Say You Will (16 page)

“I, on the other hand, noticed you the first day you started working here.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course you did. I sit in front of the bloody elevator.”

“You were wearing a black dress and pink sweater that had a butterfly pin on it,” he said, pulling her closer. “Your stockings had a run at the thigh, which you tried to hide under the skirt of your dress, but the dress wouldn’t stay arranged in front of it.”

She blinked, stunned. That was what she’d worn. The butterfly had been given to her from a foster mother she’d had briefly, as a reminder to have courage. And a man’s briefcase had caught on her hose in the tube on the way to her first day.

“I see you,” Joe said, urgency in his voice as he pulled her closer. “You try to repress your passionate side behind the prissy clothes and tied-back hair. You hide who you are underneath.”

“Maybe who I am underneath is no good.”

His gaze grew fierce. “Who you are is the best person. You’re kind and compassionate. You share your lunch with those less fortunate than you all the time. I’ve seen you,” he overrode her when she opened her mouth to ask how he knew. “To that man, you’re a hero.”

She flushed. “I’m nothing.”

“You’re everything,” he said fervently, lowering his head.

She knew his lips were about to touch hers, but she still wasn’t ready for the explosion of sensation. The kiss bloomed at her mouth and sparked through her chest, igniting at her belly, right at the center of her.

She so desperately wanted him to touch her. She wasn’t picky—she wanted him to touch her everywhere.

No—she didn’t want that. “Stop,” she said as she pushed him away. “We can’t do this.”

“Yes, we can.” He leaned in to kiss her again.

“No.” She wiggled out from his arms. “I’m not the person you think I am. I won’t be tempted by the chocolate cake smell of you or your delicious,
delicious
kisses. I don’t want your fine arse or anything you make me dream of.”

He frowned at her in silence. Then he said, “You think my arse is fine?”

Growling, she threw her arms in the air. “
That’s
the one thing you pick out from that whole monologue?”

“It was the only part I believed, other than the bit about our kisses being delicious.” He reached for her.

She moved back, putting her hands behind her back so she wouldn’t be tempted. “No. I’m serious, Joe. I’m not doing this. I’m not attracted to you.”

“Darling, that’s utter shite, and you know it.”

“I hate who I am around you,” she yelled in frustration. She waved at herself. “Look at me.”

“You’re beautiful,” Joe said, crossing his arms.

“I’m a mess.” Her hair was rumpled, her makeup was smeared, and her eyes looked feverish with desire. She wasn’t beautiful—she looked just like her mother. “I
hate
being like this, and this is who you make me.”

Hurt flashed in his eyes.

She felt an instant stab of regret—she hadn’t wanted to wound him. Her anger deflated. “Joe—”

“Don’t go out with him, Em,” was all he said as he walked out, leaving her awkwardly in his space.

The moment the door closed, she slumped against his desk. What just happened?

She wanted it to happen again. She’d meant it when she said she didn’t like who she was around him, but she wanted him so badly her hands shook with it.

Heaven help her, she
liked
Joe Winslow.

She stumbled back to her desk, dazed, not sure what just happened except for one thing: her world had been thrown off kilter. She looked down at all the pieces of paper Joe had written to her. She should toss them and call Ben back to set up their date.

Gathering all the squares, she tucked them safely into her purse.

Chapter Twenty

Rosalind turned around the moment she heard Portia’s footsteps coming down the stairs. “I’m ready,” Portia said.

Her sister wore black head to toe, down to the tips of her dominatrix boots. Her hair was pulled back with a fedora low over her eyes, which were smoky with makeup. She tugged on black gloves as she descended the last few steps. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

Rosalind shook her head. “You just look …”

“What?”

“Dark.”

“It’s important to dress properly for each occasion.” She waved at herself. “I’m dressed for planning a heist.”

Rosalind bit her lip to keep from grinning, knowing her sister wouldn’t appreciate the humor. She slung her arm around Portia’s shoulder. “Let’s go, Bonnie.”

They walked slowly to the Red Witch because of Portia’s heels. Rosalind shook her head, knowing better than to point out that if the police were chasing her, she’d be hobbled by those boots.

“Rosalind.” Portia stopped suddenly, grabbing her arm.

“What is it? Do your feet hurt?”

