Thieves In The Night (10 page)

Carefully she eased the dress over her head, then smoothed it over her hips. A pair of slant heeled chamois boots added the inches she needed to carry off the length. She cinched a matching chamois belt with a silver cowboy buckle around her waist, tucking the belt end under the side.

Two smears of mauve eye shadow, eight or nine strokes of mascara, and a dusting of blush later, she was almost ready to go. She dipped her finger into the gloss pot and rubbed it over her lips. For the final touch she chose silver jewelry, a squash-blossom necklace and a pair of sterling feathers that swept up around her ears rather than dangled.

Now all she needed was a deep breath, which she took, and an ounce of courage, which she found. Steeling herself for the worst, she opened the door and marched into the fray.

But there was no fray. The bed had been made, the blankets from the couch were neatly folded at its foot, and the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee competed with the pine scent coming from the crackling fire. Chantal knew her aunt hadn’t accomplished any of this; Elise hadn’t made a bed in twenty years. She shot a confused glance at Jaz, expecting a self-satisfied grin and maybe a teasing wink. That was not what she found.

He stood at the edge of the kitchen, a slightly dazed look softening the lean angles of his face and clouding the shaded gray depths of his eyes. Her confusion melted into bewitchment under the lingering track of his gaze as it roamed over her body. Curve by curve she felt him burn her image into a private place in his mind. Then his eyes met hers, capturing them with a promise, and she knew it was more than her image this stranger was stealing. It was her heart. Second after pulsing second he was stealing her heart into . . .

Forever, Jaz thought. That was where he would take her, into forever. Every fantasy he’d ever had was standing in the middle of the room, and she belonged to him. He’d wanted the pixie burglar with the mystery face and soft mouth. He’d desired the partner who’d saved his life and held him close. But this woman, the elfin princess with the tumbledown hair and silver amulets, she belonged to him. She was the woman he would bury himself in, lose himself in, and die for time after time. A thousand nights of dreams had promised him so.

Five

“Roger called this morning,” Elise said frostily, shattering the trance-like spell. “He has invited us to dinner at the Hotel.”

Chantal dragged her eyes away from Jaz to stare at her aunt. Her heart was pounding so heavily and slowly, it took her a moment to respond. “What?” she asked.

“Roger has invited us to dinner tonight at the Hotel,” Elise repeated, more than a hint of irritation clipping her words. She was perched on the edge of the wing chair, her legs crossed and one foot tapping a staccato beat on the floor.

Chantal let the words sink in, all the way to the seemingly ever-present knot in her stomach. At least the morning was staying in one groove, disaster from beginning to end, she thought. There was only one capital-
H
hotel in Aspen, the Hotel Orleans, which was practically a private salon for the Sandhursts. And there was only one Roger in Chantal’s life. Roger Neville, ten years her senior and definitely not too thin. Rich and in real-estate development, he was everything Elise had ever looked for in a man—for her niece.

“How lovely.” What her voice lacked in enthusiasm Chantal tried to make up for by plastering a feeble smile to her face.

“Dinner is at eight, cocktails at seven-thirty,” Elise informed her without a hint of a thaw in her voice. Considering that Jaz was only ten feet away, Elise was doing a marvelous job of pretending he wasn’t there, Chantal thought.

“Yes, well . . .” she stammered, her senses tangling with her own awareness of the man standing in her kitchen. “I’ll meet you at the Hotel. I have a few errands to run this afternoon.”

Throwing caution to the wind, she shot a quick glance at her errand. Unlike her, he appeared totally at ease, fully recovered from the out-of-nowhere magic. He was wearing his jean jacket, lounging with his hip against the counter, drinking his coffee. His ankles were crossed, and one hand was shoved deep into the front pocket of his black slacks. But he was still watching her, every breath she took, and a definite gleam of challenge had lit the depths of his eyes.

She turned back to Elise. She wasn’t ready for that kind of challenge, not this morning, not when all he had to do was look at her and she lost track of reality.

“Can I freshen your coffee?” She took a hesitant step toward her aunt.

“No, thank you. I think I’ll let you run your errands”—she flicked a desultory glance over Jaz, as only she could—“and see you at dinner tonight. Don’t be late. You know how Roger dislikes tardiness.”

