скачать книгу бесплатно
The star of her most erotic fantasies.
Ryan was bad news. And bad news was best thrown in the trash or used to line a bird cage.
He was talking to a buxom blonde wearing a pink feathered mask to match her tight pink cocktail dress when Emma tapped him on the shoulder. His back stiffened and he glanced at her.
“Hi there,” he said with a slow smile.
She cocked her head. “Hi there? Really?”
He turned back to the blonde. “Sorry.”
“Not a problem,” she demurred. “I’ll catch up with you later. You have my phone number.”
“Yes, I do. Thanks for that.”
“My pleasure.”
Oh, brother. Emma crossed her arms and tapped her foot as she waited for the blonde to wander off. Finally, he turned back to face her. The cobalt-blue eyes she remembered all too clearly were jarring behind his mask as he leisurely scanned her from head to toe. He ran a hand through his jet-black hair. It was a little longer than it had been the last time she’d seen him.
The smile he gave her was enough to melt her panties. That is, if he really affected her anymore. And, unfortunately, he did. Unexpected desire, much like a surge of electricity jolted through her.
Not helpful.
“Well?” she prompted, wanting some sort of explanation about why he was there and what he was up to.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked casually.
She stared at him for a moment. “Pardon me?”
“It’s a great party, isn’t it? The food is incredible. Have you been to the rooftop terrace yet?” He glanced toward the spiral staircase. “The view of Central Park is spectacular from up there.”
She gaped at him in disbelief. After everything that had happened, every case they’d investigated together, every hour they’d spoken in the past, every sexual fantasy she’d secretly harbored for him—he didn’t know who she was under her mask.
Of all the damned nerve.
RYAN WRACKED HIS MIND for the right movie quote. It was from Casablanca and Bogie had said it. Something about a whole lot of gin joints in the world and Ingrid Bergman had to walk into his.
He wasn’t Humphrey Bogart and this wasn’t an old movie. But the sight of beautiful Emma Black immediately made him want to head to the bar in the corner of the parlor and consume a great deal of gin.
Even with a party mask on, he would recognize her anywhere. And not just because of her long flame-red hair—although it did help her stand out in a crowd. She was short in stature—not much over five feet, but she always made up for it by wearing treacherously high heels. Tonight she wore a simple black dress, a little less fancy and shiny than what other women were wearing tonight, but he had to fight his gaze not to skim down her body again. He thought he’d memorized every luscious curve back when they were partners, but unexpectedly seeing her standing right in front of him had been enough to knock all logical thought out of his head.
No, it wasn’t just because of her hair or her body that he recognized her.
It was the look in her emerald green eyes. He remembered that look after being on the receiving end of it nearly six months ago.
Sheer unadulterated hatred.
It brought back memories—bad ones.
His knee-jerk reaction to seeing her standing there glaring at him like he was an insect that had the audacity to smash into her windshield was to pretend he didn’t recognize her.
And here they were.
“Anyway—” he pushed a facsimile of a charming smile to his lips “—have a lovely evening.”
He didn’t want to scurry off with his tail between his legs, but the compulsion was strong.
“Ryan,” she said sharply. “It’s me.”
This ruse wasn’t going to last. But owning up to it right away just wasn’t in his nature. “Have we met before?”
“Yes.” It was more of a hiss than a confirmation.
He scratched his chin. “You do seem a bit familiar to me. Was it Hawaii? A little bar called the Lotus Flower?”
The glare she gave him was sharp enough to wound. “You’re hilarious.”
“I am known for my sense of humor.”
“What the hell are you doing here, Ryan?” There was a decidedly unpleasant edge to her words that tasted a bit to him like venom. She had just as much of a sense of humor as he did—at least she used to. It was one of the things he liked best about her. This, however, was not one of those times she chose to tap into it.
Ryan’s smile finally faded. “Emma.”
Her eyes widened. “Ha! I knew you recognized me.”
“Long time no see.”
“Not long enough. Why are you here?”
He glanced around. “I’m attending a party.”
