Читать книгу: «Too Wicked to Keep»
“Come on, Danny. Aren’t you going to tell me how beautiful I look?”
Abby took a step back, waiting while he drank in the whole delectable picture.
He deserved this. The torture of dragging his gaze up her long, tanned legs cut at his core. Her curved hips, trim waist and slim belly taunted him so that he nearly squeezed his eyes shut once before he reached her sweet, round breasts. But as much as he wanted to look away, he couldn’t.
The flavor of her skin was one he’d never forget. The sound of her pleasured moans echoed through his dreams. The feel of her lips lingering on every intimate part of him was like a chained ghost, haunting him with the sins of his past.
The irony that Abigail Albertini would show up in New Orleans tonight couldn’t be denied. He glanced at the stupid ring his brother had shoved onto his finger. Michael had spouted some nonsense about how the two-hundred-year-old heirloom would change his life, but Danny hadn’t believed it.
Now, he wasn’t so sure.
Abby sidled closer, dancing the tips of her fingers up his shirt, from his waistband to his collar. “I have a job for you. And I’m counting on you being the same low-life thief you used to be.”
Karma could really be a bitch sometimes….
Dear Reader,
I remember the first time I fell in love with a scoundrel. I was eleven years old. His name was Han Solo. I liked the way Princess Leia pushed him around, but he pushed back. I liked the way he shot first and made no apologies later. I loved how in the end, everyone thought he’d abandon them, but instead, he came back in the nick of time and saved the day.
The scoundrel is a wily hero. He’s hard to justify, but even harder to resist. He’s charming and clever and when he’s bad, he’s oh-so-bad. He’s Rhett Butler. He’s Danny Ocean. Or even better, he’s Danny Burnett, the hero of this book and the third brother in my Legendary Lovers series.
Danny isn’t your typical good guy. He doesn’t have an implacable moral code, and the only time he deals with law enforcement is when they’re after him. Now he’s inherited the infamous Murrieta ring—which means his life is about to undergo a serious change.
And, of course, that means a woman!
I hope you enjoy the story, especially the sweet antics of Black Jack and Lady, two real cats who are looking for their forever home (check out the Blaze Authors’ Pet Project at www.blazeauthors.com for details). As the owner of a rescued cat, I know the joy animals can bring. Please stop by and see me on Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/readjulieleto) or Twitter (@JulieLeto) and, as always, at www.plotmonkeys.com.
Enjoy!
Julie Leto
Too Wicked to Keep
Julie Leto
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Over the course of her career, New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Julie Leto has published more than forty books—all of them sexy and all of them romances at heart. She shares a popular blog—www.plotmonkeys.com—with her best friends Carly Phillips, Janelle Denison and Leslie Kelly and would love for you to follow her on Twitter, where she goes by @JulieLeto. She’s a born and bred Floridian homeschooling mom with a love for her family, her friends, her dachshund, her lynx-point Siamese and supersexy stories with a guaranteed happy ending.
To all the families who adopt pets…
either from roadsides or shelters like
Furry Friends in Barrie, Ontario. Animals bring
pure joy and light into the lives of so many.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
1
Five Years Earlier…
REACHING BEHIND HER, Abigail Albertini tried to snag the tiny crystal dangling from the zipper of her white silk cocktail dress. Her shoulders ached. Her neck twinged, and her artfully arranged hair lay heavy at her nape. The day had been so long. Appointments at the salon. Lunch with her bridesmaids. A last-minute meeting with the wedding planner before a pre-rehearsal cocktail hour, a trek to the church and several run-throughs with her family and friends. Then the wedding party had endured a five-course meal at Charlie Trotter’s and a final round of champagne and aperitifs at her father’s Lake Shore mansion, where she was now shedding the last vestiges of her life as a single woman in the room she’d slept in as a child. No wonder people wanted to only get married once. It was hard work.
She bent her arm back farther, trying not to snag her newly polished nails on the metal clasp, when she heard the deep male voice from behind her.
“Need help?”
She spun, her heart hammering.
“David!”
