Chapter Fourteen
Vanka had been played and could not stand it.
Alec had known exactly why no one was dancing yet, and she’d played into a line that he’d probably used a dozen times before.
Still, she stayed in character and even managed to stifle an eye-rolling groan at that insipid bow.
The joke was on him, though. She wasn’t stepping away until she learned exactly what she needed to.
Alec seamlessly moved her through a three-quarter turn. “You make this look easy.”
Did he think her an idiot? She smiled and bit her tongue.
“And that dress…” He fanned the fingers pressed against her shoulder blade, testing and calculating how she might react.
Vanka wanted to tell him he wasn’t anywhere near as smooth as he might hope, that his subtleties landed like wet cement and only worked because of his bank account.
But telling him the truth wouldn’t help her meet her goals.
Perhaps another day. There was a bigger problem at hand.
Alec Oliver seemed to have a scene to play out.
There was no telling how long this might take.
Spiker wouldn’t sit on the sidelines all night, and if the night called for dancing, she’d much rather wrap herself in Spiker’s embrace.
Vanka smiled like she’d set a trap and held Oliver’s gaze. “What usually happens after this?”
He feigned confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Does that dress make me look like a fool?”
Alec grinned as if he knew Vanka was on to his game. “Not in the slightest.”
“Because it is one of my favorites,” she added.
“I can see why.” He effortlessly maneuvered between the couples who had joined them in dancing. “Tell me something—”
“You first,” she said with a hint of sex and tease. “What happens next, Mr. Oliver?”
His eyes twinkled, and she recalled the way he’d called her Mrs. Fagan. Alec drew her closer. His pupils constricted. “Usually,”—he paused and tried to read her face—“the husbands go home alone.”
“Usually,” she pressed, certain he wasn’t telling her about advances that had been shot down. “But not always?”
“Not always,” he audaciously agreed.
Alec enjoyed it when the husbands watched him with their wives. “That’s what you prefer?” Vanka asked.
“You’re very upfront.”
“I’m…” Vanka searched his expression for the right thing to say. “Curious.”
The salacious truth glimmered in the hint of his impish smile. “I like many things, Mrs. Fagan.”
“Naughty,” she chided, and measured his reaction.
“What do you like?” he asked.
This was the moment she’d been waiting for. Her lips curled. “Priceless art. Incalculable antiquities. Rare gems. Shall I go on?”
Alec laughed hard enough to mess up his footwork. “That’s not what I thought you’d say.”
“Everyone has desires.” She noted Spiker in her peripheral, and as they neared him, she thought he might step onto the floor and tear Alec’s head off.
Alec followed her gaze and then made a point to pull her closer. “As it turns out, I collect things that you might enjoy.”
“That’s what they all say,” she challenged, whispering, “and I always end up so disappointed.”
“I can promise you that wouldn’t happen.” His hand smoothed down her back. “Tell your husband he should go home.”
The idea of ordering Spiker away nearly made Vanka choke on her tongue, and the fact that Alec Oliver expected her to believe him because of who he was almost made her groan. “You’re asking for a lot on credit.”
“Look around.” Alec dipped his mouth close to her ear. “I think I’m good for it.”
Ugh. Arrogance wasn’t a good look on him. “If it’s not my dress, then what has convinced you I’m a fool?”
“You’re negotiating?” he asked.
“I want to know it’s worth my while as well,” she countered.
He laughed. “Insurance riders get you hot?”
“Depends on what’s on them.”
“Picasso—”
“Everyone has a Picasso—”
“An avant-garde—”
She dramatically stifled a yawn. “It’s getting late.”
“A bronze from Sparta.”
Her eyebrow arched. “Sparta?”
“Yes. As in ‘We are Sparta!’ Sparta.”
“Ah, that Sparta.” She’d called it. He would reference the movie. “A bronze?”
“A mask.”
Her heart launched into her throat, and she didn’t hide the visceral reaction. Alec would see it and pounce.
“It’s less than a hundred feet away.” He caressed her back. “Tell your husband to go home, and I will take you on a private tour to see it.”
She brushed a strand of hair off her left cheek and tucked it behind her ear, signaling her partner. “That sounds like a—”
Spiker appeared and broke in, manners be damned. “I’d like to cut in now.”
Alec stood his ground and smiled, releasing Vanka as though their game had just begun. “A rain check?”
Vanka let Spiker pull her against his chest. He smelled like strength and safety and blocked her from Alec’s view. “We’ll have to get back to you.”
The wolfish growl in his voice made her pulse flutter. Spiker moved her away from the billionaire. They glided over the floor as though she were dancing with her very own American James Bond. She’d let him call the shots, so long as he kept her folded into his chest.
When they stepped from the dance floor, Vanka wasn’t ready to let go. Spiker shifted her onto his arm. “That guy’s a dick.”
Vanka quietly laughed, and her bearings returned. “A little fetishy, too.”
Spiker stopped abruptly. Protective wrath ticked in his jaw muscles. “What the hell did he say to you?”
Not a lot had been said, but that didn’t matter. “He has the Lacedaemonian Mask.”
That wasn’t what Spiker wanted to know. Their thoughts were traveling a thousand kilometers per hour in opposite directions. “What else?”
Something else was bothering him. Vanka couldn’t put her finger on exactly what seemed off, but her senses blared that there had been—maybe still was—a problem. “Nothing worth discussing right now. Are we ready to leave?”
He gave her a hard look but nodded and took her hand. They retraced their path through the large house. She wondered where the Lacedaemonian Mask was stored and what had bothered Spiker.
Finally, they reached the front door and requested their car.
Five minutes later, Spiker was behind the wheel of the Maserati, brooding.
Vanka closed her eyes and rested as he drove them home.
Tonight had left her with information and questions.
She wanted to daydream about the mask, but couldn’t ignore how Buck had been correct about the stolen artifact.
She couldn’t have done this tonight without Spiker, but what they’d confirmed might convince him to walk away from GSI… and her.
She turned her face toward him. Passing overhead lights illuminated and then obscured his face.
Vanka studied his profile and almost asked what he was thinking, but that wasn’t her business.
If he wanted to tell her something, then he would.
That was a rule between them. Except lately?
There had been a lot left unsaid. “Spiker, I don’t want you to leave. ”
“I know.” He glanced over for a long moment before returning to the road. The revolution of light and shadow continued to play over him. His left index finger quietly tapped on the leather steering wheel. “I’m not leaving tonight.”
Not tonight wasn’t much to hold on to. Endless uncertainties tangled her thoughts and knotted in her throat. “I don’t want you to leave me.”
His grip flexed on the steering wheel. Darkness danced and disappeared across his profile. Road noise and the Maserati’s engine shouted to fill the silence.
Spiker reached for her hand and wrapped his fingers over her fist, squeezing as if she was holding something that might escape. Miles passed before he released her hand, then steered the Maserati into a parking space near her Audi.
The night’s adrenaline high was long gone.
She wanted to go home and crawl into bed.
That wouldn’t happen. They’d spend the next few hours alone, documenting, and then submit their reports.
Headquarters would layer their individual accounts in a single document.
In a day or two, she and Spiker would make revisions.
Sometimes their jobs weren’t what Hollywood made them out to be.
Spiker cut the engine. “I feel like I’m fucking losing my mind.” He pulled in a deep breath, then let it go. “And I can’t tell you why.”