“My feet?” Frowning, she shook her head. “No. I wanted to apologize.”

“What for?”

Portia fidgeted with the edging on her gloves. “I haven’t been nice to you since you’ve been back.”

Rosalind shrugged. “You’ve been upset by Father’s death.”

“That’s not an excuse. I’ve been difficult, and I’m sorry for it.”

She opened her mouth to dismiss it, but she realized Portia was really serious. So she smiled and nodded. “I accept your apology.”

Portia surprised her by throwing her arms around her.

She blinked, not sure when the last time her sister had hugged her, if ever. Portia had always been self-contained and proper. But Rosalind got past the awkwardness and clenched her sister close.

“Well.” Portia pulled away, wiping under her eye. “I suppose we should get going.”

When they walked into the bar, Rosalind felt an immediate longing for Nick. She glanced at the table where they’d sat and wanted to call him. Only she couldn’t—not now. They had a robbery to plan. She followed Portia up to the bar.

It was quieter than the last time she’d been there. There were two older men playing chess in a corner, their pints untouched. Another man read at one end of the bar. The perfect ambiance to plot a break-in.

“This is colorful,” Portia said. “I didn’t know there were places like this close to home.”

Rosalind expected Portia to get snooty, but she went straight up to the bar, her eyes bright as she inspected the bottles.

Niamh glanced at Portia and then gave Rosalind a big smile. “Who’s your friend, love?”

“My sister Portia,” she said as she pulled out a barstool.

The bartender pulled out a shot glass and filled it with Jameson’s. “She’s not going to rob me, is she?”

“You’re safe tonight.”

“What are you having, Rosalind?” Portia leaned over her glass and sniffed. She made a face. “That’s rather potent, isn’t it? I believe I’ll have one as well.”

Niamh raised her brows but just shrugged and poured Portia a glass as well. “
Sláinte
,” she said as she slid Portia’s glass toward her.

Her sister eagerly sipped, her face going red as she swallowed. She coughed discreetly and then said, “It’s perfect, actually. I feel very edgy.”

Rosalind hid her smile behind her own glass.

“Well then,” Niamh said, refilling their glasses. “On me.”

Portia waited until the redhead moved along to whisper, “She’s so lovely.”

Rosalind nodded, lifting her hand to motion to Bea and Vi as they walked in.

“What made you choose this place?” Bea asked, pulling up a stool. “It doesn’t seem like the sort of place you’d pick.”

“I think we can safely say we don’t know Rosalind well enough to know that,” Vi said, motioning to Niamh before sitting down next to her. “But it’d be nice to change that.”

“You must all be sisters,” Niamh said, examining each of their faces. She nodded. “Beautiful, the lot of you. What can I get you? Whiskey?”

“A gin and tonic for me,” Bea said, setting her Chanel bag on the bar.

“Tequila,” Viola added, and two minutes later when Niamh poured the shot and slid it toward her she downed it and motioned for another.

Rosalind looked at Bea, who shook her head. Then Rosalind said, “Is everything okay, Viola?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” she said bitterly, downing her second tequila shot, too. She exhaled like she was trying to blow off the weight of the world from her shoulders and then turned to them. “I’m ready. Let’s discuss this.”

“Are you sure, Vi?”

Viola gave their oldest sister a flat look.

“Okay, then.” Bea nodded in thanks to the bartender before lowering her voice. “I got the address to Tabitha Welles’s house. It’s in Notting Hill. I had my investigator nose around a bit, and he says no one is currently staying there, nor is there any activity.”

Viola brightened. “You have an investigator?”

“Yes.”

“Can I borrow him?”

Bea frowned. “What do you plan on doing with him?”

“I need someone followed. I’m assuming he does that?”

“He does.” Beatrice exchanged a look with Rosalind.

Rosalind leaned over and put a hand on her sister’s knee. “Vi, are you having trouble at home?”

“No, because Charles is never there.” She lifted her shot glass but set it back down when she realized it was empty. “This glass seems to have a leak.”

Bea took it away and set it aside. “I’ll have Wellington contact you later, but first let’s work out the details of this operation.”

“What details are there to work out besides the night we go there?” Rosalind asked.

Portia leaned in. “How are we breaking in? Do we need explosives?”

“No explosives,” Rosalind and Bea exclaimed in unison.

