“I need you to bring me the statue,” she continued. “The quickest way to resolve this issue is for me to take the statue to Rayas and have the sheikh verify that it isn’t the one stolen from the palace.”

“It’s not.”

“Neither the FBI nor Crown Prince Raif Khouri are going to take your word for it.” A determined firmness came over Ann’s expression. “You’ve been missing for three months, Roark. Waverly’s is in trouble.”

He might have been off the grid, but that didn’t mean he was out of the loop. Roark knew about the collusion scandal that had rocked Waverly’s and Ann Richardson’s link to it. His half brother, Vance Waverly, was convinced the CEO had never been romantically involved with Dalton Rothschild and that there was no truth to the rumor of price fixing between the rival auction houses. Roark trusted Vance’s faith in Ann where illegal practices were concerned, but he wasn’t as convinced that Rothschild’s hostile takeover of Waverly’s was just hearsay. Nor was he sure Ann hadn’t fallen for Dalton. Which meant Roark wasn’t sure how far he could trust Ann.

“It’s important to clear up the matter of the statue,” Ann continued, handing him back his tuxedo jacket.

“I understand, but getting the statue here quickly is going to present a problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean with all the publicity surrounding the statue and Rothschild’s obvious determination to cause a problem with the auction, it’s more important than ever to safeguard it.”

“Get it here as fast as you can. Or it may be too late to save Waverly’s.”

Ann Richardson’s resolve resonated with Roark. He faced difficult situations with the same strength of purpose. It was part of the reason why he was willing to do what it took to help her save Waverly’s.

In a thoughtful mood, he escorted her inside. While Roark slipped back into the jacket, he noticed a pair of eyes on him. They belonged to a very influential member of Waverly’s board. Something behind the man’s stare piqued Roark’s curiosity. He snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waitress and strode over to shake the man’s hand.

“Nice collection you secured,” George Cromwell said. “I had no idea Tyler was such a connoisseur.”

“He was a man of many secrets.”

Cromwell lifted his glass. “Here’s to hoping he takes most of them to the grave.”

Roark offered a polite smile while impatience churned in his gut. Was he seeing trouble where there was none? Had his instincts been wrong about what he’d glimpsed in the man’s manner? Or was he growing paranoid after years of dodging danger and the past three months spent in a deadly game of hide and seek with a bloodthirsty cartel?

“What were the FBI doing here tonight?” Cromwell asked.

Reassured that his instincts were right on track, Roark offered the board member a dismissive smile. “They’d received some bad information and came to clear up the matter.” In its own way, this concrete jungle was just as perilous as the tropical one he’d left behind.

“And was it cleared up?”

Roark wasn’t going to lie. “I believe they still have some doubts.”

Cromwell grew grim. “I’m concerned about Waverly’s future.”

“How so?” Roark sipped at his champagne and played at nonchalance. He hated all the political maneuvering and missed the familiar danger inherent in guns, knives and criminals who didn’t hesitate to kill anyone who got in their way.

“A number of Waverly’s shareholders have been approached about selling our shares.”

“Let me guess,” Roark said, annoyance flaring. “Rothschild?”

“Yes.”

“Selling to him wouldn’t be in anyone’s best interest.”

“With the troubles of late, there is concern that Waverly’s is being mismanaged.” Cromwell was both stating his opinion and digging for information.

Roark’s true connection to Vance Waverly wasn’t mainstream knowledge, but a few people knew Vance and Roark shared a father. If Cromwell assumed Roark would divulge what he knew about Waverly’s problems, he’d be wrong.

“That’s ridiculous. Ann is the perfect choice to run Waverly’s. Any troubles we’ve had recently can be attributed to one person. Dalton Rothschild.”

“Perhaps. But your activities of late haven’t helped.”

Roark remained silent. It would do no good to protest that what he did had no bearing on Waverly’s, but as long as he remained connected to the auction house, anything he brought in would be suspect. Being someone accustomed to operating alone, Roark found a sense of discomfort stirring in him to have others relying on him.

“What I do is completely legal and legitimate.”

“Of course.” The board member nodded. “But the world of business is not always interested in facts. Markets rise and fall on people’s perceptions of what’s going on.”

