No, she corrected. Not heat. Something more. Desire, yes. But not merely sexual. What she saw when he looked at her was herself reflected back, as if he wanted her—all of her—and not just her body.
Dammit, she was going to have to strangle Jean. There’d been no need to pull her into this.
To make her once again want what she knew she couldn’t have.
“Don’t you think?”
She blinked, then realized that they’d been talking to her. “What?”
Jean Michel smiled. “I said we should open the amulet and see if we can’t convince Mr. Franklin that this piece is in fact relevant to his search, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “You haven’t told me what you found inside.”
“True,” he said, the lines around his eyes crinkling. “I told you only that I was certain. And now I will prove it to the two of you at the same time.” He held the amulet out to her. “The item belonged to a woman. It is only fitting that a woman should open it.”
He placed the amulet in her hand, the chain twisting into her palm. It was lighter than she would have expected, and she realized that it was hollow. Carefully, she examined the piece, then found the small gap between the halves. She slid her thumbnail in and felt a pop as the clasp gave. The amulet opened like a clamshell, revealing a hollow interior, much like that of a locket, only with a greater volume. She’d read about such items, and knew that often they concealed contraband such as opiates or poisons. This amulet concealed nothing but a message, the text in French but easily translatable.
Steal our honor
Steal our soul
Thou shalt pay with the gravest of fortune
Until the soul of us is returned
To swell the heart of an angel
Who sings glory on high
She looked from Jean to Reg. “What does it mean?”
“I don’t know yet,” Reg said. “But I think Jean is right. This is the amulet Olivia mentions.” He pointed to the opposing side from the inscription, and when Anne leaned in close, she saw the initials TF scraped into the gold, as if with the end of a knife. “Timothy Franklin, possibly? Olivia’s husband.” He met her eyes, and she saw the hint of excitement, so familiar from when they’d been on the chase together. “If I’m right—and if I can truly resolve the history of this piece—then maybe I can finally bring an end to this curse.”
He met her eyes, and she held her breath, waiting for the words that didn’t come. Words that would say why, other than his family and his safety and his own well-being, he would want the curse lifted. Wanting to hear him say he wanted her.
He didn’t say it, and she felt like a fool, all the more so because after three years, she really should be over him. It really shouldn’t hurt anymore.
“Who did you acquire this from?” Reg asked, his attention on Jean.
“A young woman named Libby.” The dealer was already writing the woman’s information on the back of a business card. “I don’t think she knows much, but perhaps enough to get you started.”
Reg pocketed the card, then held out his hand for the amulet. Anne pressed it into his palm, her skin sharp with awareness when she brushed his hand. If the room had been dark, she believed that sparks would have popped with the contact, but Reg’s face stayed flat, his eyes on Jean and not on her, and Anne couldn’t tell if he didn’t feel it, or if he felt too much.
She hoped for the latter, and at the same time hated herself for even letting the thought into her head.
She shouldn’t have come. This wasn’t her quest anymore. She needed to leave.
“How much do I owe you?” Reg asked, pulling out his wallet.
Jean Michel shook his head. “For today, consider it a loaner. If it turns out to truly be the amulet you seek, you can come back and I will charge you through the nose.”
Reg laughed and the men shook hands.
She stood watching them, wanting to simply walk away. After all, this wasn’t her problem anymore. Reg was here, and he hadn’t even called her to tell her he was coming. He didn’t need her any more and staying bordered on pathetic.
She didn’t consider herself pathetic. Or needy. Or clingy.
Where Reg was concerned, though, she constantly feared that she could fall into those horrible tendencies simply because he overloaded her. Her senses, her desire.
Her wants.
Go. Go now, before it’s too hard to walk away.
“I’m staying at the Vieux Carre,” he said, his voice almost casual, but with enough edge to it that she understood the cost of the words.
“My car is parked near there,” she said, meeting his eyes and lifting her chin, as if to prove to him that she was still whole despite the way he’d been ripped from her. “I’ll walk there with you.”