“With or without an invitation?”
One thing he’d learned about the delicious Emma Black, after working side by side with her for a year—she never minced words. Tact was not always at the top of her to-do list either. “What are you doing here?” he countered.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“You’re right, I didn’t.” He eyed a couple who passed them on the way to the open bar. “I do have an invite, although it wasn’t necessarily sent to me personally. Perhaps you’d like to alert security that I’m crashing and have them drag me out. Would that make you feel good about yourself?”
“It might.”
He forced a smile. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. I’m not up to anything nefarious.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
He held out his hand. “Let’s put the past behind us, Emma.”
She eyed his hand as if it were covered in fungus. “Right, like I’m going to touch you so you can get a read on me.”
All agents with PARA, current and former, were psychic. The majority were either empathic—those able to sense emotions and feelings from other people through touch—or clairvoyant—those able to communicate with ghosts and sense important things from objects or places without relying on the usual five senses.
In their partnership, Ryan was the people person and Emma dealt with all the other stuff. His empathic ability had never been very strong and he had to work hard to get any kind of reading at all. He also had to do it through skin to skin contact. Some empaths were strong enough to get a sense of another just from being in the same room with them. Not Ryan. He was a one on a scale of one to five, maybe a two on a good day. His gift was more like strong intuition rather than total psychic ability. But he’d made it work for himself and his low-end ability had never really given him any problems on the job.
He was much better with cars, really. Tinkering with cars, sensing what made them work—or not work—was his true talent. And his true love. It wasn’t related to his psychic ability, but it might as well have been. He felt he had a sixth sense about cars. But that hadn’t been put to much use as a PARA agent.
One thing he had going for himself as an empath was that other empaths couldn’t get a read on him. This was both a blessing and a curse since it meant that his secrets remained secrets.
“Read you?” He gave her an innocent look. “I wouldn’t do something shady like that without your permission.”
“You don’t need to read me. I can tell you what I’m feeling—disgusted. And a little nauseous.”
“The shrimp pâté is a bit questionable. I’d stay away from the caviar as well. Nasty stuff.”
Her cheeks went a bit flushed. He was surprised that he seemed to be able to affect her just with a few words. She must really hate him, even after all this time.
He wished the feeling was mutual.
Since he’d been fired from PARA for theft, he’d worked a lot of jobs to make ends meet. In a week he was scheduled to move down to Florida to work with his brother in a high-end garage taking care of luxury vehicles. It was a dream job for him.
However, he had a little bit of business to clear up first before he left.
Emma looked up at him. He was six-two, so even with the highest heels she was still at a height disadvantage. But what she lacked in stature, she made up for in attitude. Their gazes locked and he felt something stir inside him. Desire. He found her just as gorgeous as he ever had and she affected him whether he liked it or not. It put him at an extreme disadvantage if he was trying to keep his cool.
“If you try to steal anything from Xavier Franklin tonight,” she said slowly and evenly, “there will be consequences. I don’t know how you managed to get your hands on an invitation, but the security for this party is very tight. PARA didn’t press charges when you stole from them, but Xavier would.”
Now that was a low blow. What happened six months ago was still constantly on his mind. He didn’t need the reminder.
Ryan’s mood darkened as if a storm cloud had drifted overhead. “No, PARA didn’t press charges. After all, who’s going to believe a self-proclaimed supernatural investigation agency that says they’re missing a stash of enchanted tea cups or grandfather clocks? I know the board of directors likes to keep PARA business private.”
“All I’m saying—”
“I get it, Emma. Stealing is wrong.”
Her fierce expression faltered. “I don’t know why I’m even talking to you. I washed my hands of you a long time ago.”
“I remember.” Her words made something sharp and painful twist in his chest. He’d valued their friendship more than she ever knew. Enough that he’d started casually dating another woman, Charlotte, when he began developing deeper feelings for Emma. It had made sense at the time. His relationships—they didn’t last long. They never had. And if he’d had a fling with Emma, it would have ended the friendship he valued so much. A friendship that ended anyway. Maybe it had never been as strong as he would have liked to believe.
