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So what if Roark was wealthy. A scholar. Or that Elizabeth would never need to worry that he’d move in with her and then have sex with another woman while she was at work. That had been Philip. A struggling musician with a band named Puked Rabbits.
Tom was next. He’d caught her in a vulnerable place after she’d broken up with Philip and sweet-talked her right into bed. The day she asked him where their relationship was going was the last time she saw him.
Elizabeth shifted her head on the pillow and stared at Roark. She’d dated enough jerks to know that he didn’t fall into that category. He might profess he didn’t sell his mother’s penthouse because of the memories it held, but she was certain he held on to it because it had been Mrs. Myott’s home for almost thirty years.
Still, there was no question her taste ran to unavailable men. She’d long ago understood she was challenged by the idea of turning them into something better. She liked the idea of taking something anyone else would give up on and making it work. Like the loft venue for the wine auction party where she’d met Roark. Elizabeth had accepted the challenge after three other event planners had turned it down, intimidated by the magnitude of the transformation the loft required. It’s why she’d gotten the job on such short notice. But she’d made it work. And brilliantly.
“You’re going to have a hard time falling asleep if you don’t shut your eyes,” Roark’s low masculine voice murmured close to her ear.
“I thought you were already asleep.”
“I was dozing.” His eyes opened and searched her face. “Your loud thinking woke me up.”
“As if that could happen.” But she couldn’t make her expression match her lighthearted tone.
“What’s wrong?”
“I was thinking about my sister. Wondering what she’d think about what we were doing.”
“You don’t think she’d approve.” Once again, he’d read her like a professional poker player.
“Ever since we were kids she was my moral compass. Of course, back then I called her Little Miss Goody Two-shoes.” Elizabeth swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “Everyone loved her. She never did anything wrong. Or at least she never got caught. That’s what I was for. I got blamed for everything that happened.”
“I could have used a little brother for that.”
“Hard to believe she and I would grow up to be best friends.”
“Would she have liked me?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“I could put you to sleep counting all the enemies I have in the world.”
She didn’t like the reminder of the numerous healed wounds on his body. “Then, let me rephrase. Don’t all the women you meet like you?”
“Pretty much. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“She would have liked you.”
“You don’t sound sure.”
“She would have liked you,” Elizabeth repeated with more conviction. “She just wouldn’t have liked you for me.”
* * *
Roark mulled over his reaction to Elizabeth’s declaration as he let himself into the loft the fo
llowing morning. Despite being fully absorbed in his thoughts, he immediately knew he wasn’t alone in the loft. It was a disturbance in the air, a vibration that had saved his ass any number of times. Moving quietly, he plucked a sharp knife from a drawer in the kitchen and headed in search of his intruder.
His first destination was the study. Given the troubles over the Gold Heart statue, he expected whoever had entered the loft would start here. A regular thief would’ve walked off with the Matisse he’d brought over from the penthouse. It was his favorite of all the artwork and Elizabeth had been right to say the loft needed something on the walls.
The study was undisturbed. Roark frowned. He wasn’t wrong about someone being in the loft, but if neither his research nor his artwork was what the intruder was after, was Roark’s life in danger?
He crossed the hall and regarded his partially closed bedroom door. Did an assassin lurk behind it just out of sight? Heart thumping in anticipation of the fight to come, Roark reached out to nudge the door open and heard a soft sleepy groan coming from the direction of the bed. In his experience, killers rarely fell asleep while waiting for their prey. Roark shoved the door fully open and growled.
Sabeen lay sprawled across his sheets, black hair falling in luxurious waves over her naked back. She’d obviously slipped in during the evening with the idea of surprising him. What would have happened if he hadn’t accompanied Elizabeth home? If he’d been able to convince her to come here for a nightcap? Granted, they weren’t truly engaged, but he had little doubt Elizabeth wouldn’t take kindly to finding a naked woman in his bed.
He wasn’t taking kindly to it, either.
