“Your skin is so soft, so smooth. And your eyes reflect your inner self. So intelligent, so brave even when you were so frightened that you would never regain your memory.”
“Terrified” was closer to the mark, but she wasn’t about to interrupt this interesting inventory.
Smiling, he threaded his fingers through her hair.
“I love how this goes golden-brown in the sunlight. Like thick, rich honey. It’s true, your chin hints at a bit of a stubborn streak but your lips… Ah, Natushka, your lips. Have you any idea what that little pout of yours does to me?”
“Children pout,” she protested. “Sultry beauties with collagen lips pout. I merely express…”
“Disapproval,” he interjected, nipping at her lower lip. “Disdain. Disgust. All of which I saw in your face the first time we met. I wondered then whether I could make these same lips quiver with delight and whisper my name.”
The nipping kisses achieved the first of his stated goals. Pleasure rippled across the surface of Natalie’s skin even as Dom’s husky murmur sent up a warning flag. She’d represented a challenge. She’d sensed that from the beginning. She remembered, too, how his sister and cousins had teased him about his many conquests. But now? Was the slow heat he stirred in her belly, the aching need in her chest, merely the by-product of a skilled seduction? Had she tumbled into love with the wrong man again?
She knew the answer before the question even half formed. Dominic St. Sebastian was most definitely the right man. The only man she wanted in her heart. In her life. She couldn’t tell him, though. Her one and only previous foray into this love business had left her with too much baggage. Too many doubts and insecurities. And she was leaving in the morning. That more than anything else blocked the words she ached to say.
It didn’t keep her from cradling his face in her palms while she kissed him long and hard. Or undressing him slowly, savoring every taut muscle, every hollow and hard plane of his body. Or groaning his name when he drove them both to a shattering climax.
Fourteen
Natalie couldn’t classify the next five weeks as totally miserable.
Her first priority when she landed in New York was refurbishing her wardrobe before the meeting with Sarah and her editors. After she’d checked into her hotel she made a quick foray to Macy’s. Sarah had smiled her approval at her assistant’s conservative but nicely tailored navy suit and buttercup-yellow blouse.
Her smile had morphed to a wide grin when she and Natalie emerged from the meeting at Random House. Her editors were enthusiastic about how close the manuscript was to completion and anxious to get their hands on the final draft.
After a second meeting to discuss advance promo with Sarah’s former boss at Beguile magazine, the two women flew back to California and hit the ground running. They spent most of their waking hours in Sarah’s spacious, glass-walled office on the second floor of the Pacific Palisades mansion she shared with Dev. The glorious ocean view provided no distraction as they revised and edited and polished and proofed.
The final draft contained twenty-two chapters, each dedicated to a specific lost treasure. The Fabergé egg rated one chapter, the Bernini bronze another. The final chapter was devoted to the Canaletto, with space left for a photograph of the painting being restored to its rightful owner. If it was ever restored!
The authentication and provenance process was taking longer than any of the St. Sebastians had hoped. Several big-time insurance companies were now involved, anxious to recoup the hundreds of thousands of dollars they’d paid out over the years.
The Canaletto didn’t fall into that category. It had been insured, as had many of the valuable objects in Karlenburgh Castle, but the policy contained exclusions for loss due to war and/or acts of God. By categorizing the 1956 Uprising as war, the insurer had wiggled out of compensating the duchess for St. Sebastian heirlooms that had either disappeared or made their way into private collections. Still, with so many conflicting claims to sort out, the team charged with verifying authenticity and rightful ownership had its hands full.
Dominic, Dev Hunter and Jack Harris had done what they could to speed the process. Dev offered to fund part of the effort. Jack helped facilitate coordination between international agencies asserting conflicting claims. Much to his disgust, Dom didn’t return to undercover work. Instead, his boss at Interpol detailed him to act as their liaison to the recovery team. He grumbled about that but provided the expertise to link Lagy to several black marketeers and less reputable galleries suspected of dealing in stolen art.
He kept Sarah and Natalie apprised of the team’s progress by email and texts. The personal calls came in the evenings, after Natalie had dragged back to her rented one-room condo. They’d spoken every couple of nights when she’d first returned, less frequently as both she and Dom got caught up in their separate tasks. But just the sound of his voice could make her hurt with a combination of hunger and loneliness.