He pushed the grin back onto his face, though it felt as false as it probably looked. “Don’t worry about me, Em. I have things under control. Enjoy the party.”
Ryan turned to walk up the stairs to the terrace. He was now in desperate need of some fresh air. Emma thought he was a thief who’d manipulated her and shamelessly lied to her. That he was the sort of man who would steal potentially dangerous items and sell them for profit. Your average enchanted tea cup went for a whole lot of green on the black market and there were literally hundreds of eager buyers worldwide who had vast collections of supernatural paraphernalia hidden away in their mansions. It was a booming business.
But there was a big problem with Emma’s theory. Despite what she believed, he’d never stolen anything from PARA’s vaults.
Never.
The evidence, however, proved otherwise and had gotten him swiftly fired without a chance to properly plead his case. Since he was an empath—even a low-end one—there was no way to gauge if he was telling the truth when he’d denied the charges.
Ryan knew he’d been set up. And his life and career had been ruined because of it.
That was why he’d come here tonight. He’d crashed Xavier Franklin’s ritzy masquerade party because he suspected the billionaire was one of those supernatural collectors. If he could find hard evidence of that fact, he might discover who’d been providing Franklin, and others like him, with merchandise.
Ryan was all ready to start his new life down in Florida at a job he knew he was going to love. But first, something deep inside of him was driving him to clear his name. Otherwise this stain on his character would never let him rest. He didn’t want distractions or regrets to haunt him as he embarked on his future.
And yes, he wanted to prove to Emma Black, once and for all, that he wasn’t a thief. That he wasn’t a liar. He wanted to see that trust in her eyes again one last time before he walked away and never looked back. He wanted her to feel sorry that she ever doubted him in the first place.
She’d been totally wrong about him and he’d prove it.
However, based on their latest little confrontation, he knew that was going to be one hell of an uphill battle.
2
AN HOUR LATER, Emma sat on the stiff, black leather couch in the library where she’d been told to wait for Xavier and tried not to think about what happened with Ryan.
She tried. She wasn’t all that successful.
One brief conversation and he was suddenly all she could think about. Maybe she should seek him out again and get more answers from him. Or maybe she should keep trying to forget she ever saw him in the first place.
Finally, Xavier entered the room. “There you are, my dear.”
She stood up. Her purse and tote bag full of books leaned against the leg of the couch to her left. “Here I am. Do you have it?”
“I certainly do.”
He held a small green glass bottle. It was about the size of an antique perfume bottle with a glass stopper.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
“I acquired it in London a few months ago.” He looked at it sourly. “I’m disappointed in it.”
It was half filled with liquid. “What sort of potion is it supposed to be?”
“It is called Desidero.” He peered at it through the opening in his mask. “It’s supposed to be a mood enhancer, but it doesn’t seem to work at all. I’ve tested it several times to no avail, which leads me to believe I was either duped when I bought it or its properties are no longer viable. I spent a great deal of money on this and if PARA determines that it is not what it is meant to be, then those who sold it to me will be held accountable. At the very least, I’ll expect my money back.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“Not at all. Like I said, it doesn’t work. It’s no more dangerous than water.”
Emma took the bottle from him and inspected it, turning it around in her hand. The stopper didn’t look particularly snug. She’d brought a sealed case to keep it in for the trip back so no contents would spill. “We’re happy to assess it for you and let you know what we find. It’ll probably take about a week before someone gives you the report. Anyway, it was very nice to meet you, Xavier.”
She was about to move past him to grab her bags when he blocked her path. “Leaving so soon?” he asked.
“I appreciate you letting me attend the party, but I think it’s time I headed home. My bus leaves at eleven and it’s already ten o’clock.”
“I understand,” he said, nodding. “But if you’re tired, I have plenty of room here at my mansion. I could have a bed made up for you.”
“That’s really not necessary.”
He drew closer to her. “I’d love the chance to get to know you better.”
