I smiled again. I could see her anticipated moves. “What were you doing meeting with Eudora Green?”
Devon paused, dragging out the moment. “I’m here exploring London and every place mentioned by Doyle in his stories. And I’m curious about those Doyle papers. And the only person in the Society I haven’t connected with is Bernard Allerton.”
The mention of Bernard’s name so casually had my pulse racing even faster. Who was this woman?
“What do Eudora and Bernard have to do with finding the thing that you lost a month ago?” I asked, referencing our first conversation.
The elevator binged. The doors opened. We both stepped onto floor six. Was she following me? And if she came onto me, outside my door, with a giant bed awaiting us inside, would I even pretend to resist?
“They have a lot to do with it, actually,” she said. “I’m guessing your conversation with Eudora might have been about the same thing.”
We were stopped in front of my room—#608. I was back to feeling muddled again—dazzled by the scent of her, confused by her mind games, intrigued by her beauty. She was nothing but a gorgeous, lying, pickpocketing challenge. And god help me if she followed me inside, I’d drop to my knees eagerly. Spend this entire day, and into the next, worshipping every inch of her with my mouth. She could keep the boots on. She could even keep the dress on—I’d only have to slip the fabric of her underwear to one side to give her everything she needed.
“Who are you?” I asked softly—Bernard fan? Bernard hunter? Just a Sherlock Holmes enthusiast from America who likes lying about her name?
“Who are you?” Sincerity sparkled in her eyes. “And why is a private detective using a fake name while pretending to be on vacation?”
So she had gone ahead and researched my name, researched Codex. And god, why was I growing harder? Since first seeing her last night, my cock had been hard and heavy, body filled with yearning. This cat-and-mouse game was only making it worse because the tension between us was strung tight, and neither was willing to let go.
I refused to make it easy on her. I leaned a shoulder against my hotel room door, nodded at her pretty fingers. “In a past life, I’d arrest you for stealing.”
She tossed her gorgeous hair. “Handcuffs and all?”
A vision of slapping cool cuffs around her wrists while I pressed her body to a wall hit me like a truck barreling down the highway. I had to slip my hands into my pockets to hide their incessant clenching. And to prevent them from reaching out, grabbing the back of her neck, and dragging her toward me.
“If that’s the kind of thing you like,” I finally said—tone grating, raw.
“It’s the kind of thing I love,” she said, slowly backing down the hallway. “Too bad I don’t do that kind of thing with liars.”
I swallowed hard, watched her hungrily as she paused in front of the room directly next to mine. #610.
“Are we… neighbors?” I asked, genuinely surprised.
And pleased when she realized the same thing. She huffed out a little laugh. “You’ve got to be joking.”
I shook my head. “This is me.”
“Well… this is me,” she said slowly. Her sultry demeanor was fading in the face of her real shock.
“There goes the neighborhood, I guess,” I said, unlocking my door. Propping it open an inch with the tip of my shoe. “Looks like I’ll be seeing you around, Ms. Atwood.”
9
Sloane
Abe Royal was on the move.
I pressed my ear to my door, heard his open and close, then the elevator doing the same thing. I yanked on my boots, fluffed my hair, and checked my lipstick.
And I set off to follow him.
It had been six hours since our conversation in the hallway—and while I’d intended to stay in his hotel because I’d be closer to a potential source for All Things Bernard, it had not been my intention to be his fucking neighbor.
That was, truly, coincidence. A coincidence my sex-starved body had been extremely happy about. During the six hours we’d been apart, every action I undertook inside this room had me imagining Abe doing the same thing. Undressing, showering, crawling onto the wide, soft bed.
More specifically, I’d spent several hours battling the force of this new handcuffs fantasy that had appeared ever since the man had threatened to have me arrested for my sticky fingers. There was no denying the allure: