Sweet Revenge

the fog. But she did know the moment when she finally admitted it to herself. Now.
    He felt the change but couldn’t describe it. Her body seemed warmer, softer, so that her skin flowed like wine under his hands. Her heart beat like thunder. She pulled him closer, her mouth open on his. The flavor of passion was there, but spiked with something darker, deeper. Her skin was damp, heating degree by degree as he stroked a hand down her—breast, waist, thigh. Yet she trembled. When he lifted his head, he saw her eyes, too, were damp.
    “Addy—”
    “No.” She touched her fingers to his lips. “Just love me. I need you.”
    His eyes darkened at that, went to smoke in a warning of either temper or desire. But his mouth came to hers gently as he restrained the urge to savage what was offered. “Tell me again.”
    Before she could speak, he drove her up so that her fingers clutched at his shoulders, then slid off, damp flesh against damp flesh. Her passion poured, a flood into his hand, leaving her gasping but far from empty. He watched her eyes widen and glaze over as her body contracted then went lax under his. Her breath caught as she began the next rise. Now her thoughts were only of him, and her body was like water, flowing, undulating, cresting. Light washed the cabin and beat against her closed lids in a red haze.
    She shifted, desperate to give him the same mindless pleasures. His body was a delight, hard and lean, his skin shades and shades paler than her own. She cruised over it now, leaving moist kisses and lines of heat. Through her lips she felt the beat of his heart; with fingertips she sent it racing faster. Some was instinct, some he had taught her. Combined, her knowledge was everything he could have asked for.
    She felt his fingers trail down her arms, glide. Their palms met. Opening her eyes, she saw he was watching her. Their fingers laced, gripped firm, like a promise.
    She shuddered when he filled her. Then moved to him, moved with him, beat to beat.
    The plane rocked through clouds. Locked together, they felt only the turbulence of one to one. Paris was a haze in the distance. It was his name she called out, telling him everything he wanted to know.
    “We’re leaving for New York tomorrow.” Philip carried the phone to the window and looked out at Paris. The city was slick with sleet, the sky gray as pewter. Not for the first time he wished that Adrianne weren’t out alone.
    “It’s big of you to check in.”
    Philip let Spencer’s sarcasm roll over him. “A man’s entitled to privacy during his honeymoon.”
    “As to that …” Spencer grumbled and bit down on the stem of his pipe. “Congratulations.”
    “Thanks.”
    “You might have let me know.”
    “It was—ah—a whirlwind romance. That doesn’t mean you can slip out of sending a present, old boy. Something tastefully expensive.”
    “Not putting a reprimand in your file’s present enough. Bypassing channels for clearance then sneaking off behind my back to some godforsaken country while we’re hip-deep in a case.”
    “Love does strange things to a man, Stuart, I’m sure you remember. As to the case,” he added while Spencer harrumphed. “I haven’t neglected it completely. Word from my former associates is that our man has retired. Dropped off the continent for the moment.”
    “Bloody hell.”
    “Yes, exactly. I may be able to make it up to you.”
    “How?”
    “You recall a Rubens that was stolen from the Van Wyes collection about four years ago.”
    “Three and a half—there was a Rubens along with two Corots, a Wyeth, and a Beardsley pen and ink.”
    “Phenomenal memory you have, Captain. It’s the Rubens I may help you with.”
    “In what way?”
    “I’ve a lead on it.” He smiled a little, remembering the way his light had passed over it inside Abdu’s vault. Yes, there were all sorts of paths to revenge. “It’s possible that the Rubens could lead you to the others.”
    “I want you in London tomorrow, Philip, for a full report.”
    “I’m afraid I have a previous commitment. But,” he continued before Spencer could shout at him. “Ill be more than willing to tell you everything I know, which is considerable, in a few days. Providing we can come to an agreement.”
    “What kind of a bloody agreement? If you have information on a stolen painting, it’s your duty to tell me.”
    Philip heard the door open. His smile widened as Adrianne stepped in. Her hair was damp with sleet. At the