In Plain Sight (Stolen Hearts) (3 page)

Chapter Two

Three months later.

Discreetly as possible, Bridget adjusted the deep décolletage of her dress. Hell and damnation. She’d wanted everyone at the trade show to notice that she was here, especially that snake, Dejarnatt. Scarlet seemed an appropriate color to draw attention to herself, but she should have paid closer attention to how low the dress dipped front and back.

“Bridget! My God, you’re breathtaking.” Alphonse Donati embraced her before she could stick out her hand to shake his. Alphonse had tried to hire her and her brother, Darcy, who was the real genius of the family, several times. But he was too free with his hands, and Darcy had sworn to punch out the gemologist’s lights if he copped another feel—of either of them.

Bridget disengaged herself from Alphonse’s sinewy arms, but not before he managed to brush his hand against one of her boobs. She chewed back her sharp retort. There were a lot more things to worry about tonight than an old man groping her.

Reminding herself the reason she was here, she straightened her shoulders. To hell with all of them. Let them ogle all they liked. She was as talented a jewelry designer as anyone in this room, and she had a right to be here. More important, she had a reason to be here.

“Where is dear Darcy? He’s usually glued to your side.” Alphonse grabbed her hand and ran his fingers up to her elbow.

She shivered with distaste, but when she tried to pull her hand away, he tightened his grip. “Darcy’s in prison.” She was rewarded to see a blush climb up his scrawny neck. He was an incredibly ugly man, tall and thin and gaunt. She’d heard rumors about the man. More specifically about his family. Apparently, the Donati family were considered dangerous people. Some even went so far to say they were one of the most powerful mafia families in Italy. Other than his roaming hands, he’d always treated her fairly.

Alphonse dropped her hand. “Such a shame. I’m not convinced your talented brother stole those stones. You have dangerous enemies,
ma cherie
.” He tilted his head in Dejarnatt’s direction. “If you ever need help, call.”

“
Merci
, Alphonse.” But he didn’t offer her a job, she noticed, as she watched him walk away. She didn’t think she’d be calling him for help any time soon. Especially if the rumors about his family were true.

So, Dejarnatt hadn’t fooled everyone when he’d set up Darcy to take the fall for several valuable stones that had disappeared from Dejarnatt’s safe. She glanced around the room, wondering how many people suspected the truth, and why none of them had offered to help.

Two years ago, Dejarnatt had hired both her and Darcy as designers for his new jewelry line that catered to the young and wealthy. He’d agreed to pay them a small percentage of the sales until he’d realized how successful their designs were. Both she and Darcy had known how much their boss hated giving them their three percent, but they hadn’t been prepared for the extent of his greed.

When Missy McCall, the newest reality TV star in the US, had wanted to have her own line of jewelry and tried to hire Darcy away from Dejarnatt, Dejarnatt had responded by offering to endorse Missy’s new line if she sold under the umbrella of his company. They’d both benefited from using the other’s name. There had been talk of other benefits as well, but Bridget hadn’t paid attention to any of it until it was too late.

Dejarnatt had claimed Darcy’s designs for a new line of jewelry were his, then accused her brother of stealing several semiprecious gems. The faintest hint of theft was enough to kill anyone’s career in their line of work. She’d lost her job, and Darcy had been found guilty. Dejarnatt had friends in high places.

She looked around the room. The snake, Dejarnatt, stood near the front surrounded by his usual entourage. For a second their gazes collided. Dejarnatt paled but didn’t flinch. He turned abruptly away from her glare and said spoke into the ear of a man who stood beside him. The man nodded and moved away. He wouldn’t dare pull any stunts here, would he? She’d assumed she was relatively safe in this crowd.

Bridget shivered as a sudden awareness tightened her skin. She accepted a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and slowly turned to see who stood behind her. Her glass slipped out of nerveless fingers and crashed to the marble floor. People swiveled in her direction, then returned to their conversations when they saw it was no more than a broken glass. The waiter swept in and cleaned up the broken pieces almost before she could move out of the way. She looked again in the direction she thought she’d seen the man and eased out a breath when he wasn’t there.

Her guilt would kill her someday. Bad enough she couldn’t get Raphael Pascotto out of her mind. Now she was imaging him in places he wasn’t.

“Bridget.”

Claire! Bridget smiled gratefully at her old school friend, noting that she’d given up trying to straighten her hair and had grown it long in the last year.

Claire had studied design with her and Darcy, and at one time, Bridget believed Claire and her brother would get married. But then Darcy’s designs started to be noticed, and he moved to Paris. She followed her brother a few months later, but Claire stayed in Boston, although both had tried to talk her into coming with them.

“Hey, there.” She hugged her friend.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.” Claire squeezed her hand.

“And miss Dejarnatt pass off Darcy’s designs as his own? If I can’t prove Darcy’s innocence, I can at least make Dejarnatt feel guilty.”

Speaking of guilt, she glanced around the room. She’d imagined Pascotto. He wasn’t here.

“Have you been to visit Darcy yet?”

Bridget shook her head. “I flew in late last night. I plan to go after this. Or tomorrow if it’s too late tonight. Is it you who’s been taking care of his apartment?”

Claire blushed. “Yes. If you’re planning to stay there I’ll give you my key.”

“If Darcy doesn’t mind, I’ll crash there for a while, but keep the key. I have a copy. And drop by anytime. Do you visit him at the jail?”

