Читать книгу The Black Sheep and The English Rose - Donna Kauffman - Страница 8

So much for playing it safe.

She tasted better than he’d remembered. And he’d remembered her tasting pretty damn sweet. “You know,” he said, moving his lips to the corner of her mouth, “for someone with a tart tongue—”

The rest of his sentiment was lost as she turned ever-so-slightly and slid that tart tongue of hers along his own, making him groan as he accepted her deep into his mouth. God, what in the hell had he gotten himself into here?

She lifted her head first. “Deal sealed, I’d say.”

His response was more along the lines of a hoarse grunt, which was all he could manage. That made her smile.

Serious trouble, that’s what.

“So,” he began, paused to clear his throat, then said, “let’s order up an early dinner and discuss our strategy.”

She walked across the room, paused in front of the mirror to apply fresh lipstick, then continued to the door leading to the penthouse suite’s private elevator. “Why don’t we go to Antoine’s, have his chef prepare us something perfect, perhaps add a bottle from his wine cellar as an accompaniment, and let the rest take care of itself?”

She didn’t wait for his response. She merely pressed the button to summon the elevator.

Finn didn’t bother with a debate on the pros and cons of their being seen together in a high profile spot like Antoine’s, which was the latest on the list of Manhattan’s hot spots. Instead, he crossed the room, paused in front of the same mirror, decided there was no hope for his now crumpled linen shirt and somewhat wrinkled trousers, raked his fingers through his thick blond mess instead, then gave up altogether and followed her into the elevator. “Why Antoine’s?” He knew she hadn’t just picked that one at random.

“If we want to snag the attention of one Mr. John Reese, then having dinner at his favorite spot could be the perfect place to start.”

Already two steps past him in planning. Hell, she’d probably had this all figured out while still shackled to the bed, with him on top of her. It shouldn’t have surprised him. From what he knew of Felicity Jane, which, admittedly, wasn’t nearly as much as he wanted to, she rarely did anything that wasn’t directly related to benefiting her bottom line. Dinner at a five star restaurant was nice, but she could do that any night of the week. Beating an international artifact dealer—reputed to work deals on both sides of the law—at his own game while enjoying mouth-watering chicken marsala and a wonderful sauvignon? Far more satisfying.

He should be picking her brain on what else she knew about Reese besides his dining habits. He’d researched all the possible players in this game, Reese being the prime one, but hadn’t stumbled across that little fact. Which was, arguably, why he wanted to team up with Felicity in the first place. But didn’t explain why just the thought of how she’d conducted her personal research made him want to put a fist through a wall. Or square into John Reese’s smug, smiling bastard of a face.

Quite the revelation for a man who prided himself on relying on quick thinking and fast reflexes rather than the use of brutality when it came to problem solving in tricky situations.

And he’d been back in her presence for an hour.

Once inside the elevator, he stabbed the button for the private parking lot level, then folded his arms. He didn’t dare so much as look at her, much less touch her. He wasn’t sure he could be responsible for his actions if she were to look at him with even a hint of that self-satisfied smile of hers. They’d be back behind locked doors and on the bed, the floor, or up against the nearest wall before either one of them could blink. By the time they came up for air, that satisfied smile would be there for an entirely different reason.

And Mr. John Reese could go fuck himself.

The doors slid open, and she stepped past him without pause, walking into the parking garage as if she owned the place. Which, for all he knew, she did. As could he, frankly, had he wanted to. But acquiring things for the sheer sake of ownership had been more his father’s style.

“Let me call for a car,” he told her. “I have a service we use when we’re in the city that’s quite—”

He stopped when a long, sleek black limo purred up to the elevator landing. She glanced over her shoulder. “I brought my own.”

“Of course you did,” he murmured, waving the driver back into the car and opening her door himself. “Convenient,” he said.

“I always thought so. The Foundation prefers that I use private transportation when conducting business, so we’ve set up our own drivers in the cities we frequent most often.”

He wanted to ask her if stealing priceless gemstones could be considered Foundation business, but managed to refrain.

