Hunt Me (Love Thieves #3) (19 page)

Needing to keep it professional, she skimmed the room, seeking his very specific pair of forest-green eyes framed in lashes so thick the feminine part of her drooled with a touch of envy and, yes, a lot of lust. No matter how often Maxwell Sauvage frustrated her with his in-the-way attitude in the past, the delicious flutter quivering in her belly when she saw him was worth repeating.

Breathe, Anya. Breathe.
The image of his mouth hovering over hers during the opening of the Paris gallery collection heated her blood. She’d been sent to reacquire a manuscript, and he’d wined her, dined her, and invited her to his Rue 69 apartment, but she’d declined.

Yes, she’d resisted the urge to go to his apartment. She’d fought the longing to strip him naked. She’d fled the pleasure in his arms because of a
job
. Her job. Her commitment. But a damn job, nonetheless.

Her assignment in Paris required focus on the task, not getting laid.

Hardest. Job. Ever.

Warm light spilled down from the crystal chandeliers sprinkled throughout the ballroom, highlighting hair so black it gleamed blue. An electric pulse zinged through her. Tingles started at her core and rippled out. His broad shoulders stretched the fabric on his expensive suit in all the right places. She recognized the lean, tapered length of his torso, the graceful way he held his companion, and the sheer, exotic beauty of his dancing. No man should be so beautiful.

The first time she’d seen him—Prague—had been four years before, in an airport lounge. Boredom had kissed his features, draining his vitality. On the lookout for a contact, not passion, she’d been captivated by something in his eyes when they’d shared a glance. Love at first sight didn’t exist, but lust roared to life between them.

A distraction was the last thing she’d needed, and she shouldn’t have made time for the small talk. Yet, watching interest flush his face with renewed life reminded her of a sunrise in the mountains. She hadn’t been able to tear her gaze away.

Then or now.

Fixing a smile on her face, she walked toward him.

His seductive presence had proved a nuisance in previous cases. He’d nearly blocked her acquisition of a stolen manuscript just a few months before. During that case, she’d nearly succumbed to his charms completely, willingly forgoing the opportunity to re-acquire the work for the IAAR.

Looking down to see his wounded eyes watching her from below at the library haunted her. Even after scrambling out, she’d waited for the police to show up. She’d sweated the drive to Calais and the ferry ride to Dover.

Her image never appeared on Interpol’s watch list.

Her cover hadn’t been compromised.

Her potential heartbreaker became an unlikely hero.

Maxwell Sauvage could be her ticket out of this mess.

Prague, Four Years Earlier

“May I buy you a drink?” The man’s voice beckoned to thoughts of sleepy sex.

“I’m fine, thank you.” Anya nursed a club soda to maintain a personal fiction while she waited for Jorge to arrive. He was late. A simple drop, but Jorge didn’t have the papers to carry the painting across borders. She did. Unfortunately, he was hours late with his check-in, and she didn’t want to be tipsy when he finally showed up.

Disappointment flashed through his forest-green eyes, and she swallowed a smile. Sipping her drink, she scanned the lounge but saw no sign of Jorge. She flicked a look at the man in his five thousand dollar suit, tousled black hair, and rich French accent.

She should let him return to his own perch and bourbon. Dismiss him with a flirtatious smile and focus on the mission, but she patted the stool next to her. “You could give me some company and let me buy
you
a drink.”

His head cocked to the side, the corner of his mouth tilting further. “I don’t know if I can let a lady buy me a drink.”

“First time for everything, no?”

Max couldn’t believe his good fortune. She walked straight to him. The luck eluding him since Prague turned around. Everything about her said
catch me if you can
—except her eyes. They went to some unfathomable place that made him want to beg, borrow, or invent the key to reach.

She strolled through the crowd as if she owned it. He’d thought to go after her but stopped when her attention latched onto him. Her expression burned with…. Challenge? Desire? What? Something went on in her delicious mind, if only he knew what.

