Authors: Elizabeth Lowell
When Kyle would have turned and started toward the atrium, Archer put a hand on his arm, stopping him. “There’s only a limited market for Neolithic jade artifacts,” Archer said neutrally.
“The market is expanding every day. Even New York has caught on. Besides, there’s a lot more to jade than Neolithic artifacts.”
“Do you feel expert enough to advise us on the full spectrum of jade, to go one-on-one with the Pacific Rim’s best?”
“Not yet. But Lianne Blakely is. Or didn’t your contact mention that?”
“He didn’t make a point of it. He just said she was a kind of back door into the closed world of the Tang Consortium.”
“Back door, huh? Okay, let’s see if I can learn more from sweet Lianne than she can learn from me before she’s finished using me for whatever old man Wen Zhi Tang has in mind.”
Archer blinked. “That’s scary.”
“What?”
“I understood you.”
Kyle forged a way through the crowd with Archer at his side. Once inside the atrium, the crush of people broke into clots centered around various exhibits of the corporations that were donating pieces to the auction.
“Forget it,” Kyle said, pulling Archer away from an exhibit of black South Seas pearls. “Lianne Blakely is into jade, remember?”
“Any harm in looking at something else?”
“If it’s you and pearls, yes.”
“As bad as you and jade?”
“Worse,” Kyle said, looking around.
Against the towering greenery-and-glass backdrop of the atrium, people from three continents and several island nations revolved around the central fountain, creating a kaleidoscope of languages and fashion. The fountain itself was striking—a clear, cantilevered glass sculpture of rectangles and rhomboids where light and water danced with a grace people could only envy. The sweet music of the water blended with the languages of Hong Kong, Japan, and several regions of China, as well as with English accented by countries as distant as Australia or Britain and as close as Canada.
“The jade must be on the other side of the atrium,” Kyle said.
“Why?”
“Most of the Anglos are right here, crowded around the rubies and sapphires from Burma or the Colombian emeralds or Russian diamonds. Jade is a more subtle, civilized taste.”
“Bull,” Archer said mildly. “Civilization has nothing to do with it. Jade was available in ancient China. Diamonds weren’t. Same goes for Europeans. Clear gemstones were more available than jade. Tradition is created from the materials at hand.”
Kyle and Archer continued arguing about culture, civilization, and gems while they circled around the glittering fountain. On the way to Asian jade, they passed museum-quality, pre-Columbian jade artifacts from Mexico and Central and South America. Fright masks of gold and turquoise grinned or snarled, scaring off demons whose names were known only to people thousands of years dead. Mixed in among the artifacts were modern examples of gold and jade art.
Everything, ancient or modern, had a card in front of it naming the corporation which owned the object. Corporate display of support for the arts was as much the purpose of the evening as the charity auction that would precede the ball.
By the time the Donovan brothers came to the section
reserved for offshore Chinese exhibits, Kyle was wishing he was aboard the
Tomorrow,
sharpening hooks and tying leaders for a dawn fishing raid. He snagged a glass of red wine from a passing waiter’s tray, sipped, and grimaced. At a function like this, he had expected higher quality.
“Bingo,” Archer said softly.
Kyle forgot the mediocre wine. “Where?”
“To the left of SunCo’s jade screens, near the Sikh in the jeweled turban.”
Though they were less than ten feet away, Kyle at first didn’t see any woman. Then the Sikh stepped aside.
Kyle stared. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“Hell.”
Kyle didn’t know what he had been expecting, but he knew Lianne Blakely wasn’t it. With a combination of skepticism, disgust, and grudging male interest, he studied the sleek, petite young woman who supposedly was so smitten with him that she had been watching him from afar for two weeks.
Yeah. Right. He was standing close enough to admire the fit of her panty hose, and her patrician little nose was buried in an exhibit of Warring States jade ornaments as though she was alone in a museum.
