She turned back, nodding towards Regent’s Park, a few minutes from our hotel destination. “Shall we?”
I held out my palm. “Before we meander through the gardens, I’ll need my stolen property back.”
Devon placed the card in the palm of my hand, my real name exposed. “You dropped it.”
I shook my head, refused to release her gaze. Today, the goddess wore stilettoed boots that could have doubled as weapons and a black, long-sleeved dress that revealed every sweet and perfect curve to her luscious body. Her satin hair was free, wild around her shoulders, thick and wavy.
“Such an interesting way to explain pickpocketing,” I chided.
She scrunched up her nose. “Well, you dropped it into your pocket. And I retrieved it.”
I slipped the card back where it came from. We were starting to walk, and I hadn’t realized it. “Who taught you to do that?”
A flash of emotion behind her eyes before she smiled at me instead. A sexy, feline smile. “Old trick,” she explained. “I only do it for men-on-vacation.”
I unleashed my own slow grin and felt unbearably pleased at the light flush in her cheeks. “At least now we’re even.”
“How so?”
I lifted a shoulder. “We’re two strangers using fake names while on vacation in London. Some might call it equal footing.”
“Ah, so you admit it, Daniel,” she said. Her smile this time was less edgy, more genuinely amused. There was a corresponding increase of my heart rate. Strange. I’d never thought I’d enjoy walking through a park in London with a woman I fully knew was both a liar and a thief. And yet every conversation I engaged in with this woman felt like sitting down at a chess board with your equal. Every move mimicked. Every thought precipitated.
I laughed softly, shook my head. “I knew it the minute you introduced yourself as Devon.”
A sly look from my chess partner but no answer. We were stopped at a red light, waiting our turn. I dropped my mouth lower, toward her ear.
“The name doesn’t suit you one bit, Ms. Atwood.” I watched goosebumps rise along the side of her neck.
“You’re one to talk,” she said, teasing. “Why aren’t I a ‘Devon’?”
“In my experience, Devons are sweet,” I said mildly. “They wear sweater sets and run for class president and cheerfully organize every birthday party in the office. Maybe they have one cat named after a character in a Jane Austen novel.”
The gorgeous liar stopped in her tracks. To the left stretched the massive greenery of The Regent’s Park and the Queen Mary’s Rose Gardens. I could hear water, see people and couples stretching out on the green even without the benefit of the sun to bathe in. It was quite effortless to pretend this woman and I truly were two strangers who had a connection while on vacation and were strolling around the tourist attractions together.
I mean, really, we were doing that.
And really… I enjoyed it more than I cared to admit.
“I don’t strike you as a cheerful organizer of office parties?” One elegant eyebrow raised, mocking me.
“You don’t strike me as sweet,” I repeated. Her bold red lips parted, only further convincing me of this fact. The goddess standing in front of me was bite marks and smoky laughter, clever wit and dark desires. She wasn’t fucking sweet, and I’d never liked sweet.
A lift of the shoulder. “Perhaps I own more sweater sets than you’re aware of. And while we’re on the topic, you’re not a Daniel.”
“In what way?” The Langham Hotel appeared ahead of us, large and elegant. I was slowing my steps, drawing out my time with this beautiful mystery. Presumably, she knew my name. So why was she teasing it out?
“I haven’t known a lot of Daniels who look that hot in a suit.”
We’d reached the lobby of The Langham Hotel—and while her words threatened to stop me, literally, in my tracks, she continued walking toward the bank of elevators. I kept pace, barely, and worked to keep my tone even.
She pressed the button for six. The doors opened and we stepped inside.
“That was a nice compliment,” I said. We were both leaning against our respective walls, tension hanging between us in the wide space.
“Some might even call it sweet,” she purred.
I smiled again. I could see her anticipated moves. “What were you doing meeting with Eudora Green?”
Devon paused, dragging out the moment. “I’m here exploring London and every place mentioned by Doyle in his stories. And I’m curious about those Doyle papers. And the only person in the Society I haven’t connected with is Bernard Allerton.”
The mention of Bernard’s name so casually had my pulse racing even faster. Who was this woman?
“What do Eudora and Bernard have to do with finding the thing that you lost a month ago?” I asked, referencing our first conversation.
The elevator binged. The doors opened. We both stepped onto floor six. Was she following me? And if she came onto me, outside my door, with a giant bed awaiting us inside, would I even pretend to resist?
“They have a lot to do with it, actually,” she said. “I’m guessing your conversation with Eudora might have been about the same thing.”
We were stopped in front of my room—#608. I was back to feeling muddled again—dazzled by the scent of her, confused by her mind games, intrigued by her beauty. She was nothing but a gorgeous, lying, pickpocketing challenge. And god help me if she followed me inside, I’d drop to my knees eagerly. Spend this entire day, and into the next, worshipping every inch of her with my mouth. She could keep the boots on. She could even keep the dress on—I’d only have to slip the fabric of her underwear to one side to give her everything she needed.
“Who are you?” I asked softly—Bernard fan? Bernard hunter? Just a Sherlock Holmes enthusiast from America who likes lying about her name?
“Who are you?” Sincerity sparkled in her eyes. “And why is a private detective using a fake name while pretending to be on vacation?”
So she had gone ahead and researched my name, researched Codex. And god, why was I growing harder? Since first seeing her last night, my cock had been hard and heavy, body filled with yearning. This cat-and-mouse game was only making it worse because the tension between us was strung tight, and neither was willing to let go.
I refused to make it easy on her. I leaned a shoulder against my hotel room door, nodded at her pretty fingers. “In a past life, I’d arrest you for stealing.”
She tossed her gorgeous hair. “Handcuffs and all?”
A vision of slapping cool cuffs around her wrists while I pressed her body to a wall hit me like a truck barreling down the highway. I had to slip my hands into my pockets to hide their incessant clenching. And to prevent them from reaching out, grabbing the back of her neck, and dragging her toward me.
“If that’s the kind of thing you like,” I finally said—tone grating, raw.
“It’s the kind of thing I love,” she said, slowly backing down the hallway. “Too bad I don’t do that kind of thing with liars.”
I swallowed hard, watched her hungrily as she paused in front of the room directly next to mine. #610.
“Are we… neighbors?” I asked, genuinely surprised.