“You never called,” Sam whispered over her shoulder.
Karena turned, the smile spreading across her face, slowly but impulsively and probably giving away how happy she was to see him. “Neither did you.”
“Guilty,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing its back. “Forgive me?”
She was still smiling, feeling like a high-school girl on her prom night. “No big deal.” Karena pulled her hand from his, because this was getting too weird.
Sure, she’d met Sam Desdune last month when she’d come to check on her best friend, Noelle. And yes, he was handsome, easy to talk to and had made her flight back to New York very pleasant. But it wasn’t as though he was a long-distance boyfriend—or even a long-distance friend, for that matter.
He lived in Connecticut and she in Manhattan. They weren’t that far away, and yet neither had tried to contact the other after their first meeting. Perhaps the tiny flutters she’d felt while sitting next to him on the plane were really nothing.
“So what do you think?” Sam asked, his gaze moving around the room of the Gramercy II, the sister casino/resort owned by Lincoln Donovan of the Las Vegas Donovans and run by Noelle Vincent, Karena’s best friend and Linc’s sister-in-law.
“It’s fabulous,” she answered without hesitation. “But then if Noelle had her hand in it, I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
Sam was nodding in agreement. “Yeah, it turned out really well. Linc’s thrilled.”
“That’s wonderful. I know Noelle really wanted to impress him.”
“Well, I’d say she did that and then some.”
Conversation tapered off as they each looked around the room, then as if it were planned, Sam touched a hand to her elbow and escorted her out of the main casino room. They walked along the high-ceilinged corridor with its copper-toned fountain running down one side and lighted walkway along the plush sage-green carpet.
The atmosphere was calming and relaxing, which seemed a bit strange for a casino. Yet it fit this small water community, the splash of decadence and bling mixing seamlessly with the quiet ambiance, creating a unique feel that was sure to attract a lot of customers.
Karena felt the relaxation but instinctively fought it. She had so much work to do when she returned to the city, which was why instead of taking Noelle’s offer to stay at the house she shared with Brock Remington, her boyfriend and Linc Donovan’s cousin, Karena opted to stay here at the Gramercy II for the night and take a flight out first thing in the morning.
Why she couldn’t relax enough to take a vacation was beyond her. No, actually it wasn’t. It was her choice, her goals in life, the limitations she set for herself, all her choice, her doing, her need.
Coming to another airy space centered by a larger fountain, this one with copper railings to keep guests from venturing too close to the water display that was presented every other hour, she and Sam stopped.
“It’s nice here,” she said, tired of the endless quiet between them. It felt odd to be with this man and not talk, because he was so easy to communicate with, unlike other men who would have probably been pawing all over her by now. Maybe Sam wasn’t interested in her in that way. And why should she care?
“It’s quieter here. There were too many people in the other room. I didn’t want any distractions,” he said seriously.
His hand was still on her elbow as they faced each other. “You’re at a casino/resort opening, how could you not want to be in the casino?”
“I’m here to support a friend,” he said, speaking of his best friend and business partner, Trent Donovan. “The Donovans are like extended family to me, so it’s great to see them taking on another successful venture.”
“All the more reason you would want to be out there.”
“Nah,” he said, taking a step closer to her and lifting his other hand to touch her cheek. “Not when I can take advantage of being alone with you.”
Okay, so she wasn’t crazy. The fizzle of attraction she’d felt when they’d met last month hadn’t been a fluke. And it was back, alive and sparkling as they stood, feeling tiny drops of mist as the water show prepared to begin.
“You could have been alone with me before if you’d called,” she said, surprising herself with her boldness. Being with a man wasn’t new to Karena, but she wasn’t the flowers, romance and courting type. Because of her hectic lifestyle and those endless limitations she put on herself, her encounters with the opposite sex needed to be quick and efficient. So if there was something brewing between her and Sam Desdune, maybe it was best they act on it quickly and keep it moving.
“I could and should have. But we’re here now and we’re alone.”
“That we are,” she said, knowing the exact moment his lips would touch hers.
From the center of the fountain just a few feet away, ten-foot jets of water spewed and fell in a lighted display. Sam’s lips touched hers and her eyes fluttered shut. The sound of rushing water echoed in the distance, but all she could think about was the soft touch of his lips on hers, the warmth of his tongue slipping past her teeth and moving seductively into her mouth.
Wrapping her arms around his neck and tilting her head for better access, she took him in, moaning as he sucked her tongue with deep hungry strokes, sinking closer into his embrace as he masterfully seduced her with his mouth.
Never before had she been kissed like this. Surely this must be a dream. Either that or it was forbidden. Nothing that tasted this good, felt this right, could be good for her. Hadn’t she already learned that lesson?
Chapter One
October—Lakefield Galleries, New York City
“Stolen? That’s impossible!” Karena slammed her palms flat on her desk then stood.
Dropping down into the paisley-patterned guest chair across from her was her oldest sister and biggest critic, Monica Lakefield. Monica was the manager of Lakefield Galleries, their family-owned and for the most part family-run art gallery in Manhattan.
In addition to being extremely intelligent Monica was as ambitious, cutthroat and relentless as any Brooks Brothers suit-wearing man in corporate America—a fact she relished.
Karena was two years younger than Monica, having celebrated her thirtieth birthday six months ago. She considered herself ambitious as well, a trait clearly inherited from their domineering father, Paul. But she wasn’t as hard as Monica, not as rigid and stern when it came to business—or everything else for that matter.
“It’s right there in black and white,” Monica was saying as she tossed a manila folder onto Karena’s desk. Sighing heavily, Karena moved to pick up the folder. No way this was happening to her. She’d had a rough enough time trying to sleep last night due to dreams that she definitely should not be having. And now this. It was barely ten in the morning and Monica was delivering this disastrous news.
“Jacques did the appraisal, just like he always does. He checked with the ASA and the ADAA. It’s either a fake or it’s stolen. He has a few more tests to run, but odds are it’s stolen.”
Karena’s fingers shook slightly as she leafed through the pages. Sure enough, there were three reports: one from Jacques, one from the Appraisers Association of America and the final one from the Art Dealers Association of America. Hearing Monica sum up the reports in front of her in such cold and succinct language had her heart pounding, the sound throbbing in her ears.
“I met with him personally. We had breakfast on the terrace in Pirata. He even showed me the cliffs where he liked to paint at dawn.”
“Oh, please. Karena, he played you like a prized