Then Lianne turned and looked at Kyle. Her wide, tilted eyes were the color of cognac. She hesitated, almost as if she might have recognized him. Then she shifted the thin strap of her tiny white silk purse on her shoulder and went back to studying jade as though no one else in the room existed, certainly not a man she was interested in meeting.
“You’re sure that’s her?” Kyle asked quietly, praying it wasn’t.
“I just said so, didn’t I?”
“She doesn’t look like an international art thief.”
“Really?” Archer asked softly. “How many have you known?”
“Not as many as you, I’m sure. So tell me, is she?”
“A thief?”
“Yeah.”
“They don’t wear labels.”
Kyle didn’t say anything more. He simply watched Lianne Blakely.
Archer looked from his brother to Lianne, wondering why Kyle had come to a point like a bird dog scenting warm pheasant. Lianne was attractive, maybe even beautiful in an exotic way, but she certainly wasn’t in the gorgeous-companion category. The simple white dress she wore fit well enough, but wasn’t slit from hem to crotch or throat to pubic bone in order to draw and hold a man’s eye. The jade bracelet she wore was doubtless Burmese and of the highest quality, as was her necklace, yet Kyle didn’t seem to have noticed the jewelry. He was staring at the woman and ignoring the jade.
Not good.
“Maybe we should forget the whole thing,” Archer said abruptly. “I’ll put off the trip to Japan and Australia, give you more time to heal up.”
“I told you, my shoulder is good as new,” Kyle said without looking away from Lianne.
“Nothing is good as new after a bullet.”
Kyle shrugged, then winced. His shoulder still ached when the weather was setting up for rain. In the Pacific Northwest, that was pretty often. “I know much more about jade than you do.”
“Considering how little I know, that’s not much of an argument for your participation in this little waltz.”
Kyle smiled crookedly. The non sequitur hadn’t even made Archer pause before he answered. That was the good thing about family: they knew you well enough to follow your thoughts.
It was also the bad thing about family. That kind of knowing could be claustrophobic when there were six kids. But Kyle had learned the hard way that running off to the other side of the world didn’t prove anything except what he already knew.
He was four years and one century younger than his oldest brother.
“What’s really bothering you?” Kyle asked, looking at Archer. “Afraid another woman will grab me by my dumb handle and lead me into trouble?”
“If you get hurt because of me, Susa will have my butt on a canvas stretcher.”
“Our own mother? Ha! You’re her favorite son.”
Archer gave Kyle a look that would have backed off anyone else.
Kyle wasn’t about to back up anywhere. He felt like he had just taken a sucker punch to the gut. Lianne Blakely was everything that appealed to him in a woman, and he hadn’t even known it until he saw her. He had thought he liked big women; she was small. He had thought he liked blondes; she was dark. He had thought he liked outgoing, laughing women; she was quiet, poised around an inner stillness.
One thing Kyle did know for certain was that he never wanted to be at the mercy of his dick again. Yet he wanted Lianne in a way that had nothing to do with old knowledge, old learning, old promises. His sudden, primitive arousal made him furious. He must be a slow learner on the subject of being used by a woman.
Maybe he could be a fast learner on the subject of how to use one.
“Don’t wait up for me,” Kyle told his brother, starting toward Lianne. “I’ve got some monkey business to conduct.”
T
hough Lianne pretended to be absorbed by the exquisite jades in the display case, she knew the exact moment Kyle Donovan began to walk toward her. Even before her father had made his surprising request, she had been watching Kyle out of the corner of her eye. It was easy. Kyle Donovan had the kind of athletic body and fierce blond looks associated with Vikings.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he said.
Startled, Lianne glanced away from a Warring States jade buckle and into Kyle’s eyes. They were the most unusual she had ever seen: a starburst of gold around the black pupil, then green all the way to a thin outer rim of glittering black.
“Excuse me?” she managed, trying not to stare at his eyes. “You didn’t really say that.”
“You’re right. Must have been my evil twin brother. Got a match?”
“I don’t smoke.”
