Swept Away (55 page)

She tilted her head, looked at the vase, and smiled.

Which felt good, since the last weeks had been no less than crazy.

She’d been just about to contact Ian and make her official apology when she’d heard the whole unbelievable story that he was the big smuggler Brock had been after!

Only then, after learning of her dad’s involvement, did she really understand just how
unfathomably important money was to him. But she thought he was handling the situation well. He’d lost his best friend, Ian’s father, but other than that, so far the fallout had been small—and
the reward actually pretty great, from what she could tell.

Because her parents now seemed even closer than she’d already thought them. They kept taking late-night strolls on the beach, and every time she walked into her dad’s office, she
found them on the phone or busy exchanging flirty e-mails. She rolled her eyes at him a lot but
secretly thought it adorable. And the way her mother had stuck by him through this from the
start actually gave Kat a little hope that she might still someday find a man worthy of her.

Of course, it was difficult to even think about romance right now. Not because of her farce of
an engagement—something that already seemed like a distant nightmare—but because of
Brock. The hurt wasn’t fading—at all. Every time she thought of him, her heart felt like it was
shattering all over again.

You stupid, stupid man, she thought now, adjusting a pair of matching bowls set on a wide
pedestal. You don’t know what you’re missing.

But the bad part was, he really did know what he was missing. Which meant maybe she wasn’t
really all that great. She sighed and pushed that unpleasant thought from her mind.

She’d been trying to work through it the way she always worked through problems—by making pots. Uncomplicated pieces mostly, using simple glazes. Soon she’d start
experimenting with the sand ideas she’d brought home from the island, and maybe after that
she’d work up the courage to make a piece incorporating the sea glass she and Brock had
collected together. She knew such a piece would forever remind her of those glorious days, the
glorious sex, and the glorious love. One-sided, of course, which made it considerably less magical. But she would always connect those pieces of sea glass with that time.

Satisfied that everything was perfectly in place for her showing, she found herself meandering
to the back of the gallery, to the framed pendant stone still hanging on the wall there. As a little
girl, and even as a teenager, she’d never realized it was of Mayan origin. Only recent events
had led her father to mention that it was one of the last pieces he’d gotten before importation
became illegal. He’d explained that he’d given it to her because it had suddenly seemed special,
knowing there wouldn’t be any more. He’d told her how much he regretted letting Ian change
that—that he wished the little broken piece of stone had been the last Mayan artifact ever to enter his life.

Just then a glint of late-day sun on chrome flashed through the front plate-glass window and
drew her eye. Oh God. A jade green Porsche had just pulled to the curb outside.

Her heart revved as her body went tense with longing and a whole host of other emotions. I
love you. I hate you. I need you so much I almost can’t breathe.

What the hell did he want? Why was he here? And why did he keep coming back into her life
every time she thought he was gone?

Chapter Twenty

She stood up a little straighter, girding herself. They made eye contact through the window, but neither smiled. He looked as good as ever in a pair of well-worn jeans and a dark T-shirt that hugged every muscle in his chest, which, of course, made her want to touch every muscle in his chest.

Though it was different now than when he’d first come back into her life, washing up like
Poseidon in the flesh—he was no longer forbidden. But she knew if she did what she’d done
at her apartment that day, allowed herself the pleasure of touching him, or kissing him, that it
would only hurt all the more when he left.

“Hey, kitten,” he said, stepping inside, voice low.

“If you’re looking for my dad—”
“No. You.”

She swallowed. “How did you know I’d be here?” Her dad was the only one renowned for
working after hours on a regular basis.

“Saw the sign in the window about your opening tonight. Thought you might be here getting
ready.” He took a moment to peruse the room. “Is this your stuff? Your pottery?”

She nodded.

As he took a moment to study one particular bowl, the expression on his face touched her artist’s soul. “I didn’t know pottery could look like this, kitten. And you made it? From
nothing? This is amazing.”

She felt oddly shy—she hadn’t expected his praise. “Thank you.”

“I mean it. It’s beautiful, Kat.” Their gazes met, held, and the juncture of her thighs quivered—
some things never changed, and one of them was that Brock Denton could make her wet with just his eyes.

She needed a tension breaker, fast, before she pulled him into her dad’s office and had her way
with him, then wholly regretted it. “So what are you doing in Naples?”

“I’ve been spending some time out at my grandpa’s house by the swamp—taking a little time
off.”