He emerged from the shadows beside her window looking more delicious and debonair than any man had a right to. Dressed in a tuxedo with a loosened collar and tie, he would have fit right in with the guests at tonight’s pre-wedding soiree. Had he been there, blended with the crowd of out-of-town guests, family friends and Chicago elite? Her father had given the security team strict instructions to detain him if he got within two-hundred yards of her, but what chance did former military police have against a man like him?
She’d learned the hard way that what David Brandon wanted, David Brandon got—no matter the danger. No matter the cost.
As he swaggered closer and closer, she thought about screaming or running for the door. Thought, but didn’t act. In that instant of indecision, his nearness ensnared her. Her exhausted nerve endings exploded with keen awareness of his body, of his hands encased in soft kid leather. Of his skin, devoid of cologne, yet rich with an intoxicating scent that was his and his alone.
David Brandon was an expert at getting into places he shouldn’t. He’d breached Abby’s heart that way—what was one Gold Coast bedroom to a thief like him?
“You have to go.”
“Not without you,” he whispered.
She stumbled backward, forcing herself out of the fog his body heat injected into her brain. “Have you lost your mind? You betrayed me, David. You took advantage of me and used me to get your hands on my grandmother’s painting. You used me.”
“I know. I’m sorry. And trust me, I’m never sorry.”
It wasn’t his confession that stopped her retreat, but the pleading in his voice. She shook her head, knowing she must have heard wrong. Why would he beg? Why would he care? He’d taken what he wanted. She had nothing more to give.
“Then don’t be sorry now. I don’t need your pity and I don’t accept your pathetic apology.”
“It may be pathetic, but it’s sincere.”
“What the hell do you know about sincere? Nothing about you is real. Nothing.”
This much she’d learned the hard way. David Brandon, the man who’d come into her life at a time when she was vulnerable and afraid that she was making all the right choices for all the wrong reasons, had been a fraud. A con. He’d crafted his persona specifically to get close to her, to get access to the painting. She knew that now. She knew it all.
He wasn’t sweepingly romantic or achingly suave or deliciously wicked…he was a filthy, thieving liar who’d stolen everything she’d ever valued, from her grandmother’s cherished painting to her faith in her ability to tell the difference between a man who loved her and a man who was out to exploit everything she treasured.
He smoothed a lock of hair off her cheek.
His gloves were cold. “My feelings for you are real. Maybe the first real emotions I’ve ever felt.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, determined not to listen, determined not to make the same mistakes with David just because her body quaked and her breasts felt heavy and tingly with his chest so near to hers.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, hating the tears blurring her vision as she fought to look him in the eye. “You took what you wanted. There’s nothing left. If I scream, my father won’t just have you arrested. He’ll kill you.”
Despite her threat, David stepped closer until their bodies touched. She whimpered, remembering with intimate clarity how this contact had once made her weak in the knees—how it still took every ounce of her shame not to grab on to him to steady her balance.
“I’m not afraid of your father,” he said, his intense green eyes boring into her like a drill. “I’m not afraid of jail. But if I’m arrested, I won’t be able to get your painting back. And I will, Abby. I swear.”
The empty promise broke the spell. She pushed him away and scrambled to the other side of the room.
“When? And how? If you want to prove something to me, why don’t you have it with you now?”
She didn’t know why she bothered grilling him with questions. Even if he had answers, they’d be lies. A week ago, she would not have doubted him. A week ago, she would have hung on his every utterance, convinced he was on the verge of rescuing her from her privileged, but staid and predictable life. He’d promised to sweep her into an epic romantic adventure where they’d spend their days exploring the world’s finest art museums and their nights making love in penthouses from Paris to Morocco to Prague.
But those dreams had been nothing but pretty pictures painted to earn her trust—and access to the portrait she’d refused to ever part with.
“It’s already been fenced,” he said. “I had to finish the job. But I’ll track it down. I’ll return it to you, I promise. It’ll be my wedding gift to you.”
Her stomach roiled. Even if David made good on his promise, Marshall would never allow the painting into their home now that he knew the truth about her own part in this grand betrayal.
