Despite her hands-off warning, she instantly missed the heat of flesh on flesh, his smooth, supple skin, the strength in his fingers. The nearness of him.
She groaned inwardly. Scarlet was typically a much more controlled person, solely engrossed in her work as an independent investigator. She had a stellar reputation in the insurance industry and a phenomenal success rate. She’d recovered numerous stolen items that in most cases helped companies to recover erroneous claims paid to clients—and send thieves to jail.
But her attention was definitely divided this evening.
So, too, was Vandenberg’s. Only he seemed a tad annoyed by the new development as three men in suits walked into the lounge.
He took another long drink from his glass before telling Scarlet, “I’d love to continue sitting here with you, staring into those beautiful green eyes of yours—”
“This isn’t a date, Mr. Vandenberg.”
“However, my associates have just arrived,” he said, ignoring her comment. “I have a dinner meeting.”
“It’s a little late for dinner.”
“I’m sure I can persuade the kitchen to whip something up. I’d invite you to join us, but we’re plotting our next big coup.”
“Of course you are.”
“So what do you want to know, Miss Drake? Aside from the obvious—did I do it? To which I vehemently reply no. I did not steal eighteen million dollars’ worth of artwork.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to simply say yes. What I want is for you to tell me what you were doing at eleven o’clock that night, which is the point of time identified by the FBI that the collection was reported as missing from the mansion.”
“I already gave my alibi to the FBI. Nearly six years ago.”
“I’m asking you to provide it to me. Tonight.”
She held his now-steely gaze, not cowering in the least. Though her heart continued with its staccato beat and she wondered if he could hear the erratic cadence.
Vandenberg leaned in again, his palm flattening once more on her thigh.
Her breath caught—over the searing touch and his audaciousness.
In a deep, measured tone, he murmured, “My father and his new wife were throwing a party on the south lawn of their Hamptons estate. At eleven that evening, I was in the guesthouse with a wildly passionate brunette and a luscious Scandinavian blonde, both of whom were enjoying multiple orgasms while, unbeknownst to me, someone was robbing the gallery.”
One
corner of the rogue’s mouth lifted. He moved away from Scarlet and scooted out of the booth. Snatched his black suit jacket that lay neatly across the top and slipped into the garment.
“I didn’t have anything to do with the theft. Stop chasing your own tail, Miss Drake.”
He turned away, but Scarlet didn’t give up. She asked, “What about the five mil that was deposited into one of your accounts right around the time the insurance company released a check on the claim? That wasn’t your cut of the heist?”
Vandenberg glanced at her over his shoulder, his expression an ominous one. She’d struck a nerve. He slowly faced her, lifted his cocktail from the table, and drained the glass. Seemingly refraining from slamming it back down, he set the crystal tumbler aside and told her, “It was an inheritance, Miss Drake. And I’d appreciate it if you kept that pretty nose of yours out of my finances.”
She mustered a polite tone—somehow keeping a provocative one at bay as her body burned—and said, “Not until I discover exactly what happened to those paintings, where they are today, and whether your family falsified the claim.”
“That’s a very risky game for you to play, Miss Drake.” He gave her a pointed look. Then stalked off.
Leaving exhilaration and a hint of foreboding thrumming in her veins.
An oh-so-scintillating combination for an adrenaline junkie such as herself.
And equally dangerous …
Michael couldn’t get the feisty redhead out of his mind, despite how brief and rapid-fire their encounter had been. Even as his chief operating officer, chief general counsel, and chief financial officer discussed the various impediments inherent to the multibillion-dollar deal he was this close to signing, Michael continued to peer into the lounge, toward that dark corner where he’d left Scarlet Drake.
He couldn’t actually see her from his spot in the empty dining room, but he could envision her sipping her martini, sliding the toothpick into her tempting mouth, and sucking off a fat olive.