“And I’m being perceived as…?”

“Too freewheeling in both your professional and personal lives.”

Roark couldn’t argue. He based his actions on his needs and desires. Taking others into consideration wasn’t part of the equation. But the older man’s assessment poked at a tender spot, bruised earlier by the scathing opinion of a petite blonde.

His attention wandered in her direction. He knew exactly where she was. Her presence was a shaft of light to his senses.

Pleasure flashed like lightning along his nerve endings when he caught her staring at him. He winked at her and grinned as she turned away so fast she almost plowed into a passing server.

Oblivious to Roark’s momentary distraction, the board member continued, “I think if you could demonstrate that you’re committed to Waverly’s, I could convince the other board members that you, Vance and Ann are the future we want.”

“And how would you suggest I do that?”

“Show us and the world that you’ve settled down.”

In other words, postpone any dangerous operations for the near future. That could be problematic. Roark was now in pursuit of a new rare artifact—the second half of a pair of leopard heads that had once graced the throne of Tipu Sultan, an important figure in Indian and Islamic history. The first head, encrusted with diamonds, emeralds and rubies, had been discovered in a long-forgotten trunk in Winnipeg, Canada, and auctioned several years earlier.

The buyer was a collector of Middle Eastern art and had offered Roark access to the one-of-a-kind documents in his private library if Roark could find the second leopard. The knowledge locked up in the collector’s home was worth way more to Roark than the half million dollars that the man had originally offered as a finder’s fee.

Roark’s gaze swept the party guests until he located Ann Richardson. “I’d planned to leave New York in the next few days.”

“That’s not a good idea if you’re at all concerned about the future of Waverly’s.”

Roark tensed as the jaws of responsibility clamped down on him. “I have business in Dubai.”

“Do you think that leaving town is a good idea while the FBI is interested in you?” George Cromwell nodded sagely at Roark’s scowl. “Stay in New York. Demonstrate that your personal life has stabilized.”

“Stabilized how?”

“Your romantic exploits are legendary. If you could settle down with one woman, that would convince everyone you’re the man we need at the helm.”

Roark ignored the sensation of a noose being tossed over his head and kept his body relaxed. Settle down with the love of his life. Not so easy for a man whose one true passion involved dangerous, globe-hopping adventures. No woman, no matter how lush, blonde and adorable, could compete with the thrill of discovering what had been lost for centuries.

But the prospects of Waverly’s depended on his ability to project a stable, reliable image. What he needed was a woman who could play the part of his adoring girlfriend. Someone who understood this was for the good of Waverly’s.

That way, when it ended, he wouldn’t need to worry about breaking her heart.

Roark grinned. “It’s funny you should bring this up now because I’ve been seeing someone for a while and we’re very close to taking our relationship public.”

“Wonderful.” The board member covered his surprise with a relieved smile. “Bring her around for dinner tomorrow night and we’ll discuss your future in more detail.”

“We’ll be there.”

“Looking forward to it. What’s your lady’s name?”

“Elizabeth.” Roark glanced toward the screened-off section of the loft. If he had to be settled down by a woman, he intended to choose one who intrigued him. “Elizabeth Minerva.”

Two

Elizabeth barely noticed the exuberant buzz filling the offices of Josie Summers’s Event Planning as she navigated the halls. A large coffee clutched in her hand, she thanked the coworkers who congratulated her on the success of the previous night’s wine auction. Normally, the well wishes perked her up. She’d worked hard to become Josie’s top earner and enjoyed the prestige it brought her.

Success had come easily since she had started immersing herself in her work a year ago, to keep despair at bay after her sister’s death. If she was busy, she had no time to fall prey to the depression that lurked in the shadows. It wasn’t long before she discovered that running herself into a state of exhaustion wasn’t something she could do forever.

She needed a personal life, but thanks to her rotten taste in men, dating brought her more heartache than happiness.

What had struck her hard after losing her sister, brother-in-law and niece in a car accident was how alone she was. Her parents had moved from upstate New York to Oregon right as Elizabeth started her freshman year of college. In the seven years they’d been gone, they’d never returned to the East coast. It was as if with both their children grown, they’d started this whole new life for themselves.

