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Royce growled. “But you’re making it that much harder when you don’t tell me these things in advance. If we’re going to take this egg, I need to know the layout of the place where we’re going to be and the security system.”
“No need. We’re not stealing the egg.”
Royce pulled away from Marc’s questing lips and narrowed his eyes at him. “What do you mean? I thought you wanted to get this back to the Russian government and Gatchina.”
“I do, but we can let Interpol handle the dirty work. We just need to take a picture of the egg.”
“That’s it?” Royce asked, knowing there was no masking the thread of disappointment running through his voice.
“That’s it, but it’s a big deal. There’s only one existing picture of this egg, and it’s very old and grainy. We send a clear picture of this egg to a contact at Interpol and it will be well on its way to its true home in Gatchina Palace. I’m sure it’s what the Dowager Empress would have wanted.”
“You’re insane,” Royce muttered.
“But do you forgive me?”
Royce stared into his dark eyes, his heart pounding hard in his chest. How could he not? Marc might have a hidden streak for adventure and mischief under his prim and proper exterior of art dealer and gallery owner, but it was all done in the name of justice. Marc loved art, and that meant protecting it and getting it into the hands of the rightful owners at times.
“Of course,” he breathed. “Just tell me a little earlier next time. Like when we board the plane. I love you and need you to be safe.”
“I love you too.” Marc’s long, lean body melted against his, and Royce wrapped his arms around Marc tight, not caring about how he was likely wrinkling both their shirts. At the first touch of Marc’s lips, he opened his mouth. He could taste both Marc’s love and his apology. Even after eight months, they were still learning each other, learning to trust completely after being alone for so long. But Royce looked forward to it all. He loved everything about Marc, even his impulsiveness. He wanted to learn everything he could about the man in his arms.
When they broke off the kiss, Royce nuzzled Marc’s neck for a moment and then froze. “Is Angelo here to help?” he snarled.
Marc’s laughter echoed loudly through the room, and he stepped out of Royce’s embrace. Angelo was a part-time thief, part-time porn star, and full-time troublemaker. Angelo had helped with the Italian thing and made it clear that he had a past with Marc. Royce wasn’t worried about Marc straying back to Angelo, but that didn’t mean he wanted Angelo’s friendly hands anywhere near Marc.
“No, Royce. Angelo isn’t going to be at the party. Last I heard, he was playing around in Montreal.”
“God help Canada,” Royce mumbled under his breath.Marc sipped his glass of red wine, fighting the urge to down the entire thing and then go back to the bar for something more substantial. On the long drive out of the city to a posh neighborhood outside of Budapest, Royce grilled Marc on everything that he knew about József Gábor and his home, which wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy Royce. He’d met the Hungarian billionaire several years earlier at an art show in Paris. Marc had helped him to acquire some unique pieces over the years, but they didn’t meet often—usually just once or twice a year in London. Marc had been to József’s house only once before.
That was why he was planning to get by with only a picture of the Fabergé egg. József definitely wouldn’t allow it. He couldn’t let anyone have evidence that he possessed the lost egg. But Marc was sure that József wouldn’t be able to resist showing it off, and that was when he and Royce had to strike. Marc had to create a distraction so that Royce had a moment to snap the picture, but it had to be done in such a way that neither József nor the security cameras in the room saw what Royce was doing.
Now they were standing in the crowd of people dressed in their finest, sipping alcohol and chatting about the random news from around the globe or just bits of gossip. It was supposed to be a fun, relaxing time, but Marc’s heart was racing in his chest. What if they got caught? What would József do? The man didn’t seem to be the violent type. Just another rich man with more money than he knew what to do with and that usually meant acquiring one-of-a-kind things.
“You need to relax,” Royce whispered next to him. “You look like you’re clenching your teeth.”
“That might be because I am clenching my teeth.”
“You know I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
