What she had to do was to keep reminding herself that this was only temporary. That they were the wrong man and the wrong woman brought together at the wrong time. She could not allow herself to be tempted to forget the warnings of her common sense.
Not if she wanted to emerge from this experience with both her body and her heart intact
TARA TOOK a long shower, then brushed her teeth, dried her hair, and applied what little makeup she had. She dressed in the jeans she’d worn the day before and the clean red-and-white T-shirt. She took her time making the bed she’d slept in, trying to arrange the ruffled throw pillows the way they’d been before.
She accidentally bumped against the nightstand when she moved back from the bed, knocking over a tiny antique-brass picture frame. When she set it upright, Blake’s face smiled up at her. It was a snapshot taken several years earlier, apparently. His longish, gold-tipped hair was ruffled by the wind, and his smile was bright and carefree. He was looking at the person holding the camera with obvious affection.
Tara set the little frame down as if it had suddenly burned her fingers.
How much more evidence did Tara need to convince her that she couldn’t take Blake’s flirting seriously?
No matter how badly she might have wanted to.
GIVING LITTLE THOUGHT to his choices, Blake dragged a long-sleeved green shirt and a pair of khaki chinos out of the closet in Stephanie’s spare bedroom and threw them on. His hair was still wet from the long, cold shower he’d taken after leaving Tara. He styled it by running a hand through it.
Shoving his bare feet into a pair of leather deck shoes, he told himself that he had to get out for a while. He suspected that Tara would want to go with him, but he hoped he could convince her to stay here. She would be safe here. And he could use the time away from her to remember all the reasons it wouldn’t be right for him to get involved with her.
The scar her exploring fingers had discovered on his back—the one that had been caused by an insane man’s bullet—was only one reminder of the differences between them. She had the kind of past Blake had only fantasized about, a future ahead of her that he could never fit into. And he doubted that she was the type of woman who would be content with a few nights of no-strings pleasure, to be followed by a genial goodbye.
Blake didn’t know how to offer anything more.
BLAKE WAS SITTING at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and the newspaper when Tara entered. He looked up to smile at her when she entered the room. She noticed immediately that his smile wasn’t reflected in his eyes. She could almost see the wall he’d put up between them.
What had changed during that kiss? What had made him suddenly draw away from her? She couldn’t help wondering if Stephanie had anything to do with Blake’s sudden reserve.
“What we have to do,” Blake said without preface, “is to get into Jackson Willfort’s mansion and get a look at his private art collection.”
Tara sank heavily into a chair. “You want to break into Willfort’s mansion?” she asked faintly, thinking of magazine photographs she’d seen of the heavily guarded modern fortress and trying to imagine herself dressed in black and scaling barbed-wire-topped walls. “Don’t you think that’s dangerous—e
specially if Willfort is backing the people who are looking for us?”
“I didn’t say we have to break in,” he corrected her, looking back down at the newspaper with a thoughtful expression. “I said we have to get in.”
“I suppose you expect us to ring the bell and say, Tardon us, Mr. Willfort, do you mind if we look through your private collection to see if you have a couple of pieces that might have accidentally been reported stolen?’”
Blake gave her a look in response to her sarcasm. “That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
“Why do I have the feeling that you have a plan? And that I’m not going to like it?”
He grinned. “Seems like I’m not the only one who has fairly reliable instincts.”
And then his grin faded. He reached out and took a strand of her blond hair between his fingers.
“Have you ever wondered,” he asked whimsically, “how it would feel to be a redhead?”
“I—er—”
His smile turned devilish. “Trust me, Tara. You’re going to look great.”
8
BLAKE WOULDN’T tell Tara exactly what he had in mind. “I’m not keeping anything from you,” he assured her. “I just need to work out the details a bit more before I discuss it with you, okay?”
When he left the apartment later that morning, telling her he would be back soon, she tried to argue. She reminded him that she was a partner in this escapade, not a bystander. She wouldn’t be treated like excess baggage, she asserted.
He refused to listen. Telling her that what he had to do had to be done alone, he left her alone in Stephanie’s apartment. She paced angrily for a few minutes after the door closed behind him, furious with him for shutting her out now, yet still foolishly aching for the feel of his arms around her.
She was an idiot, she thought in annoyance.