“Neither do I, but it seemed like a good way to strike up a conversation. I could have done something more timely, but you aren’t wearing a watch.”
Lianne groaned at the puns and was rewarded by an off-center smile. She blinked and wondered if he had any idea how welcoming his smile was.
“I’m Kyle Donovan,” he said, holding out his hand.
“You’re Lianne Blakely. Now that we’ve met, you can tell me why you’ve been stalking me for the last two weeks.”
Her amusement faded. For the first time, she noticed that his unusual eyes were watching her with the kind of remote, measuring glance usually reserved for unwanted relatives who showed up on the doorstep just in time for dinner.
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“You. Following me. Tonight. Two days ago. Last week.”
“Are you referring to the fact that we’ve both attended the same jade showings?”
“Yes.”
“That constitutes following you?”
“A guy can hope.”
“A guy can drop off.”
Kyle shrugged. “Okay.”
He turned and started to walk away.
“Wait,” Lianne said before she could think better of it.
There were promises to keep. And there was the undeniable fact that Kyle Donovan interested her. Maybe she was finally getting over the man who had seduced her, married a proper Chinese maiden, and then had been surprised when Lianne didn’t want to continue the relationship.
Like mother, like daughter.
Kyle turned back toward Lianne. And waited.
Lianne took a hidden, calming breath and glanced up through her eyelashes at the tall man whose shoulders were too wide for her comfort. The wineglass looked small in his big hand, yet he held the crystal with precision and delicacy. His inherent restraint and coordination reassured her. She repeated what had become her mantra in the past two weeks:
You can do it. Women do it all the time.
Yet Lianne had never stalked a good-looking stranger. Until recently. And she had been caught. Now she wondered what to do next. Something subtle, perhaps indirect,
certainly calm, preferably patient. Those were the qualities favored by her almost-family of Tang.
“I have a really big favor to ask,” Lianne said baldly. Subtlety, indirection, and patience be damned.
“Decent wine?” Kyle asked.
She looked at her own half-full glass and almost smiled. She was so edgy tonight that everything tasted like vinegar and ashes. She set her glass aside, took a steadying breath, and smiled.
“Try the beer,” she suggested, raising her voice to carry over a burst of Cantonese as three connoisseurs argued over the merits of a Ming statue. “The Chinese aren’t noted for their understanding of wine.”
“That explains it.”
“What?”
“Last week. Bubbles in the burgundy.”
Despite Kyle’s dry words and crooked smile, his golden-green eyes were watching her with unflinching patience. He was waiting for her answer the way a cougar waited for a fawn to do something stupid.
A server came by balancing a tray of wineglasses both empty and full. He picked up Lianne’s glass, accepted Kyle’s, and took their refusal of more wine with an understanding smile.
“Bubbles in the burgundy,” Lianne repeated, biting her lower lip and smiling almost sadly as the waiter disappeared into the crowd.
Silence grew. Kyle did nothing to break it.
“You know,” she said, “it would be easier if you at least smiled again.”
He did.
It wasn’t.
“I’m not planning on sticking a nail file in your oversize chest,” Lianne said, “if that’s what is bothering you.”
Despite his wariness of the intriguing Ms. Blakely, Kyle’s smile warmed a few degrees. The thought of the petite lady attacking him was amusing.
It was also arousing. The stirring of his body surprised him. He hadn’t been much interested in women lately. Being set up to die by a former lover had had a chilling effect on his interest in the fair sex.
“What do you want from me?” Kyle asked bluntly.
Irritation jerked, replacing Lianne’s uneasiness. He had no reason to act as though she was a criminal or a beggar asking for a handout.
“Do I have to have an agenda? Hasn’t a girl ever come on to a big stud muffin like you?” she asked with cool sarcasm.
“Yeah. That’s how I know you aren’t. What do you want from me, Lianne Blakely, and what makes you think I can help you out?”
“You’re big.”