The Foundation was the Trent Foundation, started by a duke-of-something ancestor of hers over a century before. Finn had done a little digging after their initial introduction and had learned that it mostly funded charitable trusts and various other philanthropic endeavors around the globe, but also maintained the Trent family holdings, of which there were many. He’d had some experience with managing a global-scale family inheritance and didn’t envy her position as the sole remaining Trent descendant. He knew what an immense responsibility that was.

It had taken him several years of intense, and often elaborate, planning to dismantle and disseminate what his father had spent half a lifetime building. Of course, had he built it honestly and with some benefit to someone other than himself, Finn might have seen fit to find some way to keep the empire intact, even if run by someone other than himself.

Felicity had opted to run hers. To be fair, there had been far more public attention paid to the choices she’d made upon inheriting, as the British loved nothing more than lavishing media attention on their more highly pedigreed subjects. At least Finn had stirred things up only in the business world with his decision to break apart the billion-dollar industries his father had assembled.

What he didn’t understand was, given her rather high-scale global profile, how it was no one had ever discovered what he’d discovered within the first twenty-fours he’d spent with her. Which was that Felicity Jane Trent, media princess, heiress to billions, benefactor to thousands, was also a very talented, very dedicated, and very successful jewel thief.

He had no idea what she did with her loot, or how long she’d been in that particular line of work. He was fairly certain it was the thrill of the hunt, not the prize itself, that was the lure. It had to be. More wealth she didn’t need. He’d looked into that after Bogota, wondering if perhaps her inheritance was more burden than actual asset. But her wealth rivaled, if not outdid, that of the queen, so she wasn’t in it for the money.

He didn’t need more wealth either, but then he wasn’t acting in his own best interests. He was in it for the benefit of others. His own benevolent foundation of sorts, he supposed. He didn’t charge his clients for the services provided to them by either himself or his two partners, as their goals were tied to righting wrongs for those who couldn’t do it themselves, not increasing his bottom line. He’d retained enough wealth that his company supported itself in the form of a vast array of investments.

He had no idea what Felicity Jane’s goals were, other than to find something exciting to do in her spare time. Except he couldn’t seem to make that image line up exactly right either.

She reached out her hand to him. “Joining me? Or are you just going to stand there and scowl because my car is bigger than yours?”

He slid in, careful to seat himself at a diagonal, on the far side of the roomy, beautifully appointed interior. If he had any hope of regaining control, he had to get his shit together and get it there fast.

She crossed her legs. He looked out the window. It didn’t help much. He could still see them reflected in the glass. Maybe he should just crawl across the damn seat, drag her underneath him and get it out of his system. Problem was, last time he’d tried that they’d still been going at each other two days later.

Right now there was an ancient artifact floating around the city, with a very limited window of opportunity for retrieval before it likely took off overseas in the pocket of a private collector’s agent. Finn’s client, who happened to be the rightful owner of the stone, if not the necklace itself, regardless of what various legal entities had declared, wouldn’t be too happy if he lost what might likely be his only chance at regaining possession of a precious family heirloom because Finn had been too busy fucking his brains out.

“Perhaps later,” Felicity said, drawing his attention back to her. “After dessert. Or for dessert.”

“Perhaps later, what?”

She glanced down, below his belt, then back at him, with a private smile curving her lips.

He shifted slightly, but there was no hiding what was obvious to them both. “About this dinner,” he said, determined to get them both talking business at the same time. Even if it killed him. Which, given the relentless state of his aching hard-on, it just might. “Do you know who he might be dining with?”

“You mean, who is he going to sell the stone to? I don’t know what courier he’ll be using, but I have a fair idea of who the actual buyer is, yes.”

She’d said stone, not necklace, making him wonder if she knew about the contested nature of this specific artifact. And what impact that might have had on her decision to go after it.

She cocked her head slightly when he didn’t respond right away. “I rather thought you’d be on the same page. After all, you were just behind John when you tracked him to me.”