“Haven’t you given us enough? Like pain? Misery?”
David skewed his face in disgust. “I’m not talking about you and that stiff.”
“That stiff has a name—a real name,” she defended. “He inherited it from his grandfather and it stands for integrity and honesty and, remarkably, for forgiveness. Tomorrow, it will be my name, too. I’ll spend the rest of my life making up for what I did, David. Will you?”
He answered her question with a curse.
“You can’t marry him.”
His voice was so definitive, Abby couldn’t help but laugh.
“I not only can,” she said, determination straightening her spine in ways it hadn’t in a long time, “I will. I love him. And I don’t know why he didn’t toss me to the curb when I told him about us, but I’m taking this second chance, and this time, I’ll get it right.”
His eyes widened. “You confessed?”
“Of course I confessed! Did you think I’d cover up because I was ashamed? You probably counted on that. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t lie anymore. I told him everything. I told him how we met at the foundation fundraiser. I told him how you knew so much about me, how you plied me with champagne and lured me into the museum’s Renaissance art collection. I even told him how you compared me to Titian’s Diana and you to the brave Actaeon, and how I couldn’t think straight and how I forgot all my promises and responsibilities and got caught up until I didn’t know how to stop from ruining everything.”
The words tumbled from her as if spiked with shards of shattered glass. She covered her mouth with her hands.
David dropped onto the edge of her bed. “I can’t believe you told him everything.”
His voice was a whisper, not of surprise, but shock. Maybe even hurt.
She didn’t care. She couldn’t care. His strategy had been artfully planned and executed, playing to her every weakness, her every fantasy.
But she’d learned the hard way that life wasn’t about schoolgirl dreams or grand romantic affairs. It was about living. Loving.
Trusting.
“I couldn’t live with the lies. Unlike you, I believe people should have the whole truth about someone before they make a serious decision. Marshall didn’t have to honor our engagement. He could have…he should have called the whole thing off. But he didn’t. He’s a real man who loves me enough to forgive me. And I love him. I always have and I always will.”
David stood, his head shaking from side to side as if he was trying to process all she’d said. But how could he? He didn’t have the capacity to understand things like love and compassion and honesty and forgiveness. If he had, he never would have sought her out in the first place.
Then he went still, took a deep breath and met her confused stare with clear, determined eyes.
“My name’s not David.”
Her heart fell, even though this news came as no surprise, not after all the searches she’d done after he’d disappeared with her painting.
“Who are you, then?”
He hesitated.
The momentary pause acted like an explosion of awareness. She’d made the right choice in confessing to Marshall. She’d made the right choice in accepting his forgiveness and pushing her leftover feelings for David Brandon—or whatever his name was—out of her heart.
The truth did not come easily to this man—and it never would.
He’d come into her life at precisely the wrong time. Just out of graduate school and only a few months into her first job, she was staring down at a future that had been mapped out for her from before she was born. Until she’d met him, she’d never questioned any of it. She’d willfully stepped onto the path of her life, never straying, never questioning, never doing anything her family would be ashamed of, even if she had fantasized about dangerous adventures and sensual sins.
Then he’d shown up. He’d offered her a taste of the very things that had always been forbidden—and for that, she’d paid a high price.
“Tell me your real name.”
“Daniel,” he replied. “Daniel Burnett.”
“And you’re from?”
“Anywhere,” he said, shaking his head. “Nowhere. Doesn’t matter, Abby. Nothing matters. Not if you’re really going to marry him. I made a lot of mistakes, but the worst was falling in love with you.”
She snorted, not caring that it was unattractive and unladylike. “That was your biggest error? The so-called falling-in-love part? Not the lying or the scheming or the fact that you took the one thing my grandmother left me when she died?”
“No, that’s not what I meant. That was wrong, too. All of it. But it’s what I do. It’s who I am…or who I was, before I met you.”
She glared at him, willing herself to ignore how sincere he looked, how broken.
“And you expect me to believe that after all those carefully crafted lies, you’re now telling me the truth? You’re reformed? Just like that?”
