Never Love a Naked P.I.

satisfied, rippling chuckles. She nipped his nose, tugged on his ear lobes, blew on his clenched eyelids as her fingers dug into his hair and her legs tightened around his trunk. He swayed slightly and the power that rippled through his body as he adjusted his stance sent another thrilling cascade through Amanda.

He pried his eyes open, the dark and shadowed pools into which she indulgently plunged, diving and stroking, swimming luxuriously through the liquid of his heavy-lidded gaze.

“Was it good for you, too?” he smirked.

She pounded his buttocks with her heels and they tumbled laughing onto the floor.

How could she ever let this man go?

Chapter 15

MARC GAVE up berating himself for not keeping his mind on business. Amanda Catherine Emerson had infected his soul. He would carry her with him always. While it lasted, it had been…

He looked over at her sleeping form, naked under the sheet in the cool spring morning, a smile of pleasure curving between her satiated, glowing cheeks. His chest swelled. He grinned into the breaking dawn. He had put that smile there.They had put that smile there. He was feeling pretty damn smiley himself.

He raised the sheet, careful not to cause a draft over her warm body, and let his eyes caress her. Her silken impression still remained in his inflamed skin. His gaze glided over the luscious hills and verdant valleys and his body responded as if ignited.

Damn, buddy. This is going to be a tough one to leave.

His brows knitted together. Stretching his arms behind his head, he thrust back into his threaded fingers.

Not to worry. It’s not that big a deal with Ace.

She had made love to him like lightning. As if they were going to be together forever. There was no hesitancy. Not the slightest indication that she was even considering the fact they couldn’t last.

Well, that was good. He gave a small snort of resignation. He had a business to run, and it wasn’t in New York. She had a life to get on with and it was in New York. Marc was glad it didn’t seem to be something that needed much talking about. Their leaving. Each other.

Leaving wasn’t the kind of thing Marc had ever felt comfortable talking about. But he was learning. The last couple of relationships he had been pretty up front. Not too many recriminations. He was growing up and no longer needed the macho posturing of having to stalk away feeling the wounded party.

I must have been one tough son-of-a-bitch to grow up with. David wasn’t one to feel too much sympathy for, but, still…

Amanda had talked about her family back in Pittsburgh. Over the spaghetti and sauce he had helped prepare. They had found candles and sat naked in the candlelight eating and telling their life stories, sipping good red wine and discussing their philosophies of surviving.

Disagreeing-Jeez, Ace can be stubborn and she’s damn hard on her guys at home – then suddenly moving- like quicksilver; uncontainable. She had more than once gotten teary-eyed at some dumb thing he had said about growing up; at some tender thing she had said herself about something.

She would probably make some kid a great mother. All that understanding.

Marc sucked in the cool morning air. The knot in the middle of his chest remained just as heavy.

God damn! It was going to be hard as hell…

He slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom. Let her sleep. He had to get ready for the day. Hit the gym. Practice poses- this time he had to come up with something that would nail the perpetrator. Get this case over with.

He had to bring his brother home. Check with the Met. With Cambiare. See if the insurance company had any news about their missing agent. Keep alert. Some hulking bastard was out there looking to do God knows what harm.

He headed into the kitchen and started breakfast. He could make a pretty good omelet. It would be a nice way for her to wake up. He started coffee. The whipped eggs and milk crackled into the hot margarine and he yelped at the stinging pinpoints that hit his naked body.

Amanda came out of the bedroom, dressed in one of his shirts, her dark, luscious hair tumbling about her sleepy head. Jeez, he had hoped she would still be into the naked thing. She looked delectable. His chest hurt even more.

“Watch out what you’re spattering hot grease on, buddy.”

With a macho flourish, he tied a dishcloth around his middle and she slapped his exposed tush. He turned to grab her and the look of surprise and realization- at their comfortable playfulness, at their imminent loss- the look on her face stopped him cold.

They held each other tightly for a moment, breathing deep, forcing reality into their lungs. And then broke apart, smiling resolutely and ready to face the day.

And that was how it started.

Pretty damn grim.

“I AM thrilled beyond measure!” Professor Angeli’s shrill voice cut through the phone wire with an hysterical edge that concerned Amanda. “Mr. Wilde is being dreadfully circumspect. I think he has a most extraordinary session in mind. Complete with props and costumes.

“I hope it won’t be too startling to our young model. Though I suppose he’s been a part of all sorts of artistic endeavors. I can’t wait. I shall be there with poised pen, prepared to be inspired. I hope my feeble efforts shan’t disappoint anyone.” The uncontrolled edge of his forced laughter caused Amanda to ponder the receiver in her hand as its dial tone buzzed annoyingly.

While Marc showered, Amanda continued making her calls. Mr. Wilde was not circumspect at all. He was filled with enthusiasm for the plans he was making. Costumes, indeed, yes. Props, indeed, yes. But the most amazing thing…

“I am supplying you all with paper of the period. And properly formulated ink. Don’t tell. It’s to be a special surprise. I have a special cache and I dole out my treasures very carefully. This is a particularly exciting occasion. Young Antonio has indeed fired all our imaginations and to have him to ourselves… It’s as though we were members of a very special salon in a very special time. I shall say no more.” And with a totally unusual chuckle of satisfaction, he hung up.

Amanda again found herself staring at the phone in disbelief. “Marc, is that possible? Paper of the period? And ink?”

“My, my, breaking out the big guns. Maybe we haven’t been paying close enough attention to the formidable Mr. Wilde. Oh yeah, it’s possible. Difficult, but possible.” He was in his gym shorts ready to go for his workout. It was hard for Amanda to concentrate.

“Old paper gets discovered all the time. Some of it hits the art black market, some of it shows up in legit houses. End papers of books of the period can be cut out. And ink is formulated from organic stuff that’s been around for a hell of a lot longer than five hundred years. Oil is oil. Clay is clay. Even carbon sticks can be made from old wood.” He shoved fresh shorts and socks into the plastic garment bag that held his suit and shirt and shoes and zipped it closed.

“Which makes it impossible to tell by the age of the materials if the art work is faked, because all the tests check out. The paper is old. The ink is old. Then it comes down to artistic judgment and that can cause a drawing’s worth to skyrocket. Nobody’s going to take the chance the thing might not be for real.” He threw the garment bag over his arm, picked up his gym bag and headed for the door.

“The drawing’s history- its provenance- might be fake, but if it looks like a Michelangelo, smells like a Michelangelo, and talks like a Michelangelo, then, by gummies, somebody somewhere is going to cough up the big bucks just in case, one day, it walks like a Michelangelo.”

He kissed her on the cheek; they caught on a longing look; then Marc quickly left.

Amanda continued her phone calls.