Page 40 of The Pretender

“Really?” He acted like he didn’t care but she got the sense something else was going on. Like, he was giving her time and space, two things she needed but never expected.

His eyebrow lifted. “Do you need that from me in order for us to sleep together? Because I really want to keep doing this.”

“In other words, I can keep some of my secrets but then so can you?” She already knew the answer to that. He put on a good show but underneath something else bubbled and churned.

“Yes.”

His matter-of-fact response was oddly reassuring. Other men would deny or out-and-out lie. Not Harris. He wasn’t like other men. He was so much better.

“Then get to it. The kiss, I mean.” This time she pulled him down to her. “We’ll figure out the rest later.”

Chapter 11

Harris managed to push away the lingering need to know more about Gabby and focused on how good touching her the night before had felt. He was actually in a good mood as he walked across the freshly mowed grass.

The second he saw Damon standing on the main house’s front porch everything changed. Harris had seen that expression before, the mix of smart-ass and you’re-toast look on Damon’s face, and it never ended well.

“About time you woke up,” Damon said as he stared at Harris over the top of his coffee mug.

At least today Damon looked a bit more like an investigator and a bit less like a guy with an impressive T-shirt collection but little else to his name. The dark pants matched the dark mood circling around him.

“It’s not even eight.” Harris knew because he’d forced his body out of bed exactly a half hour ago.

Staying there, going another round with Gabby, had been a huge temptation. It didn’t help that she’d been sprawled across the bed naked. When he got up to shower she grumbled about too much moving in the morning and smashed her face into the pillow. He took that as a sign that she might not be a morning person.

He needed a bit more sleep, but there was a lot of work to do. Damon had pushed off the alarm and security people Stephen hired. He didn’t want any of them messing with the equipment Wren already installed on the island. Worse, Damon had already texted to say they needed to talk. It was either wake up or run the risk of Damon knocking on the guesthouse door.

“It’s exhausting, right?” Damon asked as he leaned against the porch post.

Harris did not want to ask. Even thought about pivoting around Damon and going into the house or, better yet, heading to the opposite end of the island. But Damon would never let it drop, so... “Just say it.”

“This game of musical beds. Are you going to keep changing every night?” Damon made a “huh” sound. “If so, I thought Wren and I could start a betting pool.”

“First of all, kiss my ass.”

Damon nodded. “That’s a fair response.”

“Second, I’d like to point out that when I did try to sleep here, in the same house as you, you threatened to shoot me.” Damon had scared the crap out of Harris the other night. Started yelling, hit the lights.

“You tried to sneak in and knocked over the coat rack. I should have shot you just on principle.” Damon made a tsk-tsking sound. “I mean, what self-respecting thief makes that kind of racket?”

“Keep your voice down.” Harris did a quick look around, half expecting Kramer or his son to pop up out of nowhere. It wasn’t until he saw the two of them over by the pool, walking around it and nodding while they inspected it, that Harris felt comfortable talking outside about this topic. “And it’s former thief.”

“It’s weird how I keep forgetting theformerthing.” Sarcasm dripped from Damon’s voice.

“I’ve gone legitimate.” Harris thought maybe if he said it often enough others would believe him. He didn’t consider what he did now stealing, after all. It was a matter of balancing the scales. If some Nazi stole art in the forties, he could try to fix that now. If a rich asshole used his influence or took a painting to settle a debt, Harris could make that right.

Truth was, stopping cold never worked for him. He’d tried. Almost getting caught on this island and arrested hadn’t scared him straight. Neither had the other time Wren had to step in and bail him out.

He’d been on this road a long time, at first intrigued by his mother’s obsession and then compelled by the adrenaline rush and his own driving need to fill a void inside him by taking risks. His current job provided cover, which made it easier to do his behind-the-scenes work. He’d established himself as the go-to person to track lost art. It was the part where he sometimes stole it back that his friends seemed to question.

“I am standing here instead of sitting on a beach in Hawaii because you can’t go fully legitimate,” Damon said.

Harris couldn’t exactly deny that. “Blame Wren.”

“I have been. He calls every day for a check.”

“Controlling bastard.”

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