“No. I mean, yes, I want you to believe me. I need you to believe me. I’m not reformed. I don’t know if that’s even possible, but I do love you.”
She contained a bitter chuckle. God, how had she become so jaded so fast?
Falling for a liar like Daniel Burnett had definitely helped.
“And why should I believe anything you say, Daniel?” she asked, putting a searing emphasis on the name the first time it passed her lips.
“I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“That’s just your conscience.”
“No, that can’t be it.”
“Probably not, since I doubt you even have a conscience.”
“I probably don’t. At least, not one I’ve paid any attention to for a long time. When I do a job, I do a job. I get what I came for, I sell it for the highest price and I walk away. It’s what I do. It’s what I’ve done my whole life. But suddenly, that’s changed. I can’t get you out of my mind. I can’t stop thinking about what I did. Remorse is an emotion I’ve avoided my entire life, and yet that’s gotta be what I’m feeling, right? That has to mean something.”
Abby took a bold, if shaky, step toward the door. This conversation was over. This situation was over. “It means you crossed the line this time, Daniel. It means you went too far. If you want to find my grandmother’s painting and return it, that’s up to you. But I want no part of it—no part of you.”
She reached for the doorknob, but he intercepted her.
“You loved me,” he insisted.
Just a short time ago, his hand on hers would have felt exciting, wicked, thrilling.
Now, it just felt foreign.
And wrong.
“I loved the idea of you. I loved the secrecy and the illicit sex. It was like a drug. But I never meant to hurt anyone. You did. If not for this sudden burst of conscience, you would have walked away without a second thought. I may never forgive myself for my part in this mess, but Marshall has forgiven me. He trusts me to never make that mistake again. That’s what love is, David or Daniel or whoever you are. Maybe someday, you’ll learn about real love, but it won’t be from me.”
Though she didn’t want to, she took one last look at him, with his dark, swarthy skin, close-cropped hair and twinkling green eyes—which had, in the uncertain light, lost their clever confidence. Every muscle, every fiber, every bone in her body ached for him, but she pushed the empathy aside. She couldn’t care about his pain. She couldn’t even believe it existed. Nothing about him was real.
“I’m going to go ask my mother to help me out of this dress. If you’re not gone by the time we get back, I will call the police and I will make sure you’re prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”
“Abby, please,” he began, but he stopped when she turned her back and snatched the doorknob.
And with more power and will than she ever thought she possessed, Abby walked away.
2
Present Day…
“IF YOU NEED SOMETHING slick to rub on there, I think I have just the thing.”
Daniel Burnett stopped tugging at the ring caught on his knuckle. He must have looked like a moron, sitting in a New Orleans casino, tugging at his finger as if the gold band was cutting off his circulation. He couldn’t imagine why any woman would proposition him under these circumstances, especially since he probably looked like a schmo trying to hide the evidence of his marital status.
But when he looked up at the woman behind the sultry proposition, he nearly slid right off the bar stool.
Everything about her was different. Her hair, once a straight, unadorned brown, now glimmered with striking copper highlights. Amber eyes once muted behind square-shaped red-framed glasses now flashed from the center of long, dark lashes. Lips she’d once coated only with balm or a pale gloss were now outlined and plump with a rich cognac shade that made him crave a burning, fortifying sip.
“Abby?”
She arched a brow. “Wow, and here I thought you wouldn’t recognize me after all these years.”
“I’d know you anywhere.”
The words were out before he could stop them, before he could put a lid on the Pandora’s box of emotions flying through him. He never thought he’d see her again—never wanted to. He’d avoided taking any jobs in Chicago—hell, he avoided the whole Midwest altogether. He’d survived Abby once, but barely. A woman like her was lethal.
Dangerous.
Gorgeous.
He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and shrugged into it. He eyed the door. His flight wasn’t leaving for another six hours, but maybe he’d be smart to head out to the airport now. Maybe he’d rent a car and drive back to California.
Or maybe he’d just crawl under a rock.
She leaned in close so that her breath, sweet with mint, caressed the skin on his neck and ear. “Come on, Daniel. After all these years, you’re not going to at least tell me how beautiful I look?”
