Kate Hoffmann - Ian

Marisol wanted to know that man, but at the same time, he held such power over her-the power to take her father away from her again. No, she couldn’t trust him. Not now, not yet. Sascha was the only person who knew the truth and it would have to stay that way until she sorted out this mess.

“Well, are you going to answer my question?” Sascha asked.

“Am I still sleeping with him?”

“That’s what I asked. Either you are or you aren’t.”

“No. In fact, he knows something’s going on with me…and David. He has-he had a file on us both.”

“What?”

Marisol held out her hand to calm Sascha’s rising panic. “It’s all right. He didn’t read it, but he has suspicions about me.”

“What kind of cop is he?”

“I think he might be afraid of what he’ll learn,” Marisol admitted.

Sascha gasped. “He’s in love with you.”

“Don’t be silly,” Marisol cried.

“I’m not. He’s a cop who suspects you might be involved in criminal activity and yet he’s unwilling to even figure out what you’re up to. He’s in love with you.”

“We barely know each other.” Marisol turned away from Sascha and began to arrange her tubes of paint on the wide surface of the worktable. Was Sascha right? After all, why wouldn’t Ian appease his natural curiosity by reading the file on her? She drew a deep breath and tried to sort it all out in her mind. Was it because he didn’t care? Or because he cared too much?

“I have to find a place to hide the painting,” Marisol murmured. “David showed up a few nights ago and I think he was trying to break in here and steal it back. If he gets it, there’s no way I can fix this for my father.”

“Where can you put it?”

“You could take it,” she suggested. “Hide it at your place until we’re ready to make the switch.”

Sascha shook her head. “Not a chance. I agreed to help you with your little plan, but that extends to creating a diversion. If I get caught with that painting, my career would be over.”

“I understand.”

Marisol considered all her options and could think of only one other place that it would be perfectly safe. She smiled to herself. “There is one place that David would never think to look.”

IAN STARED AT HIS CARDS, then shrewdly searched for tells on the faces of Declan and Marcus. “I’ll call,” he finally said, tossing in three blue poker chips. He laid down his cards. “Kings over sixes.”

Declan cursed and threw his cards into the center of the table. “I can’t buy a decent hand,” he muttered. Shoving his chair back, he stood. “Does anyone want another beer?”

“I’m good,” Marcus said.

“Me, too,” Ian murmured.

Declan wandered over to the small kitchen on the far wall of Marcus’s loft and opened the refrigerator. When he returned, he carried a fresh beer and a bag of potato chips. He sprawled into the chair, groaning softly. “I guess I’m sleeping on your sofa tonight,” he said, tipping his beer bottle toward Marcus. “I’m too drunk to drive back to Providence. Or I could stay with you.” He pointed his beer at Ian and grinned. “I prefer that nice soft bed in your guest room to Marky’s sofa.”

Ian shook his head. “I have an early day tomorrow. Besides, I walked over and I’m not about to drag you home through the streets of Bonnett Harbor stumbling drunk.”

It was a logical excuse considering Ian didn’t want any houseguests. After Marisol’s surprise appearance in his bedroom the night before last, he half expected her to turn up again. And he didn’t need his brother questioning the strange frantic moans coming from Ian’s room in the middle of the night. Or the beautiful woman sneaking out the kitchen door in the hours before dawn. He’d managed to keep his affair with Marisol completely private, no small feat for a public figure in Bonnett Harbor. He wasn’t about to let that change.

“You can sack out here,” Marcus offered. “Since I’m the only one still sober enough to drive, I’ll head back over to Newport and sleep on the boat.” He gathered up his poker chips and cashed them in, then stuffed the money into his jeans pocket. “Can I drop you at your place?” he asked Ian.

“If you’re dropping him off, you can drop me off,” Dec asked.

“I’m going to walk,” Ian insisted. “The fresh air will clear my head.” He took a small share of the pot for himself, then pushed the remainder across the table at Declan.

His brother cursed as he counted out the money in front of him. “I can’t figure how you tossers always win.”

Marcus rolled his eyes as he looked over at Ian. Once Declan had a few beers in him, he was an encyclopedia of tells, every emotion written on his face. Both of them had always known it, but they weren’t about to reveal their secrets. “Just luck,” Ian murmured.

“I can’t wait to collect on our other bet,” Declan said. “I think Ian is already wavering. What do you say, Marky? Is Ian going to be the first to fall to his lustful urges?”

Marcus’s eyebrow shot up. “Ian has never been one to deny himself anything.”

And Marcus had always had the knack for cutting right to the point. Ian had come to the conclusion that he had no self-control when it came to Marisol. Every promise he’d ever made to himself to step back, to temper his desire, to fight his attraction, had been broken. And after their last encounter, Ian couldn’t ignore his feelings for her any longer. He was obsessed, an addict whose only vice in life was Marisol’s body. He couldn’t imagine a time in the near or distant future when he wouldn’t want her.

“A pact is a pact,” Ian said. “We swore on our lucky charm.”

Marcus held up his key chain, the little gold medallion dangling from it.

“That’s right,” Dec said emphatically, slamming his beer bottle down on the table. “And since you two blokes are so weak and pathetic when it comes to women, I give you permission to sleep with as many as you want. I plan to prove there isn’t a woman out there who can tempt me.”

“There isn’t a woman out there who wants to tempt you,” Marcus muttered.

Dec pointed his beer bottle at Marcus, sending him a menacing glare. “You can shut your mouth anytime, little brother.”

“And you can sleep on the street, big brother.”

Declan laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “All right. I won’t make any more disparaging remarks. Anyone who lasts three months deserves the money. And since I know the only person who will last is me, then I deserve the money.”

Marcus turned for the door. “I’ll see you guys next weekend.”

“Friday,” Declan said. “Ian’s cooking. Steaks at his place.”

Ian frowned. “Since when?”

“Since I have to be in Boston all day Saturday and since you guys don’t want to drive all the way to Providence. And since we can’t go out to the pubs anymore because there are too many women.”

“Fine,” Ian said. “My place. Friday. Burgers, not steaks.”

Marcus and Ian walked out together, down the stairs into the workroom and then out the door that opened onto the boatyard. “Maybe we shouldn’t have made that bet,” Ian said.

Marcus chuckled as he pulled open the door to his pickup. “I’m stuck on that boat, all alone. I’ve got it won, no matter how confident Dec feels.”

“Of the three of us, he’s the playboy in the bunch,” Ian commented. “All it will take is the right woman and he’ll be off and running.” Ian stepped away from the truck then waved as Marcus drove past him to the street.

The night was warm and still, small sounds magnified in the silence. A dog barked in the distance and he could hear the gentle hum of air conditioners as he passed by a row of shops. He didn’t even realize he was on Bay Street until he stood in front of Gallerie Luna.