Everybody Loves Evie. Beth Ciotta

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СКАЧАТЬ tugged me in the opposite direction, hustled me through the doors of the National Portrait Gallery.

      “You’re kidding.”

      The sizzle in his smile said otherwise. He guided me up the stairs into a main concourse, a chaotic room brimming with museum visitors.

      My skin prickled with two parts excitement, one part dread. A darkened alley would’ve been preferable. Seedy but less crowded. Then suddenly we were in a deserted hallway. We passed two doors. The third was ajar. Arch tugged me over the threshold. Not a coat closet but a janitor’s storage room. Close enough.

      I jumped his bones.

      The unexpected impact knocked him against the wall of shelves. A metal bucket fell and clipped his shoulder—”Dammit!”—then clanged to the floor.

      “Sorry. Let me kiss it and make it better.” I shoved his leather blazer off his shoulders. What I really wanted was to rip off his shirt and lick the Celtic tattoo banded around his bicep. That tattoo drove me wild. Only I couldn’t get to the tattoo because his jacket snagged at his elbows. “I guess I should’ve waited until we stripped and then jumped you.”

      “Do you really want to get naked in a room full of cleaning products, Sunshine?”

      “Good point.” My luck, I’d topple into a bin of toxic rags and break out in hives. I wiggled against his arousal. “Maybe just half-naked.”

      “You’re killing me, yeah?” He whirled and pinned me against the wall, kissing me into a stupor. He was good at that—kissing me stupid. I willed my knees not to buckle as he worked the buttons of my peacoat. I fumbled with his belt buckle. His fingers skimmed beneath my long-sleeved T-shirt and expertly unclasped my lacy bra. I moaned my approval even as my mom chastised from afar, Are you crazy?

      Mom and I didn’t see eye to eye on a lot, but I had to agree. Fooling around in a popular museum wasn’t the brightest idea. Then again, I was in idiot mode. I reached into Arch’s briefs and palmed JT—big, hard and ready to rock … me.

      Arch caressed my breasts and whispered sexy expletives in my ear as I stroked his admirable length. Scottish accent plus dirty talk equals me squirming and begging. “Touch me.” Crazy talk. What if someone walked in? Even as that thought crossed my lust-soaked brain, I shoved his pants down over his hips, gasping as he sucked my earlobe and unzipped my pants. I almost came undone the moment his fingers dipped into my panties. I groaned, anxious and disappointed when his hand stilled—climax interruptus. “Why—”

      “We’ve got company, love.”

      CHAPTER TWO

      YOU KNOW THOSE PEOPLE who constantly break rules and never get caught? I’m not one of them.

      Escaping that pub after pulling that short con had to be a fluke. The one time I played hooky in high school … busted. The one time I ignored the no-right-turn-on-red sign … busted. So, naturally, the one time I attempted to have sex in a museum’s broom closet had to end badly. Naturally, the door creaked open.

       Busted.

      Heat flooded my cheeks, leaving the rest of my formally hot-to-trot body cold. Could’ve been worse, I rationalized in a fluster. We could have been full monty. We could have been boinking like bunnies. This was just embarrassing, especially for Arch. Even though my shirt was askew, he’d been caught with his pants down. Luckily for him—and the wide-eyed cleaning man—his three-quarter-length leather jacket covered his spectacular butt.

      “What the—”

      “Dammit, honey,” Arch said in an American accent, “I knew this was a bad idea.” He winked at me while subtly removing his hand from my private region. Thank goodness his six-foot body shielded my much shorter self. “The wife and I are on our honeymoon,” he said, turning slowly to face our intruder. “Can’t blame us for … Marvin?”

      “Ace?” The janitor cleared his throat, closed the door with a firm thud. “Do me a favor and pull up your trousers. Don’t fancy seeing your naughty bits, eh? Blimey.”

      Marvin chuckled in an easy manner that intimated he and Arch were friends, or at least on friendly terms. Curiosity almost bested my mortification. Almost. Cheeks flaming and bra willy-nilly, I pulled down my shirt and zipped up my pants.

      “Guess there’s not a lock you can’t crack,” Marvin said.

      “The door was open,” said Arch.

      “The new kid must’ve been in here. He’s always forgetting something—scrubbing the toilets, polishing the banisters, locking the supply closet. A good bloke but easily distracted. Spend half my days cleaning up after him.” He snorted and chuckled. “Get it?”

      Arch whispered in my ear. “As often as I can.” Eyes twinkling, he angled away, and Marvin and I got our first clear look at each other.

      “Who’s the bird?”

      “Evie,” Arch said while tucking in his shirttails.

      “Pretty bit of stuff.”

      “Thanks,” I said, hoping that was a compliment. I didn’t feel pretty. I felt self-conscious. Marvin, who looked to be in his sixties, wasn’t leering exactly, but he was definitely checking me out. I smoothed my passion-mussed hair from my face and hoped my long-lasting lipstick hadn’t smeared.

      “Known this boy since he was in short pants,” he told me while pushing his electric floor buffer thingy into the corner. “Started hanging around the museum when he was a kid. Inherited an appreciation for art from Bernard—along with his fine eye for women.” He clucked his tongue in wonder. “Ace always gets the pretty birds.”

      “Marvin was a good friend of my grandfather’s,” Arch said, clearing up one relationship while I pondered countless others. Exactly how many birds were we talking? Was he currently involved with any of these other women? Why hadn’t I asked? Why had I just assumed that I was special and that we were exclusive? Talk about naive. Or stupid. Just because we’d worked one sting together. Just because he’d bought me a plane ticket and said he wanted my company while he tended to his grandfather’s estate. That didn’t make me the girl of his dreams, just the girl of the moment.

      Marvin’s keen blue eyes ping-ponged from Arch to me and back. “You didn’t really get married, did you?”

      “Hell, no.” Arch glanced over his shoulder. “No offense, love.”

      “As if I’d shackle myself to you. No offense, Ace.”

      Marvin cackled.

      Arch grinned.

      I wanted to smack them both.

      “Can we talk?” the older man asked Arch.

      “Sure.”

      “In front of her?”

      “Aye.”

      That would have earned him points except they inched away and lowered their voices. I took the opportunity to reach up the back of my shirt to fasten my bra. I pretended not to СКАЧАТЬ