This was the advantage of meeting up again with a woman who already knew you were an asshole. He could look his fill and she wouldn’t think any less of him—it wasn’t possible. She took a step back, hooked one hand onto her slim waist and waited while he drank in the whole delectable picture.
He deserved this. The torture of dragging his gaze up her long, tanned legs cut at his core. Her curved hips, trim waist and slim belly taunted him so that he nearly squeezed his eyes shut before he reached her sweet, round breasts. But as much as he wanted to look away, he couldn’t.
The flavor of her skin danced on the memory of his tongue. The sound of her pleasured moans echoed through his dreams. The feel of her lips lingering on every intimate part of him was like a chained ghost, haunting him with the sins of his past.
The irony that Abigail Albertini would show up in New Orleans the very night Danny had done the first good deed in his life couldn’t be denied. He glanced at the stupid ring his brother had shoved onto his finger less than an hour ago, as a reward for Danny’s help in rescuing Michael’s lover from a crazed rapist. His younger brother had spouted some nonsense about how the two-hundred-year-old heirloom would change his life, but Danny hadn’t believed a word.
Now he wasn’t so sure.
“Like what you see?” she asked boldly.
He tried not to groan as she twisted sideways so that the full impact of her curves hit him like a battering ram.
He reached for his drink.
“Marriage agrees with you,” he muttered.
The edge of her mouth quirked at the corner. “Thank you.”
As much as he didn’t want to look, Danny made a quick survey of the bar. He’d never met Marshall Chamberlain, so he just looked for any man whose veins were popping out of the side of his skull. That’s what he’d look like if the guy who’d tempted his fiancé to cheat on him had suddenly appeared in their vicinity. But none of the guys nursing their beers or strolling through the casino looked the least bit interested in him or Abby.
Danny clicked his tongue. The guy really was a moron. If he had a wife as passionate, beautiful and barely reined as Abby, he’d never let her out of his sight.
Of course, he didn’t have a wife like Abby and that was no one’s fault but his own.
“So,” he said, wanting to put himself out of his misery sooner rather than later. “Where is the lucky guy? I never did offer my congratulations on your nuptials.”
“That’s probably best, don’t you think?”
“I’m not known for doing what is best,” he reminded her.
“Sure you are,” she said, sliding on the bar stool beside him and signaling for the bartender. “As long as it’s best for you. Trust me, you and Marshall running into each other would not have been good for anyone.”
While she ordered a bottle of champagne, Danny swigged the last of his scotch and wondered how the hell the past couple of days had gone from bad to worse. First, he’d left California for Louisiana, hoping to find his brother Michael and maybe make good on his plan to steal their father’s ring, sell it and use the profit to start a new life somewhere fresh…or at least, somewhere that didn’t have Wanted posters with his name on them.
The Netherlands, perhaps? Outer Botswana?
But once he’d arrived in the Crescent City, he’d ended up helping his brother, an FBI agent, solve a case and save the woman he loved. On top of that mess, Michael had ended up giving Danny the damned ring voluntarily, which took all the fun out of it.
For revenge, the stupid gold-and-emerald heirloom was now nearly cutting off the circulation in his right hand. And as the pièce de résistance, the one woman who’d broken his heart had, for some unknown reason, now traveled cross-country to rub his nose in her long and happy marriage.
This was karma. It had to be.
“So, what are you doing here, so far from the man who stole you away from me?”
She laughed, but there was no trace of humor in those brandy-colored irises.
“Is that how you remember things? Because as I recall, you were the one who did all the stealing.”
Five years of time and distance, plus wearing, even under duress, his infamous ancestor’s ring, gave him the balls to snag her by the waist and pull her in close.
Five years of marriage gave her the confidence to remain still, a curious grin playing on her lips while she waited to see what he’d do next.
Those five years did not, however, protect him from the instantaneous slam of need that exploded through his system from the scent of her perfume and the silky warmth of her skin.
“You stole my heart,” he murmured.