She tried not to be wounded to discover he’d been only a short drive away yet still hadn’t felt
the need to see her. It stung anyway—sharply. But she wasn’t going to dwell on it because this
was her big night, her night to be happy. “I, uh, know you had a hand in getting immunity for
my dad. He may not have said it, but he really appreciated it.”

“I didn’t do it for him. I did it for you.”

Stupidly, her heart fluttered. Stop it. But she heard herself utter another shy-sounding “Thank
you” just the same. “And needless to say, I was pretty stunned to find out about Ian.”

He nodded. “I’m just glad you got out of that before it was too late.”

“Me, too.”

“Listen,” he said when things went quiet, “I have something to give you.”

She blinked, taken aback, watching as he reached down into the front pocket of his jeans.

“When we were on the island, I found the artifacts, but couldn’t tell you. And for some reason,
I picked this up to take back as evidence. Forgot to surrender it when we turned everything
over to the Guatemalan government, and when I contacted the appropriate guy, he told me to
keep it as a token of their appreciation.” Withdrawing his fist from the denim, he uncurled his
fingers so she could see what lay in his palm. “I thought maybe you could use it in a piece of

pottery, like you use the sea glass.”

Kat stared in awe at the intricately carved chunk of stone in his hand, and her heart began to
beat erratically. She’d never actually seen it before, yet somehow she still recognized it. “You
got this from the artifacts Ian was smuggling?” She feared she sounded a little manic.

“Yeah. Why?”

She let out a heavy breath and suspected she looked pretty freaked-out—because she was.
Taking the piece from him, she strode briskly toward the rear of the gallery.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she tossed over her shoulder, then used her free hand to lift the framed pendant
from the wall. Tearing the backing away, she snatched the piece out and held the two together.

“Oh my God,” she breathed when they fit perfectly.

Brock had followed her and now peered over her shoulder, watching. “Where the hell did you
get that other piece?”

“From my father, when I was little,” she explained. “It was a keepsake, a gift.”

“I didn’t realize my piece was part of something bigger—it looked whole to me on its own.”

She studied the two parts of the pendant, understanding his assumption. The break was neat,
occurring along a crease carved into the rock. Brock’s piece appeared stunning enough by
itself, but its beauty multiplied when put with the rest of the sizable pendant.

Utterly amazed that the long-broken pieces had suddenly been brought together this way, she
turned to look up at him, finding him closer than she realized. It was insane, but she had to ask “Why did you pick up this piece in particular?”

He gave his head a short shake. “I don’t know. Even though it was small compared to some of
the stuff, it’s the first thing that caught my eye. Why?”

She shouldn’t tell him. She just really shouldn’t. She’d appear desperate—he might even think
she was making it up.

“Well?”

She let out a sigh. “My father got the other part on a trip to Guatemala, bought it cheap from a
woman selling artifacts along a roadside. So cheap that when she told him there was a legend
attached, he figured it was a bunch of hooey, but he told me the legend anyway.”

Brock tilted his head. “Which is?”

“It was broken on purpose—two lovers were being separated, so the woman broke her pendant
and gave the guy the other half. They never found each other again, no one knew where the
other half ended up. The legend is—bring the halves together and the lovers’ souls are reunited
for eternity, and those who bring them together are united for eternity, too.” Feeling her face
redden at the implication, she pulled her gaze away and rolled her eyes. “So much for legends,
huh?”

A hint of anger glittered in his gaze as it hardened on her. “Listen to me, damn it. I love you,
kitten—I just can’t have you.”

“What?” she gasped, flinching. Her heart beat triple time.

“I’m an FBI agent, Kat. That means I’m in danger all the time, and it means people I care for
could be in danger if I make a mistake. Which is exactly what happened on the island. Agents
do better without attachments, and that’s why I can’t have any.”

So he was saying he loved her. Her heartbeat pulsed through her whole body.

Yet she somehow also heard the implication that she would just come running now if he
decided he wanted her.

And it was only in that shocking and sobering moment that she realized the truth: She wouldn’t
come running—not anymore.

Which meant that maybe she was stronger than she’d ever thought.

She swallowed back the tears suddenly floating behind her eyes and let her own anger out.
“Well, that’s good to know, but it just so happens I’m glad you don’t want a future with me.
And do you know why? Because there’s always something more important to you than me,
always something standing in the way. Your grandpa, that I get—but it’s a pattern, Brock, and
I deserve better. I deserve someone who puts me first, above everything else. I deserve
someone who would give up everything for me.”