The Fiancée Caper

Her mouth dropped open. Shaking her head, she choked out a short laugh and stared up at him in complete wonderment. “You’re the only thief in this room, Coretti.”

“Ah,” he said, even more interested now. “You know me. So this is not a random burglary.”

“It’s not a—”

“You are definitely the most well-dressed burglar I have ever seen,” he acknowledged with another slow look over her body.

Gritting her teeth, she said, “I’m not a burglar.”

“Then you are a small-time thief come to me for lessons? If you know of me and my family, you should also know that we don’t take on apprentices and even if we did, let me assure you this is not the way to earn my admiration.” Amusement gone from his voice, he snapped out, “Who are you and why exactly are you here?”

“I’m the woman with enough evidence to see your father sent to prison.”

All right, Gianni thought coldly. Now she had his attention.

Two (#u7571f912-203c-580d-96c0-fc94e308a684)

The amused glint in his dark brown eyes disappeared in a flash. Marie took a breath and tried to get her heartbeat to stop racing. Not an easy thing to do now that her “plan” was shot. She hadn’t counted on him coming home early and catching her while she snooped. Hadn’t planned on him dragging her out from under his bed, then tossing her onto the mattress and taking a seat across her midsection, either. And, she was forced to admit that having his hard, oh-so muscular body pressing down on top of hers felt much better than it should have.

He was taller than she’d thought he would be and boy he smelled good—a subtle blend of spice and man that made her want to take a long deep breath and hold on to it, just to keep that scent inside her. But she wasn’t here to be seduced or to allow her own hormones to take over and fan the fires that were flickering within.

Because, she reminded herself, she’d already made that mistake once. She’d allowed a thief to distract her—and she wouldn’t do that again.

Damn it. How had this all gone so wrong?

The plan had been to confront him in her own time, in a place of her choosing so that she had the upper hand. Now, she was pretty much at his mercy. And judging by the hard light in his eyes, mercy was going to be in short supply.

So, Marie did what she always did when she was the underdog. She jumped in and went on the offensive. “Get off of me and we’ll talk.”

“You start talking and I’ll get off of you,” he countered.

So much for that attempt. Moonlight poured through the wall of windows and slashed across his hard features like a silvery warning light. What should have been soft and romantic instead looked somehow ominous, throwing his eyes and the grim slash of his mouth into shadow.

Marie took a breath—shallow though it was—and braced herself for the confrontation she’d been working toward for months. All of her careful plans had crumbled underneath her simply because he’d come home early for probably the first time in his entire life. If you thought about it, this was really all his fault.

Her attitude slapped back into place at that thought and she shifted beneath him, shooting him an angry glare. “It’s hard to breathe with you sitting on me.”

He didn’t budge. “Then you should speak quickly. What evidence do you have against my father?”

Clearly, she’d lost this round.

“A photo.”

He snorted. “A photograph? Please, Ms. Whoever-you-are. You’ll have to do better than that. Everyone knows photos are too easily digitally retouched these days to mean anything.”

“This one hasn’t been,” she assured him. She hadn’t had to retouch anything. “It’s a little dark maybe, but you can see your father clearly enough.”

She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but his features went even colder and more remote than they had been. And if possible, he became even more good-looking. “I’m supposed to take your word for this? I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Marie. Marie O’Hara.”

He eased up on her diaphragm just enough to allow her a deep breath and Marie appreciated it.

“That’s a start,” he said tightly. “Keep talking. How do you know me? My family?”

“You’re not serious, right?” she asked, stunned that he could even ask that question.

The Coretti family had been the focus of speculation for decades. Catching one of them in the act of relieving someone of their jewels was a recurring dream of police officers around the globe. That he could even ask that question was ridiculous.

“You’re the Corettis. The most infamous family of jewel thieves in the world.”

His jaw flexed as though he were grinding his teeth. Good thing? Bad? Didn’t matter.

“Alleged jewel thieves,” he corrected, gaze fixed with hers. “We’ve never been charged with a crime.”

“Because there was never any evidence,” she said. “Until now.”

That muscle in his jaw ticked continuously now. “You’re bluffing.”

She met his gaze. “I don’t bluff.”

He studied her for so long, Marie was sure he could have given a pore-by-pore description of her. But finally, he shook his head and asked, “Why should I believe anything a woman I caught breaking and entering has to say?”

“I didn’t break,” she reminded him. “I just entered.”

Fascinating really, to watch his eyes narrow until they were slits even as the muscle in his jaw twitched furiously.

His next question addressed the anger obviously churning inside him. “What do you mean you just entered? How did you get in here?”

She snorted at the seriousness of his expression. “Seriously? All it took was a short skirt and very high heels and your doorman practically bowed me into the elevator.” Marie remembered the lascivious glint in the man’s eyes and she knew that she wasn’t the first of Gianni Coretti’s women to be given that special treatment. “He didn’t even ask for ID. He assured me no key was required to let myself in since he keyed me in to the one elevator that goes only to your penthouse apartment. He wasn’t even surprised to find I was there when you weren’t home. Apparently there’s a constant stream of women running in and out of this apartment.”

He frowned a little at that and she had the satisfaction of knowing that she’d scored a point—however small—against him. She needed that. For what she had to do, it was necessary to have Gianni Coretti on board. Marie hated knowing that she required a thief’s assistance, but without him, she would never be able to do what she’d come to Europe to do.

“Clearly,” he said, “I’m going to have to speak to the doorman.”

Seeing the irritation on his face, she smiled. “Oh, I don’t know. Seemed to me like you already have him very well trained—escorting your ‘companions’ to the elevator and allowing them into your apartment—whether you’re home or not.”

His mouth worked as if he were chewing on words that tasted too bitter to swallow. “Fine. You’ve made your point. Now explain why you’re here. I rarely find a guest in my home searching under my bed. So what is it you were looking for?”

“More evidence.”

A short, sharp laugh shot from his throat. “More evidence?”

She scowled at him. “I have one picture. I wanted more.”

His frown deepened. “Why?”

“I need your help.”