She twisted away from him, but she probably hadn’t even heard him over the music and clanging sounds of the casino. “You lost the right to touch me a long time ago.”
He leaned back into his chair. Maybe if he exuded his typical casual air, the heartbeat ramming against his chest wouldn’t be so obvious.
She hadn’t meant to lose her cool. Danny could see the combination of anger and shock in her eyes. But her intense reaction proved one thing—she hadn’t gotten over him. Maybe she still hated him. Maybe she spent every day cursing his name. But at least she hadn’t forgotten him. That was something.
“You’re right.” He took another drink, grateful for the smooth burn of the scotch as it slid down his throat. “But you know exactly who I am, Abby. If you wanted to rub my face in how hot you look after five years of marriage, then you’ve accomplished your goal. If you want to slap my face or have me arrested, then go ahead.” He leaned forward, his newly acquired ring glittering on his hand. “But don’t parade that luscious body of yours so close to mine and expect me to keep my hands off. Every man has his limits. Even me.”
“I’m counting on you to push past those limits, then,” she said stiffly.
For the first time, he caught a glimpse of the haughty, privileged princess he’d met five years ago. But only a glimpse.
“What are you talking about?”
“I came here to find you.”
“And your husband let you? What is he, a moron?”
“Don’t speak that way about Marshall,” she shot back. “He was a good man who didn’t deserve what I did to him.”
Was?
Danny stood. “No, he didn’t deserve any pain we caused him.”
She pressed her mouth into a tight line—a line Danny couldn’t help but want to breach. On a normal day, at a normal hour, Abigail was a classic Mediterranean beauty, with her thick, dark hair, smooth olive skin and expressive amber eyes. But when she was angry—when she let her control slip even a little—she knocked the breath from his lungs.
“Very true,” she conceded. “But I didn’t expect to hear compassion from Daniel Burnett, or is it David Brandon again?”
“I haven’t been David Brandon for—” He cut his claim short. He’d actually used the name the day before. He’d developed a habit of trying it every so often, to see if the pain of losing Abby had lessened any in the years since she’d kicked him out of her life.
It hadn’t.
“Why’d you come looking for me?”
His voice was as strangled as the skin beneath his ring finger. Her mouth curved into a tiny smile—the first one that flashed all the way up to her irises. His pain gave her pleasure. He couldn’t blame her.
She sidled closer, then danced the tips of her fingers up his shirt, from his waistband to his collar. “I have a job for you.”
With a flick of her nail up the underside of his chin, a fire sparked through Danny’s body that made him want to drown himself in the moisture of her mouth. She was taunting him. Making him pay, one hormone at a time, for nearly destroying her future.
He not only didn’t blame her—he wanted more.
His brain might have registered all the reasons why he should stay half a country away from Abigail Albertini Chamberlain, but his dick hadn’t gotten the memo. Blood rushed down so fast, Danny had to grab the edge of the bar to keep from losing his balance.
“No way.”
“You owe me,” she said.
“So? You’re playing with fire, Abby. I can’t promise you won’t get burned again. And this time, Marshall won’t forgive you. I wouldn’t.”
“You wouldn’t have the first time.”
She took her time tracing her fingers up his neck and then tousling the strands of hair at his temples. When her gaze locked with his, he saw none of the naive, uncertain girl she used to be.
She was all woman now—and she had something up her sleeve, figuratively speaking. Something that wasn’t going to be good—at least, not for him.
“No,” he conceded. “I wouldn’t have forgiven you.”
“Good,” she said, pushing away from him and snatching the flute of champagne the bartender had delivered. “Then you haven’t changed. I’m counting on you being the same lowlife, conscienceless thief you used to be.”
He forced a chuckle. “Why would you hope for that?”
She sipped her champagne. After enjoying half the glass, replete with appreciative hums and slides of her tongue over her rich, luscious lips, she put the flute back onto the bar and stretched up onto her tiptoes to whisper in his ear.
When she did, her breasts brushed against his chest. The sensation caused a domino effect of ignitions that sparked his every nerve ending.
“Because I’ve found my painting and I need you to make good on your promise and steal it back.”
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