He tensed.
Did she discover the camera? Link it to me?
Every effort he’d used for tracking her before failed. For four months, he’d used his connections and accepted invitations he would normally have ignored. Tonight’s gala in Rabat, Morocco, was not his first choice for New Year’s Eve, but the ambassador’s boast about his latest acquisition rang bells in Max’s mind.

He’d gambled on the right lure.

It turned up pocket aces because she walked right toward him.

Double or nothing.

“Maxwell.” The name slipped from her lips like a gift, and he tightened the mental reins on the lust flooding through him like a schoolboy at Eton presented with his first kiss.

“Anya.”
Good show, old man
. The syllables of her name rolled off his tongue and sounded almost blasé.

Almost
.

Her utterly kissable mouth curved upward into an enigmatic smile, the same smile she’d teased him with from across the room. The same air of mystery tormenting him after each near miss they’d shared over the last four years.

Her lips haunted him. Drew him in. Held him captive.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Laughter threaded through her words, droll humor in light of the cliché.

“Would you care to dance?” He didn’t wait for her to answer, sweeping her into his arms and turning her into the waltz, drifting along as though pulled by a current requiring two steps forward, one step back and to the side, turn, two steps forward. He could waltz in his sleep. Oblivious to the others in the ballroom, he focused on the simple elegance in his arms.

It took everything he had not to kiss her. “How are you?”

“Well. And you?”

“Also well. It is an unexpected delight to find you here.”

“Is it?”

“No.”

“So you’re still looking for me?”

“Always.” The fierceness in his declaration caught him off guard.
Not now,
he reminded himself.
Calmly.

“I’m surprised you haven’t given up yet.”

“No, you’re not.” The deep gray of her eyes reminded him of storm clouds on the horizon, forbidding, arresting—begging a man to test his mettle against the flashes of lightening and the thunder. “You should know,
chérie
, I never give up.”

Prague, Four Years Earlier

Laughter flared like lightning in her eyes. He leaned back, resting his ankle on his knee as the bartender brought them fresh drinks. “Where are you headed, Miss…?”

“Hmm. Two drinks, a loaf of hot bread, and some cheese doesn’t give you name privileges.”

“No? How disappointing. Would a meal and the promise of dessert do it?”

Her laughter warmed him the second time around.

“Yes, I rather like your tenacity.” The Queen of England could not have given him a finer compliment. His chest puffed fractionally, a flood of masculine pride at the discovery his Siren found his determination attractive. “In fact, I was rather counting on it and you.”

“Oh?” He turned her expertly, enjoying the way her slender body molded to his. He dipped his head down, scenting the intimacy between them, as the music seemed to fade.

“Let’s do away with the games, hmm? You’re after the same thing I am.”

“I hope so.” He grinned, shuttering the kick of irritation behind practiced manners. In Paris, just four months past, he’d believed they were after the same thing—mutual satisfaction to a mutual attraction—to his bitter disappointment. He did not like to assume anymore. He also didn’t like how much she affected him while seemingly immune.

Her smile grew, sparking more emotion in her cloudy gaze he wanted to understand. Max pushed the feeling away. He didn’t need to understand to enjoy her. He didn’t need to understand to succeed. He didn’t need to understand period—and better still if he didn’t. Understanding led to an exploration of deeper feelings and the potential of commitment. Not knowing her hadn’t prevented his fascination or how perilously close he was to falling in love with a woman who worked with an agenda, lived her life on the edge, and happened to be a high-class thief.

No, he didn’t need to understand her.

No matter what he wanted.

“What did you have in mind?” He guarded the hope flaring inside, trying to ignore the way her body fit his or how the warmth of her touch singed his senses. The rich vanilla scent of her, orchids on a steamy tropical night, took him far away from the ballroom, responsibility, and regret.

“I need your help.” Of all the words she could have uttered, those were the last he expected to hear. From the clench of her jaw and the tightening of her lips, it appeared no easier for her to say.

“
Pour quoi?
”

He maneuvered them away from the center of the dance floor and closer to the musicians. The music would blot out the sounds around them, giving them a modicum of privacy. He smoothed his hand over the softness of her dress, enjoying the way her muscles shifted and bunched as they danced. He searched her stormy eyes for a hint to what she wanted, but they held onto their secrets.

