She hesitated, not trusting the sudden hint of mischievousness in his expression. He wiggled his fingers impatiently. Knowing he was up to something, but not entirely sure what, she placed her hand in his. He pulled her to her feet, then pulled her close, amusement and desire darkening his eyes.
'Won't dare to steal kisses with my friends around, huh?' he murmured, his breath washing across her cheeks and setting her whole body alive. 'Never tempt a thief with a statement like that.'
His mouth captured hers. She meant to protest, meant to push him away, but the moment his lips touched hers all resistance seemed to melt away. All she could think about, all she wanted, was him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer still. Her breasts were pressed hard against his chest, and she could feel his strengthening desire. He deepened the kiss and, for one moment, it felt as if he was delving deep into the very heart of her. Her pulse raced and her whole body was on fire, every nerve ending gloriously alive and aching with the need for his touch. For him.
Then he pulled away, his breathing harsh, eyes filled with such heat she felt it clear through to her toes.
'It hasn't faded, Kirby,' he said softly.
'No.' Quite the opposite, in fact.
'Nor will it, you know.'
'I know.'
He squeezed her fingers. 'Shall we go?'
She raised an eyebrow. 'Got the fast deflation model, have we?'
He grinned and brushed the hair from her eyes, his fingers trailing heat across her skin. 'No. But I have got a coat. Wonderful inventions, coats. They hide many secrets.'
'No doubt half of them stolen,' she said dryly.
He grinned and didn't deny it. 'I might even let you investigate one day, if you play your cards right.'
'I wait with breathless anticipation.'
His gaze found hers as he led her from the room. 'So do I,' he murmured. 'So do I.'
Heat crept through her cheeks. She pulled her gaze from his and knew, with absolute certainty, that if she survived the night without making love to him, it would be nothing short of a miracle.
Chapter Fifteen
They spent the rest of the day checking out the addresses of the various Marline and Mariel Thomases, only to come up empty every time. They were all either too young or too old. No one matched the images of the child in her mind.
Not that that meant anything, Kirby thought sourly. She closed her eyes, leaning back in the car seat.
Trina had looked nothing like her memories, either, so why Kirby herself was so certain she would recognize the witch was a puzzle.
Doyle climbed into the car and shoved several plastic bags onto the back seat.
'You've got enough food in those bags to feed an army,' she said with amusement. 'You planning to settle in for a long haul?'
'No, mainly because it wouldn't be safe. I am, however, starved.'
'That mean you're planning to cook?'
He raised an eyebrow. 'Can you?'
'Sort of.' Helen was the expert in that field. She'd only ever dabbled, and most of the time with disastrous effects. Which was why she'd been relegated to cooking only two nights out of seven.
' 'Sort of' will ruin my souffle.'
'You're kidding… aren't you?'
He grinned and started the engine. 'Certainly am. Can't stand souffle.'
She rolled her eyes. 'So what are we having?'
'You'll just have to wait and see.'
'You can be very irritating, you know that?'
He flashed her another grin and sent her heart into cartwheels. 'Thank you. It's a skill I work hard at.'
He pulled out into the traffic. She studied his profile, her artist instincts stirred by the sheer perfection of it. She'd paint it one day, though no doubt from memory. Pain twinged through her. She bit her lip and wondered again why he seemed so attracted to her. Was it just the danger pulling them close, or was there something more? He had the looks, and no doubt the money, to pick and choose as he pleased.
Surely an unwanted brown mouse from Nowhereville, Australia didn't have a hope of holding his interest for long.
And that was what was holding her back, she realized. As much as she wanted to make love to him, she was afraid that once she did, she'd want more. Want the whole box of dice. And she just couldn't believe he'd ever be content to stay with someone like her. Damaged goods, Helen had once called them both.
Thieves didn't take damaged goods—they only went after the very best.
'I am going after the very best,' he murmured.
She briefly closed her eyes. If only I could believe you.
But that was the trouble. She couldn't believe him. Couldn't trust that he meant anything he said. She'd learned the hard way that the world was filled with thieves—some, like Doyle, stole artifacts, jewelry and no doubt the occasional heart. Others, like the caretaker, stole innocence.
'Don't you dare put me in the same category as that animal,' he said, voice cold and flat. 'We're nothing alike.'
'I know, and that's not what I meant.' She hesitated, not really certain just where those thoughts had been headed, other than the fact that if Doyle stole her heart and then walked away, she'd never recover.
Not without Helen around to pick up the pieces.
Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away and risked a quick glance at him. His face was as stony as his thoughts. She'd annoyed him.
Hurt him.
And that was something she had never meant to do. 'I'm sorry,' she said softly. 'It's just… I just need time.' Time to know you. Time to know me . In two brief days, her life had irrevocably changed, and even the memories of her past had proven to be false. How could she possibly believe her feelings in such a situation? How could he? 'You can't just walk into my life and expect me to be swept away on a tide of emotion. It's not that easy.'
'It is that easy—if you trust.'
She rubbed her forehead. Her headache was beginning to come back again. 'I really don't want to discuss all this right now.'
He glanced at her, frustration evident in the blue of his eyes. 'We have to discuss it sometime.'
'Yes. But not now.' Not until she knew whether she actually had a future to discuss.
They drove on in silence. The night shadows were creeping across the sky by the time they returned to the farmhouse.
Doyle ushered her through the back door. 'Go have a nice long bath. I'll prepare dinner.'
'You don't want me to help?'
He raised a dark eyebrow and dumped the bags on the bench. 'Did Helen?'
She grinned. 'Well no, but that doesn't mean I can't help you.'
'I think I'll take it as a sign.' He tossed her one of the plastic bags. 'Don't turn on the light. Use the candle I bought instead.'
She looked inside the bag. There wasn't only a candle and lighter, but bath oil, herbal shampoo, conditioner, and soap. 'Why did you buy me these? I did bring my own toiletries, you know.'