And Finn should have kept on tracking him, leaving Felicity to deal with her unfortunate incarceration. Now all he could think about was damned dessert. “I have my own ideas on who the other players are, but I wanted your input. You seem to have a direct connection to Reese. If we both know what we’re dealing with, all the better in terms of being successful in getting the piece back.”

She lifted one slender shoulder and picked at the folds of her dress. “As you said, there are several key players, but I’m fairly certain he’s going with the Russian.”

Finn said nothing. She could be telling him the truth, or she could be purposely steering him off the right path. It was true, she’d never directly lied to him in the past, but, despite the adversarial nature of their relationship, she hadn’t had reason to. In both cases during their previous meetings, they’d already known the whereabouts of the quarry in question and hadn’t needed the information or discussed the topic with the other. Had she bested Reese earlier today, she’d have likely beaten him to the prize this time. Only she hadn’t. Which meant it was a race now, to see who got to it first. And he wasn’t entirely sure what she was capable of doing in her quest to win.

What the hell had he been thinking, partnering with her? His cock twitched when she recrossed her legs, reminding him exactly what he’d been thinking with.

“You’re certain he has it?”

She nodded. “I was close, but I’d hoped to get a key piece of information from him and beat him at his own game.”

“He wasn’t aware you were…in the market for the same piece?”

“I let him think I had heard about it and was interested in buying it.”

“And he’d give you just enough information on who he was getting it from?”

“Something like that.”

Finn thought on that for a moment. “Have you used his…services before?”

She smiled then. “You’re adorable when you’re jealous. I assure you, however, there is nothing to be jealous of. Yes, I have worked with him in the past, Foundation business mostly.”

“Mostly.”

“Yes,” she reiterated, “mostly. Some family business as well. Nothing of a personal nature.”

He wondered how foolish he was to believe her. But, holding her direct gaze as he was, he did. “Of course you’re aware of his reputation for playing a bit outside the lines, when it comes to direct line of ownership with some of his more…unique artifacts. Not that this would be a problem for you personally, but how does the Foundation feel about working with someone whose character has been described as less than sterling?”

She laughed. “You’d have to understand British peerage and the Trents’ very rich personal history to know that someone like John Reese causes barely a blip on the discomfort scale. The fact that he’s a very powerful man building quite the trade empire is of more interest than whatever means he might have used to secure some of it. Of course, everyone maintains quite the upper crust appearance on the surface, but that doesn’t mean they don’t wallow in all the gossip once the evening’s event is over. Everyone loves a good story, and John Reese comes packaged with quite a rich one.”

“He’d have gotten along well with my father,” Finn muttered. “Perhaps your family would have as well.”

“Perhaps,” she said, not taking the least offense. “Of course, I’m the last in the line,” she added, her own smile mischievous, “so I more or less dictate what the Foundation will deal with.”

Finn smiled at that. “So, you think the trade itself will take place at Antoine’s?” he said, keeping his gaze anywhere but on her damn legs. “Rather high profile.”

“Which is what he’s counting on, to be certain. Only someone with an…ego the size of John’s would dream of pulling that off.”

Finn scowled, not wanting to think about Felicity having direct knowledge of the size of any part of John Reese. “Won’t seeing you there thwart that particular plan?”

Her smile spread. “I most certainly hope so.”

Finn propped his ankle on the opposite knee and willed his hard-on to subside. Jesus, it was as if he’d never had sex before.

“Not only do I hope to unsettle Mr. Reese, I hope that by seeing that I have not only rebounded from the unfortunate circumstances he left me in this afternoon, but having come back stronger and more determined than ever, he will realize that there is no place that he, or that lovely piece of sapphire, can hide.”

Finn noted that she’d made it sound as if this were still all her game, with him playing the role of nothing more than a convenient escort. He didn’t bother to correct that assumption, thinking perhaps that would be to his advantage later. And God knew he needed one right about now.

“Seeing you pop up might make him that much more eager to dump the stone,” Finn warned. “Once he makes his deal, he’s out of it, and the chase moves on to the buyer and the courier. Which gets tricky with Russian import/export laws being what they are.”

