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“I wait with breathless anticipation.”
His gaze found hers as he led her from the room. “So do I,” he murmured. “So do I.”
Heat crept through her cheeks. She pulled her gaze from his and knew, with absolute certainty, that if she survived the night without making love to him, it would be nothing short of a miracle.
THEY SPENT THE REST OF THE DAY CHECKING OUT THE addresses of the various Marline and Mariel Thomases, only to come up empty every time. They were all either too young or too old. No one matched the image of the child in her mind.
Not that that meant anything, Kirby thought sourly. She closed her eyes, leaning back in the car seat. Trina had looked nothing like her memories, either, so why Kirby was so certain she would recognize the witch was a puzzle.
Doyle climbed into the car and shoved several plastic bags onto the backseat.
“You’ve got enough food in those bags to feed an army,” she said with amusement. “You planning to settle in for the long haul?”
“No, because it wouldn’t be safe. I am, however, starved.”
“Does that mean you’re planning to cook?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Can you?”
“Sort of.” Helen was the expert in that field. Kirby had only ever dabbled, and most of the time with disastrous effects. Which was why she’d been relegated to cooking only two nights out of seven.
“ ‘Sort of’ will ruin my soufflé.”
“You’re kidding … aren’t you?”
He grinned and started the engine. “I certainly am. I can’t stand soufflé.”
She rolled her eyes. “So what are we having?”
“You’ll just have to wait and see.”
“You can be very irritating, you know that?”
He flashed her another grin that sent her heart into cartwheels. “Thank you. It’s a skill I work hard at.”
He pulled out into the traffic. She studied his profile, her artist instincts stirred by the sheer perfection of it. She’d paint him one day, though no doubt from memory. Pain twinged through her. She bit her lip and wondered again why he seemed so attracted to her. Was it just the danger pulling them close, or was there something more? He had the looks, and no doubt the money, to pick and choose as he pleased. Surely an unwanted brown mouse from Nowhereville, Australia, didn’t have a hope of holding his interest for long.
And that was what was holding her back, she realized. As much as she wanted to make love to him, she was afraid that once she did, she’d want more. Want the whole nine yards. And she just couldn’t believe he’d ever be content to stay with someone like her. Damaged goods, Helen had once called them both. Thieves didn’t take damaged goods—they only went after the very best.
“I am going after the very b
est,” he murmured.
She briefly closed her eyes. If only I could believe you.
But that was the trouble. She couldn’t believe him. Couldn’t trust that he meant anything he said. She’d learned the hard way that the world was filled with thieves—some, like Doyle, stole artifacts, jewelry and no doubt the occasional heart. Others, like the caretaker, stole innocence.
“Don’t you dare put me in the same category as that animal,” he said, voice cold and flat. “We’re nothing alike.”
“I know, and that’s not what I meant.” She hesitated, not really certain just where those thoughts had been headed, other than the fact that if Doyle stole her heart and then walked away, she’d never recover. Not without Helen around to pick up the pieces.
Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away and risked a quick glance at him. His face was as stony as his thoughts. She’d annoyed him.
Hurt him.
And that was something she had never meant to do. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “It’s just … I just need time.” Time to know you. Time to know me. In two brief days, her life had irrevocably changed, and even the memories of her past had proven to be false. How could she possibly believe her feelings in such a situation? How could he? “You can’t just walk into my life and expect me to be swept away on a tide of emotion. It’s not that easy.”
“It is that easy—if you trust me.”