When they’d first announced that they were moving Elizabeth had been bothered by their abandonment. But after she moved to New York City and started college, she’d fallen in love. Not with a man, but with the city. The excitement and the possibilities of living in such a wonderful place. And she’d never once felt lonely.

It had helped that her sister was a couple hours away by train. But with Stephanie’s death, a hole had appeared in her heart. What she wanted was a family. That’s when she decided to make a family of her own. Unfortunately, as fabulously as her career was progressing, things on the baby front weren’t going so well. Two rounds of in vitro had failed.

She was all out of money. Her dreams of motherhood wouldn’t be coming true this year.

Elizabeth’s heart wrenched in dismay.

She should be flying high. Last night’s triumph was yet another step upward professionally. She was crossing career goals off her list ahead of schedule. But what good did all her success do her when the reason she was working so hard was to provide for the child her body refused to conceive?

Maybe if she’d been more positive during the second in vitro try. Kept her hopes up. Spent her days and nights visualizing a baby in her arms rather than bracing herself for disappointment. Maybe then things would have turned out better.

If her sister could hear her thoughts, she’d agree. Stephanie had been an advocate for positive thinking since she was a freshman in high school. Top of her class. Head cheerleader. Captain of the women’s volleyball team the year they won state. Whatever Stephanie visualized, she made happen.

And what would her sister say about Elizabeth’s pity party for one? Stephanie would tell her to pull out a piece of paper and write her goal at the top, then list all the things she could do to move forward.

Elizabeth settled her purse in a drawer and hung up her coat. Flopping into her desk chair, she set a yellow legal pad in front of her and wrote Motherhood at the top. Below that she doodled dollar signs.

How to afford more in vitro treatments? Save money until she could afford to try again. Economizing wasn’t the answer. She already lived in the smallest apartment she could stand, a tiny studio in Chelsea with a view of the neighboring building’s wall. What she needed to do was increase her income. And the fastest way to do that? Demand that Josie make her a partner. She was already bringing in more money than all of Josie’s other planners combined. It was time she reaped some of the benefits of all her hard work.

Feeling more determined than when she’d left her apartment an hour ago, Elizabeth headed for her boss’s office. With each step she took, she gained confidence in her plan.

It was the perfect opportunity to make her pitch. Last night’s party had been a huge success. She’d made a dozen contacts and fielded interest from at least eight people who wanted her to help with their holiday parties. Her career was about to go from fast track to supersonic.

“Josie, do you have a second?”

The fifty-eight-year-old head of Josie Summers’s Event Planning sat like a queen on a cream damask sofa in her enormous corner office. A silver tray with an elegant coffeepot sat on the low table before her. On the round table that stood halfway between the door and her boss’s ornate cherry desk was a vase overflowing with the most gorgeous long-stemmed red roses Elizabeth had ever seen. Things must be going better between Josie and her boyfriend of twelve years.

Her boss waved Elizabeth in. “Darling, we’re a triumph.”

“Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves,” Elizabeth said. “The auction raised three million for children’s cancer research.” She sat beside Josie and accepted the cup of coffee her boss handed her. “Kendra called me this morning and said her boss was pleased with our handling of the event.”

Even though Josie hadn’t been involved with any aspect of the planning, she claimed credit for every success.

“Well, I should say so.” Josie crossed her legs and leaned forward to pour coffee into a second china cup. She sipped and eyed Elizabeth over the rim. “Josie Summers’s Event Planning offers nothing but sublime perfection.”

“Absolutely.” Having her boss take credit for her successes didn’t sit well with Elizabeth, but she needed her job and wanted to keep it.

Until coming to work for Josie, she’d never been one to tout her accomplishments. She’d always done her best without expecting anyone to praise her. But it hadn’t taken more than six months in the cutthroat world of event planning for her to realize that if she wanted to get ahead, she not only needed to be the best, she had to make sure everyone knew it.

“I’ve already received a half dozen calls this morning about upcoming events thanks to the work we did last night.” The diamonds in Josie’s ears winked. “Josie Summers’s Event Planning is the best in New York. It’s about time everyone recognized that.”

Thanks to all Elizabeth’s hard work. She forced a smile. “That’s great. And part of what I wanted to talk to you about this morning…”

“Oh, and those came for you.” Josie indicated the roses. “They were delivered to me by mistake.”