“Yes, I know.” Mentally Chantal added to Roger’s list of dislikes: undeveloped land just sitting there doing nothing except looking good, developed land that didn’t turn a profit, and empty condo units during the height of the season. Roger had a one-track mind, business. But he was congenial, very taken with her, and marginally less manipulative than Elise. Chantal was a sucker for emotional blackmail, and Elise had it down to a fine art. Chantal’s biggest rebellion in ten years had been moving into the cabin.

In her more reflective moments Chantal realized the guilt from Monaco spilled over into her relationship with her aunt, but the realization didn’t lessen her sense of obligation. Elise had accepted her and taught her how to make a place for herself in the world apart from her past. Chantal enjoyed selling real estate and she enjoyed knowing how to look her best, one of the first things Elise had taught her. Growing up in a family of men hadn’t lent itself to makeup sessions and shopping sprees.

She did not enjoy Roger as anything more than a friend, and that situation had been coming to a head long before Jaz Peterson had stepped into her life, kissing her to distraction and invading her thoughts.

“Let me help you with your coat,” she offered quickly when Elise rose from the chair, but before she rounded the sofa, Jaz was there, sweeping the older woman into the full-length fur.

Finally Elise had to acknowledge him. “Mr. Peterson.” The thank you was barely implied and definitely not said.

Chantal felt more than a little embarrassment for her aunt’s unusual but effective rudeness. He must have had a rough time out here alone, she thought. He didn’t look any the worse for wear, but her heart went out to him anyway—the way it had been doing ever since he’d kissed her on the roof. Had it only been the night before?

“My pleasure, Ms. Stahl.”

Chantal caught his wink out of the corner of her eye. You’re wasting your charm, Jaz, she told him silently. But then, you’ve got plenty of it to waste, don’t you? His grin told her he was reading her like a book, but anything was better than—and nothing was as good as—having him melt her with those eyes.

Heels clicking on the hardwood floor. Elise walked to the door and swung it open. Then, just as quickly, without leaving, she swung it closed.

“Chantal, dear?” Her voice wavered in an uncharacteristic tremor, and Chantal was immediately alert.

“Yes, Elise?” she asked carefully, wishing Elise would leave so she could start putting her life back into a semblance of order.

“Is there anything you need before I leave?” Elise hesitated, turning a worried gaze back on her niece. “Like an alibi?”

The words dropped into a breathless silence, which was instantly broken by Jaz and Chantal stumbling over each other in their haste to get to the window.

“Ouch!”

“Damn!”

“Oh, my God!”

“Don’t panic.” Jaz swung her away from the window. “He’s looking for propane tanks, not us. Remember that.”

Elise paled to an unflattering shade of ash white, but she didn’t faint. By the time the knock sounded on the door, she had pulled herself together, Chantal had pulled herself together, and Jaz had pulled himself and Chantal together, with his hurt arm draped around her shoulders.

The awkward trio of two nervous women and one too-calm man greeted the sheriff when Elise opened the door.

Big and burly, Sheriff Lowe stood on the threshold, ramrod-straight, his uniform pressed to within an inch of its life. His eyes were hidden by a pair of aviator sunglasses, reflecting three pairs of wary eyes in turn. A heavy black holster holding a .357 was slung around his waist.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Stahl.” He tipped his hat. “I didn’t expect to run into you way out here in the sticks.”

“Hello, Sheriff Lowe. You know my niece, Chantal Cochard.” Elise gestured at her niece, her tone and action hitting all the grace notes, right on target. Of all of them in the room, only Chantal knew Elise well enough to detect the edge of panic in her dark eyes. “I believe you met at the charity fund-raiser we hosted last year.”

“Ms. Cochard.” He tipped his hat again. “Will Lodestar Realty be putting on another charity ball this year? Your last one sure was successful. Of course, in a town of deep pockets we ought to be able to come up with something for those less fortunate.”

“Yes, yes, we should,” Chantal agreed shakily, her chin tilted up to meet her reflection in the glasses. Jaz’s fingers tightened on her shoulder, and she forced her mouth into a tremulous smile. “And we did. We raised over fifty thousand in that one night. Please come in, Sheriff Lowe. No sense in heating the whole outdoors.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He stepped in and Elise closed the door, flashing her a cautious look from behind his back.