“At first he wouldn’t let me, but I didn’t give up. That’s why I’m here today. I’m supposed to report everything that happens tonight.” She smiled sadly. “He’s living vicariously through me these days.”

Bridget laid her hand on Claire’s shoulder. “Thank God we have a few friends left. Do you have any idea why he’s still in the downtown jail? I assumed with the conviction, they would have moved him to prison.”

A frown marked Claire’s face. “I thought so, too. But when I asked Darcy about it, he just mumbled something about the “effing” FBI playing games with him. Maybe you’ll be able to get more out of him when you see him.”

Claire frowned and looked over Bridget’s shoulder. “Do you know that man?”

Bridget froze.
Pascotto
. Even with her back turned she could feel the intensity of his stare. What to do now? Leave or tough it out?

“Bridget O’Neill.” A large hand gripped her elbow and spun her around. Rafe Pascotto’s shimmering blue eyes shot sparks at her as his beautiful lips curled into a mischievous grin. “Darling. It’s been too long.”

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

He tasted divine. Like wine and something rich and earthy. She tried to keep her lips pressed closed, but instead of plunging into hers, his tongue teased her top lip until she sighed into his mouth and let him in. Strong arms banded around her, and one hand slipped inside the low V on the back of her dress and nudged her closer to him. Fire curled low in her belly.

“Delicious,” he murmured.

Then he pulled back, leaving her feeling cold and exposed. He slid an arm around her waist and secured her to his side. “Who is this lovely lady?” He inclined his head toward Claire.

She tried to pull back to put distance between them. He held on tighter.

“Claire Fairchild,” Claire said after a moment’s hesitation. She shook his free hand.

“Of course. You went to school together, didn’t you?”

Fear tethered Bridget into place. How would he know that?
Why
would he know that?

“Are you a designer as well?” He beamed at Claire.

His hand dropped from Bridget’s waist to explore the back V of her dress. She started to squirm, but quickly realized she needed to stand still if she wanted the front of her dress to stay in place.

“Yes, I am. But I’m not in the same class as Bridget and Darcy. Do you want company tomorrow, Bridget?”

Company. For…? Bridget’s brain had emptied out except for one thing—the feel of Rafe’s fingers caressing her skin. She concentrated on not letting her body betray her. How many nights had she tossed and turned, remembering the feel of his muscles rippling under her hands that fateful afternoon in Paris?

“I’ll, ah…I’ll call you in the morning.”

Claire smiled. “I’m glad you’re home, Birdie.”

“Birdie.” Rafe grinned once Claire was out of earshot. “How apt. Do your friends know how you like to disappear into thin air?”

She tore her eyes away from his, which were the same color as a riveting, dark blue lapis she’d once seen in a bracelet from Tibet. She’d forgotten how jaw-droppingly handsome he was. Although he looked different now. Instead of the clean-shaven, chiseled face in some of his older ads, a light beard shadowed his jaw. And he’d let his hair grow long enough to touch his shoulders. His eyes twinkled as his lips quirked upward again. His tux was just window dressing for what she knew was a finely toned body beneath.

“Let go of me.”

“No.”

“This is ridiculous. You can’t hold on to me all night. People are going to realize something’s wrong.”

“And?”

“I don’t know what game you’re playing, but—”

His arm tightened around her. “Speaking of games, let’s start with you. How did you know who I was?”

That day in Paris.

When she refused to answer, he trailed his fingers from her shoulder to the strap that held up her dress. “That’s a daring dress you’re wearing, Irish. One tug on the knot at the back of your neck, and I don’t imagine it would take much for it to slip off your shoulders.”

She swatted at his hand. “Stop it.”

“How did you know who I was?”

“I hate you.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Answer my question.”

“I took a picture with my cell phone and e-mailed it to a friend who works at
Le Monde.
Child’s play.”

He dropped his hand and laced his long, lean fingers through hers. “And what did your friend tell you that alarmed you so much that you had to ruin my career?”

She tried unsuccessfully to control her blush. “I had no idea you had an ad campaign about to debut.”

Her bottom lip trembled as he rubbed his thumb over it. Anyone watching would think they were lovers. “And you apologize for wrecking my life.”

She opened her mouth and sank her teeth into his thumb, then jerked away, freed at last. “You’re related to Special Agent Gage, you poor bastard. I have no idea why he sent you to spy on me in Paris, but I want nothing to do with you. He’s destroyed
my
life.”

She marched away, her limbs trembling with rage. The bastard had been digging through her life, looking for more dirt to sling at Darcy or her. He could rot in hell for all she cared.

Partway to the door, she heard someone shout at the front of the room. She ignored the commotion and kept on walking. The whole lot of them were greedy, simpering fools, all scrambling for their share of the market. She had let Dejarnatt know she’d followed him to the States and wasn’t giving up. Now she could leave. She’d prove her brother’s innocence if it was the last thing she did.

“For chrissake, come on.” Rafe rushed up behind her, and with one arm around her waist, almost lifted her off her feet.

“What do you think—” She elbowed him in the gut.

He grunted. “Shut up and keep moving. They’re saying some gems have been stolen.”

She stumbled. “No!”

Rafe rushed her out the door, stopping long enough to whip off his suit jacket and wrap it around her. “Christ, it’s like trying to cover up a flame. Taxi,” he yelled.

A yellow cab pulled up in front of them, and he stashed her inside, took a quick look behind him and followed her.