“I don’t think Chesnokov will be as eager to take possession of an artifact with a less-than-pristine provenance if there is suddenly some less-than-discreet public attention being paid to it.”

“Less-than-discreet public attention?” Finn leaned forward. “What scheme are you cooking up now?”

“Why look, darling. We’ve arrived.” Felicity turned her attention to the side window, beyond which was the slowly rolling scene of the nightly line that formed outside Antoine’s.

The car rolled to a stop at the entrance. Finn waited for the chauffeur to come around this time, using the extra few minutes to prepare himself for the gauntlet that lay ahead. He was used to operating behind the scenes, preferring to handle his affairs—both business and personal—in a one-on-one setting, without the attendant glare of public attention or speculation. He’d had enough of that during his days as an assistant district attorney in this very city, and even more so during the long months following his father’s death.

He was several years into the private sector now, and his father had been gone long enough, his empire long since dismantled, that Finn rarely drew any attention beyond the local variety back home in Virginia. And even then, he kept a low profile. His neighbors in the privileged Middleburg horse community had never accepted his return upon his father’s death, mostly because they considered what he’d done with his inheritance to be a sacrilege to success. The fact that he was using the remaining Dalton wealth to help people less fortunate than themselves didn’t seem to up his social ante in the least. Which could have something to do with the fact that he didn’t give flat damn what any of them thought.

The driver helped Felicity out of the car, eliciting a wave of murmurs from the crowd as they craned their necks to see who was emerging from the sleek, black town car. Finn followed, and immediately placed a hand on the small of her back, using his body as a shield between her and the crowd, who were now flashing cameras and cell phones, snapping pictures and calling out for her to stop and pose in case she was someone famous. There was a scattering of paparazzi as well, but not likely being aware of her stature in Britain, they were only minimally interested, which was perfectly fine with Finn.

Of course, Felicity didn’t allow him to shepherd her into the restaurant with the minimum of fuss. She slipped from his protective stance and smiled and waved at the people in line, none of whom seemed to be the least bit offended that she was getting preferential treatment, as the mountain of a man governing the line slipped the rope free and motioned them both to go directly inside.

Finn leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I thought the sideshow began inside, for the benefit of Reese.”

“The show begins now, darling.” Keeping her smile intact, she added, “Do your best to keep up.”

It should have pissed him off, her insouciance and dangerously placed bravado. Instead it made him laugh. Because he had little doubt she could pull off whatever scheme she had planned. His reaction set off a whole new wave of pictures, but when she would have paused again, he shuffled her ahead of him, corralling her through the front door, effectively using his broad shoulders to block out the barrage of flashes. He bent his head closer to her ear. “Keeping it up has never exactly been an issue for us.”

She slowed just enough so that his hips bumped into the curve of her backside. She exerted the slightest bit of pressure, which had the immediate result of making him hard all over again. She glanced up at him. “Why, it appears you have a point. A hearty one, at that. We should discuss it in greater…depth, after dinner.”

He really had to remember who he was playing with.

Finn shifted to her side, using the fullness of her skirt as camouflage, thanking God he was wearing loosely pleated trousers. He turned to the maitre d’. “We’d like a table in the main room, preferably on the far side of—”

“Bon soir, Jacques,” Felicity said, leaning past Finn and placing her perfectly manicured fingers on the maitre d’s forearm. “Could you please seat us at Mr. Reese’s table.”

Finn glanced down at her. “That’s rather…direct.”

“Darling, the man left me in a bit of a bind at the end of our previous engagement. I do believe he owes me a glass of champagne, at the very least.”

Less than discreet, indeed. Finn smiled at Jacques. “As the lady insists.”

Jacques frowned ever-so-slightly, clearly uncomfortable with the news he had to deliver. He cleared his throat and looked quite contrite as he said, “I’m sorry, Miss Trent. I believe Mr. Reese is already entertaining a dinner guest. They are on their second course. Perhaps you confused your meeting time?”

