And she couldn’t touch him. He still hadn’t released her wrists, heightening the sensation of being taken by him, maddening her, torturing her, blissing out every pleasure center in her body.

“Con, let me touch you,” she urged when he returned his mouth to her budded nipple.

He just looked up, a smile threatening as he shook his head. Moving to the other side, his fingers curled inside her and twisted more pleasure out of her.

“This is me…” He stroked her flesh. “Doing you.” He nibbled her nipple. “And you…” He thumbed her clitoris. “Coming apart.”

“I am,” she admitted.

“Not yet, you’re not.” He flattened his tongue over her breast, then sucked again, shooting sparks behind her eyes, in her belly, between her legs. His thumb twirled over her, his fingers flicked and fluttered, over and over until the need to free her hands was long forgotten, her brain only able to focus on bits and pieces.

The smell of salt on his skin. The achy thrum in her core. The zing of her nerve endings, the tickle of his leg hair, the wetness of his kisses, the moans from his chest, the feel of flesh against flesh, mouth against mouth, man against woman. His erection pressed against her thigh, burning and branding and making her beg to touch him-but he didn’t relent.

“Now you come apart.” One more shocking kiss. “Now.”

The demand was incendiary, intoxicating, impossible to ignore as he stroked her inside, licked her outside, fired her everywhere.

She panted breathlessly as the shudder started low inside her and built, the orgasm almost within reach.

Her eyes closed, she couldn’t think, couldn’t let go of the sensation about to overtake her.

She felt his fingers withdraw, heard a condom packet rip, and opened her eyes to see him position his hardon between her legs. He thrust into her, all the way, shocking her, taking her, owning her.

He plunged in again, holding perfectly still, suspending them both, then pumped fast and furious until her orgasm exploded deep and intense and long, making her cry out.

Then he finally let go, releasing himself into her with crushing, insistent strokes and a sweet, sweet moan of satisfaction.

Lax and spent, he laid on her, their breathing labored and ragged, their skin heated from the rush.

After they finally quieted, he said, “Now you can ask questions.”

She smiled. “You answered them all.”

Con shifted to his side. “But I need to tell you something, Lizzie. I shouldn’t have waited, but I couldn’t help it.”

She put her hand on his lips. “Don’t.”

“You don’t know what I’m going to say.”

“It doesn’t matter what you’re going to say. I want to say something first, without you making any speeches or statements or confessions or announcements.”

He fought a smile. “You’d like the one I’m about to make, trust me.”

“You’ll like the one I’m about to make,” she countered, sliding over him to pull his whole body into hers. “It doesn’t matter.”

He waited for her to continue. “That’s it?”

“What else is there? The past is past? You’re clearly doing everything to change your life?” She stroked his cheek gently. “Your colors are true, Con. You risked your life to save my sister. You couldn’t have shown me what you’re made of better than that.”

“Funny thing. I was thinking the same thing about you.”

She smiled. “We’re a good pair.”

“We are.”

“And you…” She just had to know this. “You aren’t planning to take my scepter and diamond and give it to Paxton.”

“No.”

There was just enough hesitation to give her a squeeze of doubt. “Con? Are you lying?”

“No, I’m not. That was my plan, but not now-I swear it. The truth will come out. I promise.”

She saw nothing but honesty in his eyes. “Then you’re going to prove it.”

“How?”

“I’ll tell you who has it. I’m going to trust you with that information, and you’re not going to do anything with it.”

“All right.”

“I gave it to Sam Gorman.”

“And he’ll keep it safe?”

“Of course. He certainly won’t give it to Paxton. He’s on my-our side.”

“I give you my word I won’t touch it.” He kissed her softly.

She smiled. “We are a good pair. Now, what were you going to tell me?”

“You know that box I brought in?”

She rose up a little to see it on the floor. “Yeah. What is it?”

“The original manifest of El Falcone. Letters between Bettencourt and Captain Dare. Proof that your great-times-many-grandfather was legit. Everything you need to clear his name when you take your scepter and diamond on its exhibit tour.”

For a few seconds, she couldn’t even process what he was saying. “Letters? Proof?”

“And if the other one is ever found, then you have a claim to it, wherever it is.”

She pushed herself up, the words still barely sinking in. “You have proof and you didn’t tell me when you walked in?”

He smiled. “I knew that once you opened that box, you’d forget all about me.”

She nearly shoved him off her, rolling out of the little bed and landing on her feet, pouncing on the box. She kneeled in front of it, staring, then turned to Con.

He sat on the bed, as naked as she, grinning. “Go ahead. Open it.”

She did, almost afraid to touch the parchment papers inside. She lifted the first one, the words swimming as if they were underwater, the Spanish slowly making sense.

El completos manfiestan El Falcone, Aramis Dare, el capitán. Sin registrada.

She blinked, sending a tear down her cheek, and she automatically moved the paper so it wouldn’t get wet.

“I told you you’d forget about me when you saw it.”

She looked up at him, another tear escaping. “No, Con. Nothing in the world could ever make me forget about you. I believe in you. And I know you’d never do anything to break that trust.”

“No.” Con’s smiled wavered, then disappeared. “I wouldn’t.”

“I have to tell Bree. I have to show this to her.”

“Go ahead,” he said. “Take it. I need to hit the shower anyway.”

As she stood, her gaze fell on the open bag near the foot of the bed, her Gold Digger baseball cap tucked into the side pocket. Scooping it up, she bounded over to the bed.

“Here you go, sweetheart.” She placed it on his head, tugging on the bill. “For ‘first hands’ on the best recovery of the trip so far.”

He just smiled. “Thanks.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

FOR A LONG time after Lizzie left, Con sat on the bed folding the cap in his hands.

How did this get so freaking complicated?

Was it when he agreed to accept Lucy’s challenge and get that scepter from Lizzie and give it to Judd Paxton? Or just a few hours ago, when he found the second one, and cooked up a scheme that suited his needs but no one else’s?

Life was easier before he grew a conscience. Life was easier before Lizzie.

Empty, quiet, lonely, boring, and bland-but easier.

The bottom line was that as long as he gave either scepter to Judd Paxton, he was lying to her. And he cared too much for her to do that anymore.

Lucy wasn’t going to like it, but-

The phone vibrated in his hand, and he swore when he read the ID. He wanted to call her first, damn it.

“Hey, Luce. I was just about to call you.”

“It’s getting late and Avery has compiled a lot of information for you. I spoke with my contact at the Azorean police, and you’ll be cleared to leave there this afternoon.”

“Fine, we can do that, but I have to tell you something. There’s been a change-”

“Yes, there has, because I’m not finished.”

Damn, the woman liked control.

“Solange Bettencourt’s husband, Jaeger, is the man Judd Paxton has lined up to buy the scepters and diamonds should they be recovered from El Falcone.”