Take It Down (18 page)

She wanted a man who wasn’t a hero. Who wouldn’t put the safety of others above the safety of himself.

And that was all a lie. Of course she wanted a hero. A man with the same honor and integrity her father had. A man who lived up to the lofty example her father had set for her.

A man like Zane.

Her father would definitely approve of Zane. He wouldn’t approve of what she’d done over the past few days. Breaking and entering, pickpocketing…

Closing her eyes tight for several seconds, Elle tried to will away the ache that had started somewhere close to her heart.

There were so many reasons why this was a bad idea. But the fact that he was asleep in her bed meant that those reasons didn’t carry much weight. At least, not with her heart.

She sighed.
Damn it.
How could she have fallen for him so quickly?

Her eyes opened again. They traveled across his body, viewing him not just as an artist but as someone who cared.

She supposed the real question was, what woman wouldn’t fall for Zane? He was selfless, determined, beautiful.

His body was almost diagonal across the bed, his torso encroaching on the spot she’d vacated. The white hotel sheet was draped low across his hips, and one of his feet was sticking out the other side. She wasn’t sure if it was deliberate or if the position he was in made the cotton sheet too short to cover his body.

Her fingers moved languidly across the page, soft gray lines and sharp shadowed angles appearing beneath her sure strokes. Her fingers brushed across his back, smudging the reproduction of the scars she could see there. Puckered flesh long healed, still held memories of experiences he hadn’t shared with her.

When she was finished, she stared down at the contrast of him. Soft, dreamy moonlight, relaxed muscles, peaceful sleep and those ripping scars across his flesh.

A lump in her throat, Elle stood up from the chair and placed the pad in the seat. Exhaustion and the overwhelming urge to be next to him, skin to skin, stole over her. Her arms felt so heavy and her eyes were suddenly gritty and bone-dry.

With a sigh, Elle climbed into bed, gently picked Zane’s arm up and snugged it back around her. He made another sound, pulling her closer against his body.

Without really awakening, he mumbled, “Everything okay?” his words slurring with sleep.

“Fine,” she said, her own speech heavy and tired.

Three seconds later, she was out.

When she woke, she was alone. Not surprising, considering the clock on her bedside table said it was well past ten. She hadn’t slept that late in a very long time. She might be an artist at the whim of her creative impulses, but after years with her father living on a strict schedule…old habits died hard. She supposed that vacation was as good a time as any to sleep in. Especially given how late into the morning she’d been up.

She lay in bed for a little while, wondering what Zane was doing and whether or not she’d see him today. Once again, he’d left without giving her anything. She tried to reason with herself. This wasn’t back home. This wasn’t the start of a relationship. He didn’t owe her anything—least of all, the reassurance that they’d share a repeat performance of the previous evening.

Her eyes darted around the room anyway, looking for a note he might have left her. There wasn’t one. Elle tried not to let the disappointment ruin the residual glow from last night.

She wondered briefly what she should do today. There were ballroom lessons; she’d always wanted to learn the tango. But, really, the thought of some other man having his arms wrapped around her made her cringe. Now, if she could convince Zane to go with her… She could just imagine his stiff body going languid with the sexual thrill of the dance. Desire began to simmer. Instead of letting it take hold, she pushed it away. Another thought for another time.

She could always paint, but today the thought of lugging everything out to the beach simply had no appeal.

She finally settled on eating a late breakfast, changing into her swimsuit, grabbing the floppy-brimmed hat she’d packed at the last minute and spending the day lying in the sand. It had been a very long time since she’d read a book.

As she was digging into her suitcase, the sound of crumpling paper stopped her cold. Flipping a few things out of her way, Elle uncovered the picture that had started her headlong flight to Escape.

Nana’s picture stared back at her accusingly. Deep despair, the same emotion she’d felt on the day she’d lost the painting, welled up inside. Her grandmother seemed to look out of the portrait and straight into her soul.

Elle realized she was the one adding accusation to the mischievous eyes, but that didn’t stop the feeling from cutting deep. She had failed, but she had no idea how to correct that problem.

Her conscience wouldn’t let her do anything illegal, at least not again. In fact, she could hear Nana’s voice in the back of her head now… “Two wrongs do not make a right, young lady.”

Perhaps she should just talk to Marcy. Tell her the truth of why she’d come to the island. Before, Elle had been reluctant to pay to retrieve the painting. It was hers by rights. She shouldn’t have to pay for the return of something that was already hers.

But she had the money. When she got to the island, the painting had been the most important thing. Now, her integrity and Zane’s opinion of her were equally so.

She’d also assumed that her unanswered emails and letters had been because the owner had full knowledge of the fact that it was stolen art. However, now that she was here, she didn’t think that was true.

If nothing else, Simon struck her as an intelligent man who wouldn’t flaunt his stolen property in the pages of a travel magazine with worldwide distribution. And if he wasn’t smart enough to realize the danger in that, Marcy was.

Elle needed to think about it, though. Starting today, she was going to turn over a new leaf. Think about things before she rushed into them.

Better late than never.