“So is a stuffed elephant. Want me to call a taxidermist?”
The idea of hauling a stuffed elephant to jade sales or to meet the Tangs would have made Lianne laugh, but the look in Kyle’s unwavering eyes took the humor right out of the situation. The wishful thinking she had done about taking care of two problems at once—her promise to Johnny and her own protection—evaporated.
“Please do,” Lianne said. “I think you would be charming stuffed. In fact, it’s undoubtedly the only way you
could
be charming.”
Without intending to, Kyle laughed. “Oh, I have my moments.”
“I’m breathless.”
He took her hand, raised it slowly to his lips, and brushed a Continental kiss over her fingers.
“Let’s start over again,” he said, putting her hand between his. “I’m Kyle, you’re Lianne, we’re both human, and we’re both interested in Chinese jade. What else do we have in common?”
“My hand.”
“A very nice hand,” Kyle agreed without releasing it.
“Small, clean, warm, elegant shape, nails buffed but not lacquered. That’s another thing we have in common.”
“Buffed fingernails?”
“Warmth,” he said, running a fingertip lightly over her palm.
Lianne felt breath filling up her throat. “All right. You have moments of charm. May I have my hand back?”
“Sure you want it?”
“I’m very attached to it.”
Kyle grinned. “And you wince at
my
puns.”
He released her hand by letting it slide slowly from between his own. Hoping to conceal the slight quiver of her response to what felt very much like a caress, Lianne laced her fingers together as soon as both hands were free.
“All present and accounted for?” he asked dryly.
“What?”
“Your fingers.”
“Oh. Er, yes. All ten. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. I rarely eat digits on first acquaintance.”
Lianne blew out her breath. She had a distinct feeling that the conversation was slipping right out of her control.
The combination of alarm and humor in her expression got to Kyle more deeply than her taut little body and wide cognac eyes. In some ways she reminded him of Honor and Faith, his younger twin sisters, who often started more than they could finish with their older brothers.
A burst of Mandarin came from behind Kyle. The only word he recognized was Lianne’s name. Though she didn’t move an inch, she seemed to withdraw behind a thick glass shield. Whoever was heading toward her wasn’t someone she wanted to see.
Kyle turned and saw a thickset, middle-aged man bearing down on them. The two younger men walking behind him could have been his sons or nephews or cousins or business associates, but Kyle doubted it. Something about them smacked of bodyguards.
Then Kyle recognized the older man as Han Wu Seng
and was certain that the other men were bodyguards. Seng was one of the People’s Republic of China’s foremost political facilitators. Anyone who needed a few million for a good political cause could come to Seng, trade favors, and walk away a richer man. No wire transfers, no paper trail. Cash only. Hence the bodyguards. He never knew when he would meet a hungry politician, so he was always prepared for business.
Seng strode up and stood very close to Lianne by anyone’s cultural standards. By mainland Chinese standards, it was nearly a physical assault.
She stepped back as though turning to say something to Kyle, but it was just a polite excuse to put more distance between herself and Seng. He was one of the biggest reasons Lianne wanted Kyle at her side in the next few weeks, until Seng was called back to the mainland.
Seng wanted her. He was known for getting what he wanted, whether it was jade, political power, or a woman. What worried Lianne was that Wen Zhi Tang was eager to form a liaison with Seng, hoping it would lead to the Tangs being viewed with more favor by the mainland Chinese. While she didn’t care about Tang ambitions, for both personal and professional reasons she didn’t want to anger her grandfather.
“There you are,” Seng said impatiently. “You were to be with the Tang Consortium exhibit, but no, you are flying like an autumn leaf around the building. Have you heard anything more about the contents of the Jade Emperor’s Tomb? I was told there was a particularly spectacular piece of fellatio, a possible cunnilingus, a phallus for the instruction of young concubines, a—”
Lianne put a business smile on her face and calmly interrupted one of the PRC’s most powerful capitalists. “Forgive me,” she said in rapid Mandarin, “but I must introduce my companion, who speaks only English. It will be necessary for me to translate.”
