CHAPTER NINE #3
Cash chuckles, rises, turns on the charm, and offers her his hand. “The pleasure is all mine. I’m Cash Noire.”
“Oh, I know who you are.” Her lips buckle with mirth, which causes him to twist toward me with a gloating grin.
But he gets sidetracked from the greeting when his attention trips over the shelf of treasures. And the Mardi Gras mask atop it. His eyes widen with what appears to be … awe.
My brows arch in challenge. “That’s a beautiful mask, isn’t it? I snagged that when I visited New Orleans. And I knew my mother would love it. She and my dad honeymooned there.”
“We sure did,” my mother agrees.
Cash saunters toward it, a slight tint of shock staining his face. “Well, I bet that took some effort to find, Sly. I’ve never seen another one quite like it.”
“It’s a one of a kind,” my mother fills in. “My husband and I fell in love with it and each other back in—well, no sense in sharing the year. Many moons ago. We met and were married there within forty-eight hours.”
Cash is bewildered, and while I’m not thrilled he chased me down—again—I am enjoying this.
“I’m Sylvie’s mother, by the way.” She extends her hand this time. “Since she didn’t introduce me.”
He moves back toward her, slipping his palm into hers. “It’s a pleasure, ma’am.”
“Oh, dear, none of that in this house.” She releases him and shoos that away. “Call me Sterling.”
His wheels are turning, his eyes darting between the two of us. “Sterling Palmer, or …”
She lights up with pride. “Palmer was my maiden name and what I went back to. You might be familiar with my husband’s last name, Jenkins. Although most people don’t know it off the top of their heads. Either way, Heath didn’t want me or the girls to keep it after everything went south.”
He rubs his fingers over his jaw, somewhat taken aback, before whipping his head to me.
“Your parents are Sterling and Heath? World-renowned art thieves Sterling and Heath?” His enthusiasm bleeds into a pall of sadness as what that means I endured in my childhood sinks in, but he snuffs it out and turns back to my mother in shameless fangirl mode. “So much respect for you.”
She cackles. “You’re right, Sylvie. He is cute.”
I’m going to kill her.
“So much respect for you, young man. You and your brothers are legends. We’ll talk shop later. Can I get you something to eat or drink?” When she notices his hesitation, she goes in for the kill. “I’ve got some vintage Pappy Van Winkle. How do you take it?”
He throws out a noncommittal hand. “In a glass.”
“Perfect. You two catch up. I’ll be a few minutes.”
Once she’s gone, I hop up again. “One drink, and then you need to go.”
“That’s not very hospitable, pal.” He wraps an arm around my waist, holding me so close that the air between us is devoured as he glides his knuckles down my cheek.
“I came a long way to make sure you were okay. Nothing would’ve stopped me from getting to you, and you want to shove me out the door? ”
I’m unsure if it’s his words or his proximity, his seductive scent or the graze of his skin against mine. Or maybe it’s just a day that feels as long as a lifetime. But my chest is heaving, and my heart is pounding, and I’m suddenly stupid.
“It hardly even hurts, so we’re … good.”
He tilts his head as if he caught me in a lie. “You told your mom I was cute.”
“She’s delusional,” I huff, but every part of me is aware of every part of him.
“I don’t think anyone’s used that word to describe me since I was twelve.”
“Proof that she’s losing her mind,” I counter.
His eyes flick to my parted lips, and his curl with a dare.
“Your body reacts to me, whether your mind wants it to or not.” He smooths one of my rebellious hairs away from my face, tucking it behind my ear.
“I’m here. I’ll do this friend thing, but I’m not going to pretend I don’t want you, that I don’t want your dress on the floor, like you mentioned at the party, or to mark every inch of you until your cells don’t feel whole without me.
But I will respect it. For now. Because I’ve never enjoyed spending time with a woman the way I do with you, so I’ll take what you can give. ”
Thank the heavens that he’s holding me up and I have the excuses of a sore ankle and too much wine because my knees are Jell-O.
“That’s quite a line, Noire.”
“You think I’ve chased you from corner to corner of the US to feed you a line?”
“Maybe you’re bored.”
“I own a resort and casino and host parties with farm animals; I’m certainly not bored.
I know a treasure when I see one.” He rasps that into my ear as he palms my head, his scruff scratching my heated cheek, his breath ghosting my neck, before he pulls back and grips my chin.
“And it wasn’t a line. It was a warning.
I will be the best goddamn friend you’ve ever had, Sly.
Then I’ll destroy that friendship because you’ll beg me to.
And I already know I’ll be helpless to your pleas, which means I’ll have you panting and screaming until your throat is raw and the only thing you want me to call you is mine. ”
Jesus, I’m on fire.
“I think I should sit.”