By Private Invitation (12 page)

If she hadn’t—

Someone started clapping.

With a gasp, Annabelle stumbled over her now schizophrenic feet, grabbing onto the
nearest piece of furniture to help her regain her balance. She froze, lungs gasping
for air, and scoured the room until she found the intruder.

Silhouetted against the front window, Jared Golden glimmered like a mirage in the
morning sun.

He wore a denim shirt under a black leather jacket and a pair of jeans that clung
lovingly to his thighs. He looked so different out of his tuxedo she had to wonder
if she wasn’t seeing things at first.

Until he smiled.

Then a rush of heat swept over her, so devastating it threatened to make her knees
buckle.

Elation rose before she could squelch it, followed by intense disappointment, embarrassment…and
a little fear. He’d caught her with her guard down.

And he shouldn’t have been able to find her in the first place.

Old fears tried to swamp her.

After the murders, her grandfather and his lawyer had hidden her identity so well,
not one of the tabloids or the news programs had been able to find her. But that didn’t
mean she didn’t have panic attacks about being found. About having her identity, the
one she’d built around herself, ripped away.

Damn, damn, damn that man.

How the hell had he found her? She’d used her personal credit card to charge the hotel
bill, the card her lawyer had set up so that neither her legal name nor any other
was attached to it.

He’d assured her it was perfectly legal and no one would be able to track her down
through it.

Yet, here stood Joshua Golden.

Had he discovered who she was? Was that why he was here?

Don’t assume anything. He can’t know for sure.

Drawing herself up to her full height, she pushed her unruly hair behind her ears
and stuck out her chin. No way would she let him see how flustered she was. After
a deep breath, she walked to the CD player and turned down the volume. She wouldn’t
turn it off because that would leave a silence to fill. And this was going to be bad
enough.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

She’d meant her tone to be hard, unconcerned. And mentally smacked herself when it
came out breathless.

That smile of his pumped her blood pressure even higher.

“I have something of yours.” His strong voice conquered the music and his smile had
disappeared. Staring straight into her eyes, his intensity shuddered through her like
an electric shock to her system.

She swallowed and wet her lips before attempting to speak again. His gaze burned as
it followed her tongue’s path.

“You have nothing I want,” she answered, proud of her now-steady voice.

That made his lips quirk at the corners in a staggeringly handsome way. God, the man
was too good-looking for her peace of mind. He had to go. Before she—

No, he just had to go.

“I thought I’d made it perfectly clear that I had no wish to see you again. In fact,
I never gave you my name.”

Jared just smiled. “I know that. But I’m happy to report that I have a friend who’s
a pretty decent investigator. You’d told me you were an antiques dealer so it became
a process of elimination. Next time, maybe you want to pick Mary or Kathy. Belle was
just too close to Annabelle.”

Okay. She could deal with this. She could deal with him knowing her name as Annabelle
Elder.

What she couldn’t deal with was his presence here. In her shop. Her world.

With what she hoped was just enough haughty disdain, she lifted her chin and prepared
to brazen it out. “If I ever decide to go incognito to another party, I’ll remember
that. Now, I have a busy agenda today, so if you—”

“Actually”—he grinned, and that really was a crime against women—“I do have something
that belongs to you. Two things, really.”

She frowned. Heat drenched her and her cheeks began to burn as he tugged on a small
swatch of green silk showing just above his front jeans pocket. The bastard
did
have her thong.

“But I’m only giving one back.” He left the silk where it was as
he reached into his shirt pocket with his other hand. The pin reflected the sunlight
pouring through the front windows.

Holding her gaze, he walked toward the counter. Even though she stood behind it, she
felt the need to step back, away from him. It was too easy for her to get lost in
his warm—or perhaps lying—gaze. She resolutely held her position.

He set the pin on the counter and nudged it toward her with one long finger.

“The pin belongs to your grandmother,” she stated, hoping her voice sounded as hard
as it did in her head.

“Not according to my grandmother.”

She frowned. “What do you mean? Are you telling me that’s not your grandmother’s pin?”
She laughed, but it sounded like gravel grinding under tires. “So your little scheme
was all for nothing.”

He never even blinked. “I never had a ‘scheme,’ Belle. I only wanted you. Naked and
under me. Naked and over me. Naked and next to me.”

Oh, God, how could he make her thighs clench and sex contract by just talking? “I
can’t believe a word you say.”

He shrugged. “I don’t really expect you to. But the pin is yours, regardless of the
fact that it was stolen from my grandmother.”

Her fingers itched to reach for it, so she clasped her hands together in front of
her behind the desk. “Please take it and leave.”

He shook his head. “We have unfinished business.”

“There is nothing unfinished between us.”

He smiled that smile again. “Honey, I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.
I might have come, but I wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot.”

Pure lust swamped Annabelle’s entire body in a wave of remembered pleasure, even though
she didn’t want to remember.

“I want you to leave.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Are you so sure about that?”

She gasped. “Can you really be so arrogant? You played me for a fool that night. You
expect me to welcome you back with open arms?”

“Annabelle, I wanted you from the first moment I saw you, before I noticed the pin.
And you wanted me.”

No way would she respond to that one. “Just leave, Jared. I don’t want you here.”

But she did. At least, her body did. Her body ached for him. And she couldn’t allow
that.

He couldn’t be here. He made her want—Well, he just made her
want
so badly.

And she couldn’t. She couldn’t let herself be taken under by uncontrolled desire.