“You’re right.” Portia nodded. “Too conspicuous, isn’t it?”

“It’d be awfully satisfying though,” Viola said wistfully. “Don’t you ever get tired of living quietly?”

“What’s going on, Viola?” Rosalind asked. “You’re not acting like yourself.”

Viola opened her mouth, but then she shut it and shook her head. “We’re here to discuss the will. My problems can wait.”

Portia took a minuscule sip of her whiskey. “So if we’re not going to use explosives, how are we breaking in?”

“I’ll take care of that,” Bea promised. “We’ll go in two nights’ time.”

“Dressed normally.” Rosalind pointed at Portia. “We need to look like we’re going out for drinks, not to rob a bank, in case we get stopped.”

“Good point,” Bea agreed. “That way if anyone asks why we’re in her house, we can pretend to be drunk and clueless. Once we’re inside, we’ll divide the townhouse into sections. Rosalind, you search the living room, I’ll do the bedroom. Viola, you take care of the kitchen, and, Portia, you do the spare room and hall closet.”

They all looked at their oldest sister in awe. “You should have been a military general,” Rosalind said, voicing what was in all their minds.

“I’m in business. Same difference. Are we all in?” She put her hand in the middle.

They piled their hands on top and echoed, “All in.”

“We’re like the four Musketeers,” Portia exclaimed excitedly, “only better dressed and with more fashionable hair.”

Rosalind looked at Bea, who rolled her eyes. What could possibly go wrong with this plan? She downed her whiskey and silently asked Niamh for another.

Chapter Twenty-one

“You,
caro
, need sex,” Luca declared as they walked to the Red Witch.

Nick thought of Rosalind and felt a longing in both his groin and chest. “What makes you say that?”

“The cagey look in your eyes.” His nemesis pointed at his face. “It’s sex, or you need to race.”

“I don’t need to race.”

“Of course you do. Racing is in our blood.” Luca clapped him on the back. “Fortunately, Australia is around the corner, and not long after that will be Monte Carlo.”

He glanced at his rival. “Why do you want me to be in Monte Carlo so badly?”

“You must allow me to beat you. My manhood demands it of you.”

“You need to keep your manhood to yourself.” He pushed open the door to the bar and let the Italian enter first.

“Charming,” Luca proclaimed, a predatory gleam lighting his eyes. “I’m not sure why I doubted your choice, my friend. I apologize.”

Frowning, Nick watched the Italian make a beeline for the bar and a group of women huddled conspiratorially at one end. He rolled his eyes as he watched Luca flash his lady-killer smile at them.

Then he spotted a familiar blond head and froze. Rosalind. He quickly looked at the other three women, who bore a distinct resemblance to her—and Summer.

The sisters. He slowed his steps, wondering how to proceed. If he were smart he’d—

What? Leave? He couldn’t leave without it seeming strange. Besides, he couldn’t possibly walk away when Rosalind was so close. Or when Luca was so close to her.

“Nick.” Luca waved him over. “How clever of you to find this remarkable place. Come meet my new friends.”

Rosalind peered over the Italian’s shoulder. “Some of us are old friends.”

And a pair of them were lovers, although he wasn’t certain anyone knew.

She must have read the question in his gaze, because she gave him a subtle shake of her head.

No overt affection—good to know. He joined them, but he only had eyes for Rosalind. “How are you?”

“Better.” She smiled up at him, silently telling him she wanted to kiss him. But then she turned to the ladies. “Nick, these are my older sisters, Beatrice, Viola, and Portia. Everyone, this is Nick.”

Luca put a finger under Beatrice’s chin and redirected her gaze back to him. “The view is better this way, no?”

“I hadn’t noticed.” She deliberately moved her chin from his grip.

Nick grinned and stuck out his hand toward Rosalind’s sister. “I have a feeling we’re going to get long magnificently.”

“Interesting.” She shot Rosalind a look. “Are you keeping secrets, Ros?”

The other sister who looked weary around her eyes, Viola, lifted her shot glass to signal Niamh for another drink. “It seems like it’s what we do.”

The third sister, who wore black head to toe like a cat burglar, leaned toward Luca. “For the record, I think the view is lovely.”

The Italian raised his brows at Beatrice. “Your sister shows good sense.”