Addison Fox - The Rome Affair

He leaned in and pointed toward a small detail at the bottom of the page. Her eyes widened as she finally realized what he was getting at. “It was mined in Tierra Kimber.”

“Exactly. That’s what we use when we go back. You, my socially conscious fiancée, are going to suddenly get some remorse about that diamond I just purchased.”

“And when I show my concern that these diamonds might be a front for war and bloodshed?”

“It will be up to our smart and savvy jeweler to quickly assure you why you’ve no need to worry your pretty little head about it so he can keep his sale.”

“Do you think he knows anything about our problem?”

“Not really. He’s a jeweler, not a high-level operative. And although I rarely put anything past anyone, the man’s been in a family business his entire life. He’s a cog in the wheel, nothing more.” He pointed toward a deli a few storefronts ahead of them. “Let’s go eat.”

“I need to get back.”

“It’s nearly one o’clock. You need to eat.”

The hand that rested low on her back steered her toward the front door of the deli. “You’re pushy.”

“I’m not pushy in the least. I maneuver people. There’s a difference.” He opened the door for her, and Kensington couldn’t argue with the warmth that reached out and beckoned them in. “Besides, I’m hungry.”

“I’m not easily maneuvered, Jack.”

“No. You like to do the maneuvering. It’s a trait I can not only relate to, but also admire.”

“I do no such thing.” The words that left her lips branded her as a liar, but she couldn’t hold them back. Maneuver sounded so manipulative. And cold.

And she was neither.

She just knew how she wanted things done. How to handle a situation to minimize risk and get the best possible outcome.

“Sure you do. It’s one of the reasons we’re going to have so much fun in Italy.”

“I haven’t said yes.”

“But you will.”

She stopped inside the door, and the urgent need to make her point ensured her feet stayed firmly planted. “This isn’t a joke and I’m really not sure I’m going to do this deal with you. We’re opponents.”

He pressed closer to her as a group of suits bustled past them and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Then let the games begin.”

Chapter 3

Kensington speared a forkful of salad and surreptitiously watched Jack across the table. She was still wondering how her morning had turned into a field trip and a meal, all with a man who got her dander up and her antennae quivering on high alert.

The man was a force of nature—that’s all there was to it.

She watched as he polished off a corned beef sandwich with a side of chips and marveled that the broad physique under his suit jacket could be sustained with such hearty lunch choices.

“You haven’t said much.” His gaze danced over her face as he took a sip of his soda.

“Just processing the morning.” A funny thought popped into her head and she set down her fork. “Who is Larry Coleman, anyway?”

“An old friend from college. He’s on wife number three and he’s used that jeweler for years. Makes a special trip from Chicago to New York and everything. Based on his repeat visits, I figured I’d get the attention of the jeweler pretty quick.”

“You can’t be old enough to have friends on their third spouse.” The words were out and bouncing between them like an errant ping-pong ball no one could catch.

“When you’ve got a large bank account and a roving eye like Larry does, thirty-five is plenty old to be on number three.”

“Are you on any number?”

Smooth, Steele. Why not just ask him if there was any reason to be feeling guilty for the sexual buzz that’s still humming in your veins at that kiss.

“Nope. You?”

“No.”

“Ever get close?”

The words were casual—too casual—and she fought to pull her hormones out of the equation for a moment and focus on him. “If skirting the edges of relationships that usually fail between dates five and seven is getting close, then yes. However, I think a more accurate answer is no way.”

“Shame.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a shame the five-through-seven guys can’t see what I see.”

“What’s that?”

“A vibrant woman with a lot to offer.”

She sat back and tossed her napkin on the counter. “I wasn’t fishing for a compliment.”

“And I wasn’t casting my reel.”

“So what’s your point?”

“You’re a beautiful woman with a wicked intellect to round out the package. If a guy’s cutting and running after a handful of dates, then he’s the one with the problem.”

She had no idea why she was pressing the issue, but a retort was out of her mouth before she could even think to hold it back. “Conventional wisdom would suggest my career ambitions are the problem.”

“Most people who spout conventional wisdom don’t have all that much of it.”

“Thanks, Mark Twain.”

“You’re welcome.” He snagged the wax paper that had wrapped his sandwich. Casually, he wadded it up, his gaze speculative from across the table, and she suddenly felt like one of those diamonds he’d inspected with the jeweler’s loupe.

Her mind raced over the events of the morning. The flowers. His visit to her office. The trip to the jeweler. “What do you really want from me? I’d wager a rather large sum you don’t spend your days traipsing through Manhattan with your other professional enemies.”

“I never traipse. And I’d hardly call you an enemy.”

“We’ve been up against each other for several jobs. I’d hardly call us compatriots.”

He snaked out a finger and ran it down the top of her hand, tracing over each knuckle with exquisite care. The sensation was wicked in the extreme, and a tight ball of need centered low in her belly. “We’re not enemies. Especially not after what we discussed this morning about the job in Rome. I want your help with the ambassador.”

“What makes you so sure I’m your girl?”

“You’ve got the talents I need. You already know the job and the players. You’re smart and you pay attention.” He ran that long finger once more over her hand. “And if I play my cards right, there may be a lot more kissing.”

She snatched her hand back, unable to bear that seductive touch a moment longer. “This is a job, not a flirtation.”

“Can’t it be both?”

She bit down on a retort, well aware her actions in the next few minutes would determine the course of their professional—and personal—relationship moving forward. “I don’t take assignments because they’re fun.”

“Why work then?”

“Because it’s my job. My livelihood.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the process.”

* * *

When Kensington said nothing, he pressed a bit harder, his curiosity growing stronger. He could still feel the softness of her skin imprinted on the tips of his finger, and a strange need to understand her better gripped him. “Why were you the one to end up with all the responsibility?”

“In my family?”

“Yes, but professionally, too. The House of Steele’s reputation is tied to all four of you, but you’re clearly seen as its public representative. I have to imagine that has carried over to the more personal side of your family dynamics.”

“At times.” She nodded slightly, as if deciding something, before she pressed on. “Do you have siblings?”

“Two sisters.”

“How do the three of you get along?”

He thought of the two women he loved to distraction, both of whom were happily married and raising children in the Seattle suburb where he grew up. They’d saved him—ensuring he had a soft place to land no matter how far he roamed—and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for them.