Felicity smiled, all charm and British polish. “I assure you, he’ll be delighted to have us join him. Is Jason working this evening?” She glanced at Finn. “Antoine’s has the most wonderful sommelier.” She looked back to the maitre d’. “Please have him bring us your best Chantal Neuf.”

“I’m not familiar with that one,” Finn said.

“It’s relatively rare.” She smiled up at him. “And quite expensive.” She peered around Jacques’s shoulder, and they both spied Reese at the same time, seated prominently, dead center in the main room.

Perfect, just perfect.

A brief wave from her elicited a nod from the rather serious-looking, dark-haired man, which apparently was enough to appease the maitre d’, who proceeded to lead them directly to his table.

Finn had seen several photos of John Reese in his preparation for the case, but in those he had been smiling. Definitely a different vibe at the table this evening. Finn had no idea what her plan of attack would be, but had every expectation that it would be an interesting one. He decided the best plan, at least initially, was to sit back and watch her work, take mental notes, then decide how best to proceed.

This partnership wasn’t exactly panning out as he’d hoped, but why he’d ever thought she’d defer to his judgment or even attempt to work as an actual team, he had no idea. At least they were in it together, where he could keep close tabs on her.

“John, how lovely to see you again.”

Reese stood and extended a well-manicured hand. He was tall, tan, and wearing a very expensively tailored suit. “An unexpected pleasure, to be certain.” His accent was much the same as Felicity’s; polished and well-educated. He had still yet to smile.

She stepped back so that Finn could move in next to her. “Allow me to introduce a friend of mine, Finn Dalton.”

Finn accepted Reese’s offer of a handshake. They were close to the same age, matched in height and build, except Reese had dark hair and gray eyes, whereas Finn was blond and blue. They were a contrast as well in their approach to business. Finn knew Reese’s reputation to be all work and no play. Finn, on the other hand, thought that when work was done right, there was no better playground in the world.

Reese shook his hand firmly, without any overt power play. Finn hadn’t expected anything so blatant anyway. Reese nodded to his dining companion across the table, who had also stood as Felicity approached. “Allow me to introduce Yvgeny Andreev.” He didn’t add anything else, but Finn didn’t require further information, and was betting Felicity had done her homework as well. At least Reese hadn’t insulted them by pretending Chesnokov’s agent was someone else. Or maybe he simply thought they wouldn’t recognize the name.

Finn had. Andreev was a well-known mule used by several European buyers. He was reputed to be excellent at his job; quiet, efficient, and, when required, very good at remaining undetected by those who might otherwise have a quibble with his possession of certain cargo.

Finn extended his hand to the slight man and received a tepid, at best, handshake in return. Andreev had thin, sandy brown hair and skin that was almost too smooth, without a hint of beard. His eyes were such a pale blue they appeared almost translucent, framed with lashes so blond as to be invisible. Finn had stood in courtrooms and boardrooms filled with all manner of human beings, ranging from the stone cold and psychotic to the wounded and broken. He’d observed enough in his life to know that this man with the dead eyes was essentially soulless.

Suddenly John Reese wasn’t the biggest threat in the room.

Finn pulled out Felicity’s chair, seating her on one side, between Reese and the Russian, then taking the only other available seat, which was opposite hers. His wait-and-see strategy was no longer an option. He trusted Felicity to hold her own, but in this case, he was taking no chances. He took the heavy linen dinner napkin from Felicity’s plate and handed it to her before picking up his own. “So, Reese, I understand you have an interest in international trade.”

If the Brit was surprised by Finn’s direct offensive, his smooth expression didn’t give it away. Felicity, on the other hand, paused ever-so-slightly spreading her napkin in her lap, but did nothing more than shoot him a quick, expressionless glance, before continuing to settle herself in. Good to know she was willing to follow his lead on occasion.

