One year after being shot in Italy, Rachel Sanders returns in search of the jeweled cross that triggered a heartbreaking family betrayal. Determined to keep the treasure from her mother’s greedy hands, she’s caught off guard by the interference of an irresistibly charming rival. His unexpected offer to help might be self serving, but she’s thrown into a precarious situation where she can’t refuse...and finds she doesn’t want to anyway.
Nick Marshall has a family legacy to recover and a score to settle. Anyone with the last name Sanders is fair game—until he meets Rachel. She’s gorgeous, smart, sexy, and doesn’t buy one word of his cover story. When their attraction combusts, each kiss makes his deception burn like acid, and he begins to question his end goal.
But they’re not the only ones after the cross. Ruthless players willing to do anything to recover the treasure first put Nick and Rachel’s lives on the line. Despite all the secrets and lies, lines quickly blur between the con and the real deal. Can love survive a double-cross when the mystery is unlocked?
Nick Marshall has a family legacy to recover and a score to settle. Anyone with the last name Sanders is fair game—until he meets Rachel. She’s gorgeous, smart, sexy, and doesn’t buy one word of his cover story. When their attraction combusts, each kiss makes his deception burn like acid, and he begins to question his end goal.
But they’re not the only ones after the cross. Ruthless players willing to do anything to recover the treasure first put Nick and Rachel’s lives on the line. Despite all the secrets and lies, lines quickly blur between the con and the real deal. Can love survive a double-cross when the mystery is unlocked?
EXCERPT:
She straightened her spine for a quick stretch left
and right with her arms over her head, just like when she spent hours hunched
over her jewelry design table at home in Wisconsin.
Back
cracked and muscles slightly relieved, she returned to work. With the next turn
of the page, her heart nearly stopped. There, on the right hand side, taking up
half of the page, was an illuminated illustration of a gold cross encrusted
with diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires. On the left was a full page
illustration of a priest and a knight standing in front of a large, multi-domed
church. A cross was being passed between the two of them.
The
cross.
Who was giving and who was receiving was not clear
in the picture, but at the end of the bedtime story her father used to tell her
as a little girl, the priest presented the jeweled piece to a mighty Italian knight
for his brave defense of a grand church during an attack by the Imperial Forces
hundreds of years ago.
Yes, that’s how she grew up—bedtime stories of armies
and sieges, knights and princesses, kingdoms and fortunes won and lost. As a kid,
she’d loved the fantasy and romance of her father’s tales. All grown up, they
were just pleasant memories to offset some of the harsher elements of her
childhood.
She skimmed the faded text beneath the picture of
the cross and continued to the next page. Using her phone translation app, she
determined prete meant priest. Best she could translate, his
name was Santo. Father Santo—did they call priests ‘father’ back then? Maybe
not—probably not in Italian. Padre
Santo would work, but the text was too faded to be sure. She’d have to ask Gianna
on that one.
Moving on, she searched for any reference to a
knight, cavaliere, but couldn’t find
anything. There was another name, though, Alessandro
Foscari dell'esercito Veneziano. Her app converted that to Alessandro Foscari
of the Venetian Army, and she wondered if he was the knight from her father’s
story.
Much of the rest of the text was faded, or the
bits of translation she tried didn’t make sense. Maybe Gianna could help her
locate a city, or the name of the church here in Venice where the exchange
might have taken place. They might have archives documenting what had happened
to the cross.
She turned the page back to the images. Names and
translations she’d jotted in her notebook swam in her mind. Suddenly, she
stilled as full reality sank in, that the puzzle pieces in front of her had fit
together to match her father’s story.
It’s actually
real.
It shouldn’t surprise her after the letters he’d
sent full of codes, and his serious request to stay out of it…and yet it did.
Even more unexpected, the confirmation of his fairytale about the jewel
encrusted cross that had vanished in Venice so long ago did more than pique her
curiosity. She felt a pull she couldn’t even begin to describe as she stared at
the page.
Her mother had betrayed them all for this. Not
even the cross itself really, but more the idea of it. The promise.
Maybe if she
could find the actual cross, hold it in her hands, she might be able to
understand why her mother made the choice she had.
Swallowing past a sudden lump in her throat, Rachel
ran white-gloved fingertips over the right page illustration, ever-so-slightly
tracing the golden lines of the jeweled cross. Entranced, she imagined the time
and dedication that went into creating something so intricate and detailed.
The hair on the back of her neck tingled as if a
mystical force had been released. A light tickle of warm air brushed across her
skin, right where her shoulder met her neck. The eerie sensation sent a shiver
down her spine.
Apprehension, or anticipation?