She turned from him and walked. Anywhere. She just had to get away from him. Her head
was spinning and it was all his fault. She couldn’t have this. Not now, not with Carmen
Moran on the way—

She froze as she realized where her feet had taken her. Her gallery.

And she knew he’d followed her.

“Yes, you—” Jared stopped in mid-sentence.

She stood there staring straight ahead, feeling him behind her, knowing he took in
everything—the paintings, the statuary, the tapestries.

This room held her life’s work. Her passion.

And the only way out was through the doorway Jared now stood in. She would have to
go by him to get out.

If she so much as touched him…

She managed to stop herself before that thought went any further.

But her treacherous mind began to replay their night together. In full, sweaty color.

Her. Him. The man who’d joined them. The other couples in the room.

Her lungs began to struggle for air.

“I guess you weren’t kidding when you said you had quite a collection of your own.”
His tone was awestruck. “My God, Annabelle, this is amazing.”

“Please leave.” She’d plead if she had to. He needed to be gone. Or her resolve was
going to fail spectacularly. “You’re going to ruin my entire day.”

“I would never want to do that, sweetheart.”

She jolted as she felt his finger trace the line of her left cheekbone, trailing warmth.
Her eyes closed, shutting out the room, but that only enhanced her sense of him. The
heat of his body seeped into her, making her want…

A shiver coursed through her, which she knew he felt.

Distance. She needed to put some distance between them, but the only way to do that
was to go further into the room. And she didn’t want to do that either.

She turned her head, breaking the contact with his finger. His hand dropped to his
side.

Remorse tried to rise but she fought it back with anger.

“Jared, if you came to apologize, fine.” She tried to sound hard, cold. She was pretty
sure she didn’t succeed. “If I accept it, will you leave?”

“I apologize for not returning the pin immediately,” he said without a moment’s hesitation.
“I would have come sooner, but there
was that little matter of tracking you down. However,” he said, holding up his hand,
“I refuse to apologize for making love to you.”

She shook her head, furious that tears had crept into her eyes again. “I don’t want
to talk about that. It was all a lie, anyway.”

Jared clamped his mouth shut on his immediate denial. He knew she wouldn’t believe
him. Not yet.

And he’d rather show her how wrong she was. He wanted to kiss her and be done with
it. He’d wanted to since the moment he’d walked into the shop. Hell, he’d craved it
since the morning she’d disappeared.

That worried the hell out of him. But he was damn good at ignoring things he didn’t
want to deal with.

And when he did have to deal with something unpleasant, he could usually charm his
way through it.

But for the first time in his life, he worried his charm might not be enough to get
him out of this situation and back into Belle’s good graces.

“How could you doubt exactly what I was feeling?” he said. “I never lied about that.”

That brought her gaze around to him. How could he have ever thought she was merely
pretty? With her cheeks pink-tinged with anger, her green eyes flashing and her chest
heaving, she was gorgeous.

“Oh, please. Men are ruled by their sex drives.” She flung out a hand. “Doesn’t all
of this prove that?”

He swung his gaze around the room again, taking a closer look this time. The artwork
in the display cases appeared to be Asian. Couples in various sexual positions, some
he’d never imagined. That was slightly humbling.

And holy shit, she had two O’Malleys. Both from the same series.

He’d check those out later, along with the rest of her collection, but now one particular
small object caught his eye. He moved away from her, hoping like hell that she didn’t
leave, and walked to a shelf on the other side of the room.

“What I see is a collection of artwork celebrating lovemaking,” he said.

He turned to catch her expression and was again struck by how much he wanted her.
Even in the straight-laced suit with all the buttons precisely done up and the blocky
square-heeled shoes, she exuded sexuality. She seemed to draw it from her surroundings.
Especially in here. She lit up in this room.

Right now, though, she looked a little flustered. It puzzled him.

“Most men see it as a sign that I’m easy.”

His brows flew up. “Oh, yeah? Then they’re not really worth the time, are they?”

She crossed her arms over her breasts, her expression firming. “What do you want,
Mr. Golden?”

He smiled. He had an easy answer to that one.

“I want you…to accept the pin and my apology. I never meant to hurt you.”

Her expression didn’t change, though she blinked twice. “Accepted. Now please leave.”

He grinned, baring his teeth. No way.

He knew she wouldn’t give in easily, but he had no intention of losing her so quickly
this time around. This time, he would decide when they were through.

“Why don’t you show me around a little first? I’d really like to see your collection.”

Her pretty chin hitched up another notch. “There’s nothing here I want to show you.”

“Really?” He turned to pick up a large wooden object from the display case beside
him then held it out to her. “How about this?”

She flushed but he didn’t think it was in embarrassment. No, she was pissed. And that
was much better than hurt.

She swallowed hard and met his gaze.

“Do you know what you’re holding?” That husky voice of hers took on a schoolteacher
tone.

He took another look at the object. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure what it’s supposed to represent.
But why don’t you tell me about it?”

She fought the urge to answer, fought it so hard, he could almost imagine her biting
her tongue to keep from answering. Finally, she walked near enough to gently pluck
the precisely detailed phallus from his palm.

“Not that you care, but that’s five hundred years old and African.” She turned to
replace it to the shelf and quickly stepped away from him, as if he might bite.

And he just might.

He turned to the display shelves again and examined the beautifully detailed netsuke.
She must have more than a hundred of the tiny Japanese carvings, representing almost
as many variations of the sex act. They were some of the finest work he’d ever seen
though he didn’t collect them.