The Art Of Deception, Book Two, Stolen Hearts series, Romantic Suspense (5 page)

“Oh." Sophie jumped away from her brother as if his words had stung. She dragged a hand through her hair which had been laying flat until now. “Gage is an FBI agent. He’s investigating an art forgery. A Matisse.”

This once, Gage wished he was intuitive or a mind reader or both. The look that passed between brother and sister spoke volumes. Volumes of what, he couldn’t surmise.

But it was enough to tell him Sophie Pascotto knew, or thought she knew, something about the Matisse. And it likely involved her brother.

Sophie resisted stepping in front of Raphael to protect him from Gage’s narrowed-eyed scrutiny. They’d always tried to shield each other from whatever threatened them, as they had shared confidences. Except for the last six months.

Raphael had been out of town a lot lately, and when she asked him what he was up to, his answers were annoyingly vague.

Raphael smiled as if she’d said Gage was an art dealer, not a FBI agent. “Checking out our little Sophie, are you?”

Sophie’s mouth dropped open as she watched the two men shake hands. The way Raphael had said that implied...sounded like.... No way could her twin have picked up on the minor ripple of attraction she felt in Gage’s presence.

Her fingers curled in on themselves. Very minor ripple. Hardly worth noting. Lord knows she’d tried her best not to notice. Gage was a cop, for heaven’s sake. An FBI agent.

She’d repeated those very words to herself over and over again late last night, as if they were building blocks to be put in place, part of a wall that would deflect the annoying–and very minor–undercurrent of mutual attraction.

“I have a list of people to interview. Sophie’s one of them." Gage let go of Raphael’s hand and wrapped both large work roughened hands around his mug of tea.

“And was she at the top of your list?”

“No. Your mother’s name is."

“Perfect!” Raphael’s bark of laughter cut through the building tension. He shrugged off his overcoat–a new, expensive all weather coat, Sophie noted–and shook his hair back off his face. “Have you talked to Mother yet?”

Gage’s tense expression relaxed. “Not yet."

The knot in Sophie’s throat dissolved. When Raphael decided to be charming, no one could resist him. Everything would be all right now.

“Good luck. I almost wish I could be there for your interview, but I did my time last night." Raphael winked at her. “Got any more of that tea, Sophie? My stomach’s not too happy with me after getting into the Scotch with Mother. I didn’t even make it home.”

“I’ll make another pot." She hurried to the counter and plugged the kettle in, then turned to watch the interaction between the two men.

Raphael, the master of distraction, had asked Gage something about playing football, and they were now immersed in one of those convoluted discussions of technical sports terms that didn’t sound very playful.

At five foot, eleven inches, her brother only came up to Gage’s chin. Which meant Gage must be six foot, four at least. The marked contrast between the two men was hard not to notice. Sophie was aware of the fluid movement of Gage’s well-toned muscles every time he moved, even though his flannel shirt hung loose on him, while Raphael’s slender frame suggested a genteel, lazy grace.

She frowned. Only now as she studied Gage and Raphael together did she realize everything about Raphael, his clothes, his haircut, even the way he held himself, shouted elegance.

And money.

She whirled back to the kettle, her heart pounding. As students, they’d spent hours at the museums copying the masters. It was de rigeur for aspiring artists. Raphael used to joke it was the greatest gig invented for picking up girls. Still, he was a skilled draftsman. Skilled enough that if he wanted to paint a fake Matisse, he could.

Her attention veered back to the men when she heard Raphael say her name. She poured a cup of tea and took it over to her brother, then perched on the arm of his chair and smiled. If they wanted to pretend this was a Saturday afternoon visit between friends, not an FBI investigation, that was fine with her. As long as her brother didn’t get carried away, as he sometimes did, and start to believe his own little fantasy.

“Gage played for the Boston College Eagles years ago, sis. Did you know that?” Raphael accepted the cup of tea from her. “I told him he’d better go easy on talking about football around you on account of...what was his name?  That guy who broke your heart.”

Sophie scrambled to her feet. What was Raphael doing? He never betrayed old confidences. “I’m sure Agent Gage is not interested in my heart, broken or otherwise." She glared at her brother’s satisfied smile.

Oh Lord. He thought Gage was attracted to her, and he was trying to distract him from his investigation with little tidbits of information about her past. Didn’t he realize the game could be played both ways? That Agent Gage of the FBI was sucking back all that information to be processed and used at a later date? She had to get rid of both of them. Now, before Raphael inadvertently revealed something important.

Pretending to throw a playful punch at her brother’s shoulder, she aimed lower and hit his arm. His cup of tea flew out of his hands and landed in his lap.

“Damn, that’s hot." Raphael shot to his feet, his hands over his crotch.

“Sorry." She hid her smile. “Hang on, I’ll get a towel."

“Forget it. My suitcase is downstairs. I’ll change on my way out." Raphael stalked over to the back staircase. “See you around, Gage."

He disappeared, then stuck his head back in the room. “Soph, your refrigerator is empty again." The sweet smile he threw her said he’d forgiven her obvious, but painful ploy to get rid of him.

One down, and one to go. She ran her hands down the sides of her skirt and spun around. Right into Gage’s arms.

Oh my, but the man was big. Big and hard. And...unmovable. “Do you always dispense with men so easily?”

Her breath wheezed in her lungs. “Always.”

“Except for that jerk in college." His voice rumbled out, soft and low, and far too intimate.

“It was a long time ago. I don’t why Raphael mentioned it.”

