like the idea of lying to my family,” he continued, “but I don’t see another way for this to work.”

“There’s honesty,” Marie reminded him.

“You call me a thief and then want honesty?”

Well, he had her there. But she really didn’t like the idea of this at all. Not that she’d feel badly about lying in the pursuit of justice, but she was going to be feeling awkward and uncomfortable. Pretending an engagement meant they would have to act as though they were in love—and at the moment, she wasn’t sure she even liked him.

“Second thoughts?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest and rocking back on his heels, clearly enjoying her discomfort. “It’s that police-officer background of yours. Lying comes harder to you people.”

“Aren’t you the understanding one?”

“So I’ve been told,” he said agreeably. “It doesn’t have to be this way. If you’d rather just wait and have me do this on my own—”

“No.” She had him with the threat to his father and she knew it. But if she gave him half a chance, he might just disappear and find a way to make his father disappear as well. Then picture or no picture, she wouldn’t have any leverage at all. Oh, she could take it to the police, but the Corettis had been avoiding the authorities for decades; they wouldn’t have trouble hiding so well they might never be found again.

She couldn’t risk it. She had to stay close to him until she had what she came for.

She took a breath. “Like I said, I’m not letting you out of my sight until I have the Contessa back.”

“Then,” he said, waving one arm out to indicate that she should walk ahead of him, “we should go and get your things from your hotel. We’ll have to begin practicing to adore each other.” His gaze swept her up and down. “This may take some real acting skills.”

“Thanks so much.”

He smiled and the curve of his lips tugged at something inside her. Oh, this really wasn’t a good idea. She was already attracted to the man—who wouldn’t be? Spending more time with him wasn’t going to make that attraction any easier to ignore. Look what Jean Luc had romanced her into—and Gianni Coretti was way more dangerous.

Gianni was gorgeous, probably very charming when he put some effort into it. In any other circumstance, she might really enjoy the kind of charade he was talking about. Too bad they were on opposite sides of this situation, she told herself with a small twinge of regret.

She started back down the hall to the living room, but stopped when he caught her arm. That buzz of sensation she’d felt before was back and hotter than ever, the moment he touched her. Marie glanced down at his hand and he immediately let go of her.

“Last chance to change your mind,” he said, looking down at her. “Once this begins, we see it through. I won’t have my family worried that you’re about to throw my father into prison.”

His eyes were dark and nearly fathomless, she thought idly, unable to look away from that piercing gaze. A quick jolt of guilt shot through her and then dissipated a moment later. She didn’t really want to see Nick Coretti go to prison, either. Yes, he was a thief, but he had been nice to her. She actually winced as that thought danced through her mind. No wonder the board of the Wainwright had fired her.

She was sympathetic to an older thief, had allowed a younger one to romance her and now was desperately attracted to still another.

Maybe, she told herself, this is what having a breakdown felt like.

“I’m not backing out,” she told him and squared her shoulders. “I’m in this until it’s done.”

He nodded and one corner of his mouth tipped up. “Then it’s a bargain. We are officially in love.”

Marie’s stomach took a nosedive as he bent his head toward hers.

“Shall we seal the deal with a kiss?”

“Yeah,” she murmured, gaze locked on his lips as they came closer, closer... Quickly, she took a step back and said, “So not necessary.”

He grinned and she could have kicked herself. She should have called his bluff and kissed him. Maybe that would have weakened the electricity humming between them. What if it hadn’t, though? What if that hum had only grown and kicked off a fire she so wasn’t interested in? So, she chickened out and with that action let him know that he’d managed to make her nervous. Not a good way to start. If she weren’t careful, he would snatch all the power in this situation and she’d be left stumbling along in his wake. Which, obviously, was unacceptable.

“Darling,” he said, feigning hurt, “is that any way to treat the man you love?”

Marie choked on a response. “Really?”

He smirked a little, then amusement drained from his eyes. “This is the only way we can do what you want. Get used to it.”

“In public, sure,” she said with more bravado than she was feeling at the moment.

“And in private. My family will expect to see a woman who is mad about me. How are your acting skills?”

Sadly, she wouldn’t have to act to portray a woman who was deeply in lust. Love might be a stretch but she would pull it off. “I worked undercover as a cop. I can handle it.”





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