While Lianne made introductions in two languages, Seng looked at Kyle with shrewd black eyes. Though Seng
shook hands with appropriate vigor, he didn’t bother to hide his lack of interest in Kyle’s existence.
Then the name Donovan sank in.
“Donovan International?” Seng asked in heavily accented English.
Kyle nodded.
Seng’s smile warmed. He began speaking in rapid Mandarin. Lianne translated, working only a few words behind him. Kyle focused on the English and looked at Seng. Seng focused on the Mandarin and looked at Kyle. Both men were accustomed to business meetings that were conducted in several languages. The trick was to get a good translator, one who was not only accurate but fast and seamless.
Lianne was very good.
Kyle listened to the usual compliments, returned as good as he got, and wondered what Seng wanted from Donovan International.
“Your father is a difficult man to meet,” Seng said finally.
“The Donovan is noted for being difficult,” Kyle agreed.
“That makes doing business very difficult.”
“Not really,” Kyle said, smiling. “His assistants are easy to reach.”
“It is better to deal with Mr. Donovan himself.”
“I’ve said the same thing to The Donovan many times. He doesn’t listen to me. But then, I’m only Number Four Son. The Number One Son is Archer. Have you met him?”
“I have not had the opportunity.”
Kyle glanced around. Archer was nowhere in sight. Kyle shrugged. “Maybe next time.” He looked directly at Lianne. “If you want, I’ll take a hike and—”
One of Lianne’s hands wrapped around Kyle’s wrist. Her speed surprised him as much as the clenched intensity of her grip.
“It would be an unforgivable breach of etiquette not to
make the rounds of all the exhibits,” Lianne said quickly. “We promised, remember?”
The plea in her eyes was as naked as the pressure of her fingers on his skin.
“You’re right, of course,” Kyle murmured, putting a hand over hers. Then he asked softly, “Is he the reason you wanted a stuffed elephant?”
Lianne gave an odd crack of laughter and answered with half the truth. “Yes.”
The other half was the man she thought had followed her from her mother’s condo. The man she might have glimpsed through openings in the crowd when she looked away from a display unexpectedly. Medium height. Black tuxedo. Common Caucasian complexion and color. So unexceptional she couldn’t even be certain she had seen him.
Yet no matter how she tried to ignore it, she had the uneasy sensation of being followed. Despite her years of karate workouts, she had zero desire to go one-on-one with a mugger or worse. The gym was one thing. A back alley was quite another.
“Much as I’d like to chat,” Kyle said to Seng, “Lianne and I are on a short clock. There’s so much to look at before the auction begins. I’m sure you understand. Next time I speak with The Donovan, I’ll be sure to mention your name.”
Lianne’s fingers loosened, but didn’t leave Kyle’s wrist. Her translation took an unusual amount of time. Kyle kept smiling, for he suspected that she was smoothing a ruffled ego. Yet nothing in her eyes or posture suggested that she regretted brushing off Han Wu Seng, or that she was interested in touching him with anything more personal than words.
A year ago, Kyle would have felt simple masculine pleasure at being preferred over a man who could buy and sell countries, much less people. But any flicker of pleasure Kyle might have had was burned out by a much stronger curiosity: why had Lianne picked him as her white knight?
He looked at her slender, steel-hard fingers holding onto his wrist and decided that the answer was probably as simple as the Tang Consortium deciding that Number Four Son was indeed the easiest mark at Donovan International.
The only important question remaining was what the Tangs wanted.
“Thank you,” Lianne said quietly, letting go of Kyle’s wrist as Han Seng and his two shadows stalked off.
“Most women would be delighted to have Seng look at them the way he looks at you.”
“Like a piece of merchandise?”
“Beautiful merchandise.”
“Another pun?” Lianne said, but there was no laughter in her voice.
Kyle’s bronze eyebrows rose in silent question.