Finn turned his attention exclusively to Reese then, though he kept Andreev in his peripheral vision. He was frankly more interested in what the Russian was thinking at the moment than what was going through Reese’s mind. Reese would likely react to this disruption somewhat predictably. He’d want to mitigate the fallout of Felicity’s unplanned intrusion so as not to lose the sale. Not that he couldn’t get another buyer for such a precious piece. But setting up another transfer would take time. And that was the one thing Reese couldn’t afford now that he had possession of the artifact. Especially not with Felicity Jane smiling at him so guilelessly.

“Yes, I do,” Reese said, casually shifting his gaze from the gentle swell of Felicity’s creamy breasts, to Finn’s face. He hadn’t bothered to hide his prurient interest in her, but there was no gleam of challenge in his clear gray eyes, either.

Finn struggled a little with the fact that though Felicity claimed Reese had shown no sexual interest in her, there was both the manner in which he’d left her, and that blatant stare just now, that said perhaps it was otherwise. And yet, Finn still believed that Felicity had been telling the truth. Perhaps Reese just wanted to stir the pot. Finn supposed time would tell who the fool was. Time was becoming quite the precious commodity all the way around, it seemed.

“Do you have a specific area of interest?” Finn asked, not expecting a straight answer, but wanting Reese to know he wasn’t simply Felicity’s man candy for the evening.

Reese easily held Finn’s gaze, not the least bit intimidated. “Oh, I dabble in quite a few areas.”

Finn merely smiled. Perhaps it was better if Reese underestimated him. “A man of many talents, then.”

Reese shot Felicity a brief, but surprisingly personal smile, then turned back to Finn. “So it’s been said.”

Finn dug his fingers into the napkin he’d been spreading on his lap, but otherwise did nothing to give away the surprisingly strong impulse he had to suddenly rearrange Reese’s aristocratic nose. “Anything specific capturing your interest of late?” He kept his tone harmless. His gaze, if Reese was even a remotely good judge of character, was anything but. “I understand you are tapped in quite well to the international grapevine. Any good tips on currently available…commodities?”

From the corner of his eye, Finn noted the Russian’s jaw visibly tighten. He didn’t make eye contact, but Finn had little doubt when Andreev speared a stalk of asparagus on his plate, he was imagining cleanly skewering something else entirely. Good. Finn wanted him pissed off, wondering if Reese was playing him, worrying that this deal might slip right out from under him. Because even a soulless man like Andreev had to be a little unnerved at the prospect of returning to Chesnokov with his pockets empty. That was bad for business.

“There are always items of interest available,” Reese said smoothly, as if oblivious to the tension circling the intimate setting. “The global market moves swiftly. You really need to stay on top of things if you want to succeed.” He glanced at Felicity again as he said that last part.

Finn knew he was being baited. What he hadn’t expected was how hard it was not to let it get to him.

“Oh, John, don’t sound so pompous,” Felicity teased, interjecting herself into the conversation with casual ease. She spoke to Reese quite comfortably, like old friends. Or lovers.

Finn hated the doubt that began to creep in.

She rested a hand briefly on Reese’s forearm. “Tell us what exciting deal you’re cooking up with Yvgeny, here.” She gifted the Russian with a fast, charming smile. “We’re being quite rude, intruding on your business dinner, but it’s so rare John and I get the chance to catch up, what with him always in a rush, and me being so tied up all the time.”

Her smile spread, and Finn felt her toe nuzzle his ankle as she continued talking. Flirting was more like it, not that the Russian was buying anything she had to sell. Yet. Finn would have enjoyed sitting back and watching her work the table if he hadn’t had to stay so alert to every nuance of even the slightest reaction in either man.

“Come now,” she continued, “the least we can do is allow you a moment to gloat over whatever wonderful item it is that John has craftily secured for you. I’m certain I’ll be jealous and wish it were mine.”

It amazed Finn how innocent and sincerely enthusiastic she came off. Not that either Reese or Andreev were falling for it, but it was good to know just how broad her range of acting skills was. They both might need them before the evening was over.