“You know I am in acquisitions.” Her fingers toyed with the collar of his shirt, teasing at the ends of his hair, which he did his best to ignore. He sensed intense negotiations on the horizon.

“If, by acquisitions, you mean you are a thief, then, yes, I am aware.” A brutal cut to the chase. The sudden dilation of her pupils warned him he’d scored a hit. “And you need my help? Again, I ask, why?”

A couple brushed too near them and she reacted, narrowing the gap until her body pressed firmly to his. He nearly groaned from the sheer agony of holding her so intimately yet feeling as though they were at arm’s length.

“I seem to have….” She struggled with the words, and he waited patiently. In negotiations, it was important for the other party to make the first move, to lay her cards on the table. It gave one time to assess the situation, to counter the offer, and to make the most of the presented opportunity.

“I seem to be in the unique position of returning an item, rather than taking one.” She’d chosen the words carefully. Too carefully. He turned each one over, trying to discern what meaning hid beneath.

“Tonight?” Stillness muffled his heart. He’d examined the ambassador’s security personally, reviewing the protocols, the safeguards, and the alarms.

“Yes, it must be tonight.”

Despite reluctance, intrigue pricked him. “What do you have to return,
chérie
?”

“Ahh, no.” A smile turned those full lips upward, curving the corners into a delicious bow on an even more delicious package. “I need your agreement first.”

“It is not good business to agree to terms when you are uncertain of what will be required of you.” He inclined his head, dipping to murmur along the soft shell of her ear. “It is even less intelligent to make such an agreement with a thief if she wants you to commit an illegal act,
vous comprenez
?”

She canted her head, the piles of auburn hair falling in girlish ringlets around her face. The style emphasized the pixie shape of her cheeks and the exotic tilt of her eyes, most likely inherited from an Asian ancestor.

“I don’t need you to help me commit an act.” Her lips barely moved, yet he could hear every word. Her grasp of illicit and nefarious activities proved a seductive torment.

“Then be precise,
chérie
, so we may negotiate and satisfy your request.” Urgency flooded through him, his trousers uncomfortable despite their custom fit. He ached to sweep her off the dance floor and into more private surroundings. Perhaps he was a fool, but he wanted to just say yes, no matter what she wanted. He’d do it, if only to stay in her orbit a while longer.

Yes. I’m a fool.

“I removed the Buddha from the vault. But I need to return it.” Her smile flickered, a fraction of uncertainty echoing in her words.

“You what?” Why did the words startle him?
She’s a thief. I saw her take the manuscript. She’s linked to the disappearance of so many other items.
That’s why I planted the flat cam, because it was just the thing to attract her. Score in one shot.

“I’m not going to say it again.” Her sultry little laugh knocked over his objections.

“All right.” He understood. He scouted their surroundings. Despite the number of couples on the dance floor, the music shifted to a slower moody piano piece. Tugging her more firmly against him, he enjoyed the supple feel of her warm softness relaxing into him. “You don’t have to say it again. But if you want my help, I want something in return.”

For a brief moment, he wondered at his words. Why would he challenge her? Wasn’t this what he’d wanted all along? To have her come to him? To seek him out? Here she was…in his arms.

And he wanted to make a deal.

“I’m listening.” Her voice, low and husky, shot him through with warmth. Their first regrettable tango in Paris ended when she walked away. He’d blamed her, blamed himself. He’d given her too much power. But this was a chance to explore the passion simmering beneath every word.

Her pupils remained dilated, and he could feel the rapid thrum of her heart pulsing under his fingers. He resisted the urge, barely, to stroke her nape. She was upset. Despite the glossy come-hither smiles, something had gotten to her. His resolve hardened. He would help her.

But it would be nice to get something in exchange.

“I’ll help.” He pressed a whisper of a kiss to her ear, longing to tug the lobe between his lips and tease the sensitive flesh. “You. Me. The beaches of Majorca. Sounds like an exchange.”