She pressed both her hands against his chest, maintaining a small distance between them. “I’ve heard that Americans often romanticize criminals. Is your joke supposed to serve as some sort of compliment? A word of warning—few women find it flattering to be called thieves. If that’s your idea of flirtation, you really need to get out more.”
Sam didn’t try to keep the smile from his lips. God help him, but he was enjoying this. He didn’t want to consider what that said about him. “You prefer flirtation of another sort, don’t you? Flirting with danger, with the police.” He lowered his head to the side of her throat, distracted for a moment by the scent that lingered there. “What do you enjoy most, I wonder?” He breathed the words in her ear, even as he filled his lungs with her perfume. “The research, the planning…or the actual theft? Does the prize ever really measure up to the anticipation? Does the risk-taking get in your blood, driving you to dare even more? A good psychiatrist would have a field day with those questions.”
“A good psychiatrist is exactly what you need. I’ll leave you to make an appointment.” She pressed harder on his chest, attempting to free herself, but his arms only tightened.
“You’ll find I’m a little more difficult to escape than the German police were last month.” She didn’t gasp at his words; she didn’t seem to breathe at all. “The Riemenschneider was an exquisite pick, by the way. Intricate but balanced style, without the emotionalism of the period. But then I assume you had a buyer lined up before the job. A private collector?”
Juliette had given up the pretense of dancing, so Sam followed suit. His thigh screamed its appreciation.
Her voice, when it came, dripped disdain. “You’ll have to excuse me. I have a low tolerance for boredom, and this conversation is growing tedious.”
“Then let’s go out to the balcony to continue our discussion. I’ll take great care not to bore you, I promise.” He exerted the slightest pressure with the palm of his hand against her back. She didn’t move.
Looking around, she caught the eye of their host, Jean-Paul Rossiere. “I’ve tried civility, now I’ll be blunt. Either you leave me alone, now, or I’ll summon our host to have you removed.” Rossiere was already making his way toward him, drawn, no doubt, by the manufactured look of entreaty in Juliette’s big dark eyes.
“Good idea,” Sam murmured imperturbably. He waved to the approaching Frenchman. “Jean-Paul might find this conversation interesting. His cousin is married to the CEO of International Safety Mutual, did you know that? Their insurance company has taken a beating at the hands of le petit voleur in recent years. I’m sure he’d be fascinated by what I have to say to you.” He straightened as the Frenchman reached them, his watchful expression giving lie to the smile on his lips.
“Mademoiselle Morrow, are you enjoying yourself this evening?”
“As a matter of fact, Jean-Paul…” Sam started.
“Mr. Tremaine and I were just about to step outside for some fresh air.” Juliette smiled brilliantly at Rossiere as she placed her hand on Sam’s arm. “The party is lovely, but I’m afraid I’m in need of a rest before I begin another round of dancing.”
The slight crease of worry eased from the other man’s face. “Of course. It is becoming a bit stuffy in here, n’est-il pas? The balcony is just beyond those doors.”
They moved in the direction he pointed, but Sam wasn’t fooled by Juliette’s seeming about-face. Her capitulation didn’t signal defeat, but merely a change of venue for the next leg of the battle. He could appreciate her strategy even as he recognized its futility.
Drifting through the double French doors, Sam steered her past the couples lingering on the balcony toward a secluded area in the opposite corner. The night air was clear, fresh and keen as a blade. Shrugging out of his dinner jacket, he draped it around Juliette’s bare shoulders, the chivalry of the action too ingrained to be considered.
She glanced up at him, still wary, her fingers clutching the jacket’s lapels to keep it from sliding away. Turning to face her, he propped his hips against the ornate wrought-iron railing. Slipping an arm around her waist, he brought her close enough to stand between his spread legs, and left his arms looped loosely around her middle.
“If this was an elaborate scheme to get me outside alone, you get marks for creativity, at least.”
He deliberately dashed the hint of relief in her statement with his next words. “We’ll be assured privacy if people think we’re infatuated with each other.”
She strained away, as far as his grasp would allow. “And if you attempt to convince them of that, you’ll be assured of an ambulance.”
He was concentrating more on her voice than its content. “Where’d you grow up? I’m betting New York…Philadelphia. There’s a slightly clipped quality to your speech that you haven’t quite lost, despite the lovely French accent you’ve acquired.”
She tipped her face up, gazed at him boldly. “Ah, now it becomes clearer. You’ve mistaken me for someone else. I’m almost disappointed.” She reached out then, startling him, and cupped his jaw with slender fingers. The brisk air couldn’t dissipate the warmth trailing in the touch. “Whoever she is, I’m not sure whether to envy or pity her.”
When she would have taken her hand away, he raised his hand to cover hers. “Envy?”
“Unfortunately, it’s not every day that a woman meets such a virile man. She could be forgiven for overlooking some of your less attractive qualities.”
Their gazes clashed. The star-studded night sky turned her eyes into fathomless dark pools that invited a man to wade in and sink helplessly in their depths. She’d been beautiful inside, illuminated by the softened lights. In the moonlight she was stunning. Her dark hair was pulled on top of her head, leaving only the occasional errant curl free. It tempted a man to release it, to plunge his hands into the dark silky mass as it tumbled to her shoulders. Her dress was black, a glittery tube of material that showcased her curves and hinted at seductive promises.
She swayed closer. Again Sam caught the delicate scent she wore, something sexy and elusive. The pale porcelain of her skin shimmered in the darkness, inviting a caress, one long heated stroke. Hormones, operating on a different level from that of his brain, stood at alert.
Juliette raised her free hand, and his jacket clung to her shoulders for a moment, before sliding to the ground. She dipped her index finger in the shallow indentation in his chin that made shaving such a pain. “I have to admit wishing we’d met under different circumstances.” When she went up on her tiptoes to press her lips against his, Sam recognized that the game had shifted. He was male enough to welcome the change.
He pulled her closer and sank into the taste of her. Her flavor imploded on his senses. Exotic. Forbidden. Exquisitely sensual. Her lips opened beneath his and his tongue swept in, found the darkly seductive taste stronger there. It went to his head faster than his favorite Scotch and was twice as lethal.
She gave a little gasp and went boneless, her body melding to his. For an instant he had a vision of what it would be like to have her naked, her body twisting beneath him. She’d be lightning in a man’s arms, strobing heat and emotion. Making love to her would be like plunging into a chasm of wicked flames. Damned if he wasn’t beginning to believe it’d be worth the fall.
Dragging his mouth from hers, he found himself distracted by the pulse beating wildly beneath her jaw. “Try the front one.” He breathed the words into her ear before taking the lobe between his teeth.
“What?”
It pleased him that her voice wasn’t quite steady. “Try my front pocket. My wallet’s not in there either, but you might find something else of interest nearby.”
He was prepared for her reaction, so he caught her fists in his hand before she could