“I promise to pout only for the briefest of moments when I hear what fabulous find I’ve missed out on.” She looked at Yvgeny. “I’m afraid I’m quite the spoiled child my father—bless his departed soul—always accused me of being when it comes to acquiring new baubles. I can be ever so determined, to the point of petulance, when I don’t get my way. But never let it be said that on the rare occasion I don’t emerge the victor, that I don’t extend the lucky winner my heartiest congratulations for a battle fiercely won.” Her smile spread. “Though, I’ll admit that I do keep track of those lost opportunities. You never know when they might surface again.” She glanced at Reese. “And I so hate to lose anything twice.”

Andreev gave up eating all together, his dead stare presently pinning Reese squarely to his seat.

To his credit, Reese didn’t exhibit the slightest shred of panic, despite the fact that it was clear the Russian was visibly quite unhappy now. “My darling Felicity Jane, I’m well aware of your rather obsessive proclivities, but, as even you must know, you can’t have all the toys.” He turned his most charming smile on the three of them, white teeth flashing now. It was a striking difference from the man they’d first walked in on, and very effective. “Whatever would the rest of us do for fun?”

Felicity rewarded his blatant attempt to lighten the suddenly tense mood with a delighted laugh and swat at his arm. They were saved from further conversation when the sommelier arrived with Felicity’s requested bottle of champagne. She turned a charming, confident smile on all three men, as if commanding the attention of a room full of admirers was quite the normal evening activity for her. For all Finn knew, it probably was.

“I thought it only fair that I come bearing gifts. I hope you’ll see fit to forgive me, Yvgeny,” she went on, favoring the Russian with the full force of her charm. “Please, enjoy a glass of some wonderful champagne, won’t you?”

Andreev stared at her for a second that stretched quite uncomfortably. Finn was a heartbeat away from coming out of his chair, as every protective instinct he owned flared to life. But Andreev abruptly stood instead and turned his attention to Reese. He spoke in rapid Russian, then ended in English with, “I’m afraid I shall no longer be requiring your services. I’m certain you will be hearing from my employer.” He shoved his chair back roughly enough to draw attention from several nearby diners, but exited the dining room swiftly and quietly, with no further dramatics.

The noise in the room quickly resumed normal levels. Except at their table, where the tension remained high, as did the resulting echoing silence.

Reese very calmly folded his napkin and laid it across his plate, his dinner half eaten. “I’m afraid I’ve also lost my appetite.”

Felicity’s lips formed a distressed little moue, but the light in her eyes gave away her true feelings. “I’m so sorry if our intrusion had anything to do with that.”

Reese signaled the waiter, then stood as the young man crossed the room. “Enjoy yourselves,” he said to them, then looked to the waiter. “Please include their dinner and anything else they desire on my bill, Edgar.” He pushed in his chair, then lifted a satchel Finn hadn’t noticed he’d tucked under the table. “I trust you’ll also enjoy the remainder of your stay in New York. You’ll have to forgive me if I say I hope our paths don’t cross again.” He looked to Finn. “Pleasure meeting you, Dalton.” He glanced at Felicity, held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary, then favored her with a brief smile before turning and exiting the dining room as well.

Felicity picked up a menu left behind by the waiter and flipped it open. Not so much as glancing in the direction of the departing Reese. “Well,” she said, sounding quite satisfied, “that went rather splendidly.”

Finn didn’t know whether to throttle her, go after Reese, or order dinner. Chasing Reese right now would be pointless, as the man almost certainly had a town car waiting at the curb and would be long gone before Finn could exit the room. Felicity Jane could be supremely frustrating, but she was far from stupid, so he trusted she already had a few ideas about where Reese was likely to go next. Which left dinner.

He opened his menu and skimmed over the list of entrees.

A moment later he felt Felicity’s toes stroking the inside of his ankle. He didn’t look up.

She merely laughed and stroked his leg a bit higher. His body—traitor that it was—leapt to life.

“Don’t be put out with me,” she said, amusement still clear in her voice.

He continued to look over the menu.

She sighed, and stopped toying with his pant leg. A moment later she folded her menu, took a sip of champagne, then quite casually said, “Order quickly, darling. We have a hotel room to break into.”