The abrasive skin on his forefinger rasped against the soft spot just under her chin as he gently forced her to look up at him. He raised his eyebrows, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Don’t you?”

When she tried to pull away, he caught her upper arm to hold her in place. “Come on, Sophie. At least have the decency to grant me a bit of intelligence. Your brother was playing me.”

“I didn’t say you were stupid." Sophie concentrated on his hand that encircled her arm. His thumb had a small scar running down the back of it. Did he have a woman at home who kissed his hurts better?

“No, but I imagine you wish I was. For someone who says she’s on the up-and-up, you act like you’ve got something to hide. I’d love to know what’s racing around inside your head right now.”

She tore her gaze from the inquisitive gleam in his sky blue eyes and stared at his chest again. More specifically, stared at the few stray chest hairs that curled up over the top edge of his black T-shirt. Just enough there to make a body curious.

“That’s, ah...privileged information. Is that what you FBI types call it? Or is it top secret information?”

She suppressed a shiver when he loosened his grip and ran his fingertips along the tender skin on the underside of her arm.

“Know what I do when I can’t access the information I need?” He brought his mouth close to her ear, his voice a husky whisper. “I test my theories. For instance, you, I suspect, are hiding something. Or maybe several things."

He moved his head an inch to the left so the tip of his nose brushed against hers.

Heat poured through her at the soft, erotic touch. Her knees shook and without thinking, she grabbed his arms to hold herself up.

Gage slipped an arm around her waist and placed his hand on the small of her back, nudging her closer to him. “And because you won’t tell me what you’re hiding, I form a theory and test it against your reaction. Such as maybe you’re a little curious about me. Curious enough to want to test the water, so to speak." He lowered his mouth to hers. Nothing more.

Her body vibrated, need rioting through her.

The shrill ring of a phone ripped through the sound of their mingled, harsh breathing. Sophie jerked away at the same time Gage’s head reared up. They stared at each other, chests heaving. The phone rang again.

Gage pulled his cell phone off his belt and flipped it open. “Yeah,” he barked into the phone.

Sophie took a step back as he listened to the person on the other end of the phone, his face darkening.

“We’ve been over this, Maisie. You can’t expect me to run home every time you get restless."

Sophie scooped up the dirty mugs. She hustled over to the counter, clattered the dishes into the sink and turned on the water to create as much noise as she could to drown out the private conversation.

Gage raised his voice above the sound of the running water. “Why don’t you stay home for a change and spend some time with your son, and let me get some work done?”

Sophie turned the water off and closed her eyes. He was married. He had a son. If his wife had phoned five minutes later, no doubt she would have interrupted a heck of a lot more than an almost kiss.

“Yeah." He lowered his voice as if in defeat. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

She heard his phone snap shut, but she didn’t turn around. They’d shared a momentary flash of physical attraction, that’s all. These things happened to people all the time. The important thing was it didn’t go anywhere. Would never go anywhere.

Gage came up behind her. “Listen. What just happened between us, it was inappropriate. I apologize. I shouldn’t have come on to you like that.”

“Already forgotten." Not likely. She chucked the dishcloth into the sink. She knew how hearts could be broken playing that game.

“I gotta go." Gage hesitated as if he wanted to say something else. After a minute, he slipped a card on the counter beside her. “That has my cell number on it. If you ever need me or...well, you know.”

She stood at the sink as the door closed behind him. After a minute, she pounded her fist against the counter top. Stupid, stupid chickie.

Gage crossed his arms and tucked his hands under his armpits as he stared sightlessly at the row of paint cans lined up on his garage shelf. He still didn’t understand what had happened at Sophie’s yesterday afternoon. He never pulled that kind of crap. Not deliberately.

Six months ago, the agent he’d been working with on breaking up an illegal antiquities ring discovered Gage’s current girlfriend, an air hostess, was the person moving the fake coins in and out of the country.

The guys had teased Gage about being caught with his pants down. His supervisor, Special Agent Parker hadn’t found Gage’s error in judgment amusing. Not that Parker believed one of his agents would knowingly become involved with a criminal, but the FBI didn’t approve of fraternizing with the enemy, the victim, or any person remotely involved with a case. Since then, Parker hauled Gage in repeatedly to review his cases. After ten years with the bureau, he’d been demoted to newbie status.

His stomach clenched in a queasy knot. The Super knew he was a good agent. Once he got a case he refused to let go until it was closed. And if he made a mistake he admitted it and tried to learn from his errors.

That’s where the half-baked notion of practicing celibacy had come from. After the fiasco with the leggy, I-can’t-wait-to-get-home-to-do-you air hostess, he figured a bit of down time would clear his head and keep him out of trouble.

Great plan. Wrong guy. He loved women. Most of all, he loved having sex with women. Gage scrubbed a hand over his face and grabbed a can of paint. All he had to do was get laid, and the illogical attraction he felt for Sophie Pascotto would vanish. Once that sizzling tension was out of the way, he’d be more objective and probably collar whoever had painted the Matisse. Parker would have his forger in a week or less, and Gage would be back in his boss’s good graces.

He headed back to the house, a grin on his face as he mentally flipped through the list of lovely ladies he could call. By the time he climbed the steps to the back deck, his grin wasn’t as wide or his step as light. Maybe he’d gotten it wrong. Maybe celibacy had dulled his sexual appetite, because he couldn’t think of one woman he was eager to see. He shrugged his shoulders and opened the screen door. He was out of practice, that’s all. He’d just have to try harder.