“Beautiful.”
The low voice at her ear made her startle with a shriek
of surprise. Her whole-body sideways jerk bumped the table, knocking the reading
lamp askew.
Nick Marshall reached past her to straighten the
lamp shade as the echo of her cry died in the cavernous room. Then he turned
and propped one hip on the edge of the table, an infuriating smirk curving his lips.
Others at nearby tables who’d cast her annoyed glances for the interruption
returned to their reading.
She slumped back in her chair, hand pressed over
her still-racing heart. “Stop sneaking up on me like that.”
“I can’t help it if you were too busy drooling
over that cross to notice my arrival.”
She glared at him as she realized what he’d seen. Of
course, she knew he hadn’t bought her denials, but him being proven correct so
quickly still sucked.
“I wasn’t drooling,” she snapped, careful to keep
her voice down. “And what the hell are you doing here?”
Hands linked together to rest on his thigh, he
swung his leg back and forth. “I wanted to see if you’d changed your mind yet.”
“I haven’t. Now go away.”
Gianna arrived at the table in a rush. The librarian’s
concerned expression filled with distress at Rachel’s words to Nick. “I
apologize, Ms. Sanders. He said he was with you. I will call security
immediately.”
She whirled around in her sensible yet stylish
leather heels and started back to her desk, her long, dark hair swishing
against her back. Rachel wanted to growl at Nick in frustration. She also
wanted answers. Since she couldn’t make him unsee what he’d already seen, she
called quietly, “Gianna, no. Don’t call anyone. He just surprised me, that’s all.”
The woman turned back, her brown gaze shifting
back and forth between the two of them. Nick spoke in her native tongue, offering
a disarming grin. By the time he finished, the pretty young woman responded
with a tentative smile before turning to Rachel.
“If you are sure?”
Forget growling. She’d rather scream. Again—at the
man who’d caused all the commotion in the first place.
Jaw clenched, smile forced, she assured Gianna,
“Yes, I’m sure. Grazie.”
Nick received another smile from the Italian, then
she continued her retreat. Rachel watched him watch the curvy figure and lost
her patience. She shoved against his leg with her right hand. “Get your ass off
the table—you’ll ruin the book.”
“I’m not anywhere near the book.”
“It’s still rude. You’re not as charming as you
think.”
He flicked that green gaze toward Gianna, and his
lips tugged upward again. “Just enough when needed.” Smile still in place, he
shifted his gaze back to her. “Now, what were you saying earlier at the café?
Something about not searching for a
cross?”
She deliberately ignored his sarcasm and gave his
muscled, jean-clad thigh another smack. “Off.”
He used the toe of his boot to push the
neighboring chair out, then slid off the table and spun to drop into the seat
in one smooth motion.
The guy had some explaining to do.
Rachel glanced around to see how many people were
around to overhear if she had to get insistent. Crap. Enough that she’d have to
keep her voice down. As if to mock her, her stomach grumbled in the quiet.
“Should’ve eaten your breakfast,” Nick commented, sitting forward to reach for the
book. “They were good.”
She grabbed his hand mid-reach. “Not without
gloves.”
He stopped, his whole body going still. She felt the
strength in his hand, noticed the difference in size between them, the tan of
his skin against the stark-white of her gloved fingers. For a second, she met
his gaze, then they each pulled away.
Rachel drew in as discreet a breath as possible.
The guy was not charming, but he had
an effect on her that was difficult to ignore. It was even worse with that sexy
five-o’clock shadow, and the wavy, windblown locks on his forehead, making him
look all rugged and manly. Add in the occasional hint of his ocean-breeze scent
and she was losing it fast.
Pulling herself together, she gently slid the book
to the side farthest away from him. When she turned back, he’d switched to reading
her notes, so she reached to flip her notebook over. The loud slap echoed, and
she fought a grimace at the noise.
“Santo
means saint,” he said. “Was there a
name to go with that?”
“No.” She frowned because she thought it was a name. In the next instant, she turned
to face him with determination. “But we are not talking about that. How did you
know where I was? I made sure you didn’t follow me.”
Alarm flashed across his expression. His gaze
searched hers for a tense moment, then he visibly relaxed and shrugged his
shoulders. “You seem like a smart girl. I figured the library would be your
next logical step in the search, so I gave it a try, and here you are.”
She almost laughed, but was way more annoyed than amused.
“Do women really fall for the bullshit you feed them?”
“Yes.” He grinned, completely unapologetic.
Do not notice how the color of his T-shirt
compliments the color of his eyes.
She turned up her nose. “Well, I am a smart girl, and it’s insulting. Try
again.”