“Lily Palmer came over this morning and told me she had called you,” Chantal continued, cringing inwardly, wondering what Elise was imagining. Or worse, guessing. “I don’t know what I can tell you. We heard the explosion, too, but nothing else.” She emphasized the we and glanced up at Jaz, giving him what she hoped was an adoring look. He grinned and linked his other arm over her breasts, clasping his hands just below her shoulder.

“Well, ma’am. We found the explosion a couple of miles from here, up in the Forest Service land. It was a snowmobile. We haven’t had any reports of a missing vehicle, but somebody was up there, and up to something. A lot of strange things were going on all over this mountain last night,” he added, seemingly to himself, but it was hard to tell through the glasses. “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your eyes open and call me if you see anything.”

Jaz had been right, Chantal thought, wiping one avenue of disaster off her list. Sandhurst must have called off the alarm.

“Of course, Sheriff,” she said somewhat more smoothly, hating the way her life was filling up with lies. She made a move to extend her hand, but Jaz captured it with his and squeezed lightly.

The instant stab of pain reminded her of what she never should have forgotten—her palms were a mess from rappelling down the mansion and cliff. “We’ll call if we notice anything.” She snuggled closer under Jaz’s arm and wrapped her arms around his waist under his jacket. His body was warm and hard beneath her fingers, and she wondered how long it would take her to forget how he felt, wondered how long she’d want to remember. Two peas in a pod, two bugs in the same cocoon, they stuck together like glue.

Elise picked up on the not-so-subtle exchange and extended her own hand to the sheriff. “I’ll be calling you real soon, Sheriff,” she crooned, completely back in control. “The Lodestar Charity Ball is coming up in a couple of months, and we’ll want you and your lovely wife, Debbie, there.”

“Thank you, ma’am. We sure had a good time last year.” He shook her hand, tipped his hat, and left with another round of
thank you’s.

Chantal sent her own silent thank you to heaven for Elise’s well-planned guest list and her incredible memory. She couldn’t have come up with “Debbie” to save her life.

Elise turned back around from waving the sheriff off the porch.

“Chantal, I think”—her glance took in the two of them, still wrapped together like braided rope—“I think we should have lunch tomorrow. Yes, definitely lunch.” She pulled the fur collar tightly around her neck and bestowed a look of dark suspicion on Jaz. Then she turned to Chantal, and the look lightened only a few shades. “Don’t forget about dinner with Roger tonight.” It was a command, not a reminder. She swept out of the cabin.

Chantal sagged against Jaz’s body. Lunch. One of those lunches. She knew the time and the place without Elise’s telling her.
Oh, brother.

“We make a helluva team, lady.”

“You got that right,” she mumbled into his sweater. “Ever since we met, everything’s been going straight to—”

“Heaven,” he interrupted in a husky whisper, cupping her face in his hands.

His calloused fingers were rough against her skin, rough and infinitely gentle, as he tilted her head back. All night long she had wondered what she’d do if he kissed her again, and now she knew. Twice she had melted in his arms; this time would be no different.
Just one last kiss before good-bye.

They were finally alone, and Jaz had waited long enough for another taste of forever. He meant to kiss her, to draw her deep inside him with his mouth, until all she felt was him—and he knew she knew it. Sooty lashes lowered over smoky blue eyes. Anticipation softened her mouth and tightened his gut, hurting and feeling good at the same time.

He lowered his mouth, skimming his tongue across her lips and rubbing his nose down the side of hers, teasing, telegraphing his need without taking what he needed—her kiss, her mouth moving over his, her hands touching him.

“Kiss me, Chantal.” He blew the words on her lips, holding her a breath away, waiting for the response he already felt pulsing under the tender skin beneath his fingers. When it came, when she lifted her lips to his, he sealed their mouths and plundered slowly, savoring each portion of sweetness she gave, letting her lead him deeper into the magic. But each moment of enchantment demanded another, until he wanted more than a kiss.

His hand slid to the small of her back and lower, pressing her into the cradle of his hips, needing her that close and closer. The soft angora clung to her curves and hid nothing from his exploring hand, not the tautness of her buttocks and thighs, not the quivering response of her body. With just her kiss, with just the erotic forays of her tongue into his mouth, his body began the inexorable tightening toward a higher pleasure. Sinew by sinew, a smoldering heat spread toward his groin. He slowly rubbed his hand up under her arm to her breast and rolled his lower body against hers, igniting the flame only she could quench, catching her gasps of pleasure with his mouth and still wanting more.