IT HAD BEEN ONE HELL OF A day. The alarm on Zane’s phone had woken him at 6:00 a.m. Bleary-eyed, he’d stumbled from Elle’s room back to his own place so he could change clothes and relieve Tom. He’d wanted nothing more than to stay right where he was, his body wrapped around the warmth of her, but he couldn’t.

Wouldn’t let himself give in to the weakness of needing to stay.

He’d started the day grouchy and it had gone downhill from there. A guest had claimed that a piece of jewelry had gone missing from her room. It was the first time they’d ever had a report of theft on the property since he’d been there, and if Elle hadn’t been wrapped in his arms all night, he might have been tempted to accuse her of the crime. The situation had certainly fit her M.O. He knew she was innocent, and had promised as much to Marcy when she’d asked if Elle could be involved. He’d ignored the tiny spurt of relief when he’d reviewed the tapes and discovered no one but the guest herself had exited or entered her room.

After several of the staff searched the room, one of the maids found the diamond bracelet wedged between the dresser and the wall.

Crisis averted—after about five hours of drama and one hell of a headache. He’d been so preoccupied that he didn’t even have a clue where Elle was or how she’d spent her day.

He practically stumbled back to his bungalow, cringing at the sight of his clothes from last night strewn across the bed, where he’d left them this morning.

Picking them up, he’d intended to throw them in the hamper where they belonged, but stopped short when something hard stabbed into his hand. A frown marring his face, he dug into the back pocket and pulled out his missing key card. It had definitely not been there last night. His mind raced as he tried to determine when she might have slipped it back into his pocket, but he realized with disgust that she could have done it whenever she wanted. He’d been so preoccupied with getting his hands on her again, a bomb could have exploded in the next room and he would have ignored it.

Yanking his cell from his belt, he hit the button to call the Crow’s Nest.

He didn’t even wait for Tom to acknowledge him, instead rumbling, “Where is she?”

“Uh…who?” the other man stuttered over the crackling connection.

“Ms. Monroe. Where is she? And what has she been doing today?”

“How should I—”

“Find out.”

The other man sputtered, “But I wasn’t on—”

“Use the face-recognition software to find out where she is right now and then track her movements for today and get back to me.”

“Yes, sir.”

The software was a little gift Simon had given him several months ago. Unlike casinos, which were constantly looking for banned players and known card counters, Escape seldom used it. However, Zane had wanted it available in case they ever needed to track the resort for suspected criminals or terrorists. He’d used it a few times over the past week to track Elle’s movements, not that he’d shared that with anyone, including Tom.

The cell in his hand crackled as Tom opened the line. “Sir, she’s in her room. Well, that’s the last time the system picked her up, about an hour ago.”

Excellent. “Track her movements and get back to me. I want to know everything, including what she had for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

“Sir, I don’t think she’s eaten dinner yet.”

“I don’t care,” he barked into the phone, punching the button that ended their call.

Slipping the accusing card into the pocket of his jeans, Zane forgot all about being exhausted, the shower he’d wanted and his plans for the night.

He wasn’t sure what he felt. Anger was definitely in the mix, but it was aimed more at himself than anything. How had he let himself get so distracted by lust that he hadn’t noticed her put the card back?

And he was confused. Why had she taken the card, only to return it unused? He knew for certain that she hadn’t used it. He’d checked the system before heading to her room last night, and if it was sitting in his pocket now, that meant it had been there when he’d left this morning. She hadn’t had the opportunity.

He wanted to shake her, and yell at her and ask her what the hell she was doing—and hope that this time she actually answered him. He was frustrated, that’s what he was. He wanted her to be honest with him, so that he could stop her from doing something stupid. Something else stupid.

He knew she had a secret, and he was tired of waiting for her to let him in. He was tired of her lies and her games. He wanted answers. And he was going to get them.

A LOUD, INSISTENT KNOCK sounded on Elle’s door. She paused, staring at the panel for several seconds.

“I know you’re in there, Elle. Let me in.”

The tight tone in Zane’s voice had Elle’s stomach turning, the confrontation she’d expected all day finally here. A buzz of expectation had haunted her every step today. Part of her was relieved that it was finally here and they could just deal with it and get on with…whatever was left when this was over.

Crossing the room, she opened the door.

Zane stood framed in the doorway, a mix of emotions clouding his eyes. They strayed long enough to rake down her body, taking in her damp hair and the silk robe she’d thrown on after her shower. But instead of suffusing with passion as she might have hoped, the depth in his eyes sharpened and swirled. Not good.

Pushing past her, Zane spun in the center of the room to watch as she quietly closed the door. His body was tight, not in an explosive way but with…an angry tension that didn’t give her a lot of hope.

“What are you doing, Elle? Why are you here?”

The chasm between them suddenly seemed bigger than the length of the room that actually separated them. She looked at him, unblinking, wanting to tell him the truth. But she’d been keeping her reason for being here a secret for so long she wasn’t sure how. How could she tell him without creating irreparable damage?

Impatient, Zane dug into his pocket and pulled out the white card. He held it in front of his face, letting it dangle from the plastic tab and anchor clip for several seconds.

“Would you like to explain this?”

Swallowing, she forced herself to answer calmly. “Well, it looks like your all-access key card.”

“And how did it end up back in my pocket?”

“I put it there.”