“Okay, fine,” he huffed with an exaggerated sigh.
“Being the creepy stalker I am, I put a tiny little tracking device in your bag
so I could follow you. Is that more believable?”
“Actually, yes. Thank you.” He probably meant it
to sound so outlandish she wouldn’t believe him, but she was going to find the
damn thing the moment she pulled her bag out of the locker. “Next question, who
are you working with?”
Her careful watch caught the subtle tightening of
his muscles as his tension returned.
“What makes you think I’m not in this for myself?”
He reached to casually flip her pencil into a spin on top of the wooden table.
“Oh, I don’t doubt you’re in it for yourself, but
I know someone sent you after my father’s letters because you couldn’t have
known about them yourself.”
“Your brother—”
She reached forward and slapped her hand on top of
the pencil to stop the irritating sound. He raised his eyebrows, and she had to
avoid taking too deep a breath. “My brother didn’t know about the letters Dad
sent until after his whole thing with you in Rome was over.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yes.” But she wasn’t one hundred percent. She and
Ben had talked on the phone in the middle of his crazy journey from Milan to
Rome, just before he made her promise to go stay with Halli and Trent in
California until he returned to the States. They had talked about Dad’s codes,
but she honestly couldn’t remember if the letters came up. Had he been
surprised when she first mentioned them during their talk at the villa?
Then she realized if he had been, it didn’t
matter. Even if she’d mentioned them to Ben before that, there’s no way he
would have told Nick.
She tried a different tactic. “Tell me who you’re
working for and I’ll consider your offer.”
“You’re already considering it, so I’m not really
getting anything out of that deal.”
“That’s how it works with you? You only give if
you get?”
“Not in everything.”
He paused just long enough, then lifted his gaze to hers. “But in this, yes.”
Heat flooded through her at where her mind went
for the first half of his low, suggestive statement. His cocky grin told her he
knew exactly what she was thinking. Damn.
She stood and gathered her notebook and pencil,
then reached for the book to return to Gianna.
Nick reclined back in his chair. “Have dinner with
me tonight, and I’ll answer your questions.”
Dinner with him? She let her gaze skim the long,
lean body sprawled out before her, and pictured the restaurant she’d eaten at
last night. Wine, candlelight, romantic Italian music.
Hell no.
Hugging her notebook to her chest, she faced him
and leaned her hip against the table. “Just dinner?”
It wasn’t like she would actually go, but she couldn’t fake-agree too
fast, either.
He sat up, then stood, a mere two feet away. Then
one. His hand rose to slide along her bare arm in a warm, sensual caress. “Unless
you want more?”
Oh, God.
Heat exploded so frickin’ fast she could barely
breathe. She should move away, but right then, the table was helping her keep
her balance. Besides, he’d already been proven right about the cross. No way was
she going to feed his unbearable ego by falling for his pseudo-charm.
Resisting the urge to fan her burning cheeks with
her notebook, she managed a reasonably cool-sounding, “Dinner is fine. Or
lunch. As you know, I haven’t eaten yet.”
The hint of triumph in his smile reiterated this
was all a game to him. “You can’t handle dinner with me?”
“I can handle it just fine.”
“Good. Then dinner it is.” His hand still skimmed
upward. “I’ll pick you up at your place at seven-thirty.”
“Fine.” She pretended like his touch wasn’t
setting off all kinds of alarm bells in her head. “And now that that’s settled,
tell me who you’re working for.”
His forearm rested on her shoulder, while his fingers
cupped the nape of her neck, and his thumb rubbed small circles over the
sensitive skin right beneath her ear. “Nice try, Rach, but I’m a smart guy,
too. You’ll get yours after I get mine.”
First time he said her name, and he used the shortened
version as if they’d known each other for years. The implied intimacy did
things to her insides, not to mention, his low, sensual voice was making her
stomach bottom out again. His hold on the back of her neck tightened, and he
leaned in. Adrenaline surged at the thought that he was going to kiss her right
there in the library. She made no move to stop him.
Instead, his lips brushed her ear and his bristled
jaw scraped her cheek ever so lightly. “It’s up to you to decide how bad you
want it.”
She swallowed hard, her breath agonizingly shallow.
What little air she managed was filled with his scent. “Maybe I don’t really
want it.”
“You do, or you wouldn’t still be standing here.”
Shit. Were
they even still talking about dinner? Things were fast moving out of her
depth—because part of her was tempted to forget everything she knew about the
thieving deceiver and turn until his mouth met hers.
His other hand came up to cup her cheek. He turned
her head for her, until his face filled her vision.
~~~
Thank you, and happy reading.
~Stacey~