Elizabeth regarded the extravagant bouquet. She felt oddly light-headed. It was the sort of thing a man sent the woman he loved. “For me?”

Josie picked up a small white card and handed it to Elizabeth. “Another admirer, from the looks of it.”

Stifling her resentment that her boss had already read the card, Elizabeth slid it out of the envelope and stared at the bold script.

I have a proposal I’d like to discuss with you. RB

She had no trouble imagining the sort of proposal Roark Black had in mind. Proposition was more like it. Remembering the way his gaze had slipped over her last night, heat rushed into her cheeks. Conscious of her boss’s avid curiosity, she mastered her expression and held very still. Difficult when she wanted to run from the room and the implications of that message. But fleeing would do her no good when the danger lay inside her. The searing curiosity about the enigmatic treasure hunter. What would it be like to have those mobile lips capture hers? His hands gliding over her skin as if she was a priceless artifact he’d been searching for all his life?

“Elizabeth?”

“Hmm?”

Josie’s voice held amusement. “Who is RB?”

She dug her nails into her palm to disperse the sensual fog that she’d gotten lost in. Lying would do her no good. Josie’s curiosity was fully engaged. She would dig until she was satisfied she knew everything that was going on with Elizabeth.

“Roark Black.”

“Really?” Interest flared in Josie’s brown eyes. “I didn’t realize you knew him.”

“He was at the wine auction last night.” Elizabeth could see her boss jump to the wrong conclusion. “He was impressed with the work I’d done for the party. Perhaps he wants to hire me.”

“This is a first,” Josie purred, her opinion about the true reason for the bouquet already formed. “I’ve never seen two dozen red roses accompany a job offer before.”

“Mr. Black is a unique individual.”

“With unique tastes, I imagine.”

Elizabeth responded with a tight smile. “I’d better go give him a call.” She stood, eager to escape her boss’s keen gaze. She was halfway to the door when Josie stopped her.

“Don’t forget your roses.”

“Silly me,” Elizabeth said, her teeth gritted together.

“And let me know what he has in mind. This is the opening I’ve been waiting for. A chance to move Josie Summers’s Event Planning into a whole new level. Event planner to the rich and famous.”

“Thanks to me,” Elizabeth muttered into the sumptuous roses.

It wasn’t until she returned to her office that she realized Roark Black’s proposal had distracted her from her plan to ask Josie about making her a partner. How much longer was she going to build Josie’s business without getting the rewards she deserved?

Setting the roses on her desk, Elizabeth perched on one of her guest chairs and dialed the number on the back of Roark’s card.

“Hello, Elizabeth.”

His deep voice, rich with amusement, sent a tingle up her spine. With two words he’d sparked a chain reaction inside her. She flopped back in the chair and closed her eyes to better concentrate on his seductive voice.

“Hello, Mr. Black,” she responded, her tone less professional than she wanted. “Thank you for the roses.”

“Roark,” he corrected, his tone somewhere between a command and a request. “I’m glad you like them.”

She hadn’t said that. “They’re beautiful.”

“Beautiful roses for a beautiful lady.”

His smooth compliments were having a detrimental effect on her professionalism. Flutters attacked her stomach. Warmth flooded her as delight scampered along her nerve endings. Her body appeared to have a mind of its own, wanting to curl up in the chair and cradle the phone like some smitten teenager.

“The card mentioned you had a job for me?”

“A proposal,” he corrected, caressing the word.

“What sort of proposal?”

“I’d like to discuss it in person.”

And she’d prefer to arrange everything over the phone so his enticing sex appeal wouldn’t prove her undoing. “Would you like to come to my office this afternoon?”

“I was thinking perhaps you could meet me at my apartment. Say in an hour?”

“Your apartment…” She trailed off, at a loss for words since she didn’t dare accuse him of hitting on her when she wasn’t completely sure what was going on.

“Don’t you visit a client’s apartment when you’re planning a party for them?”

“You want me to plan a party?” Her relief came through loud and clear.

“Of course.” He sounded amused. “What did you think I wanted?”

The arrogance of the man.

Elizabeth fumed for about five seconds and then reminded herself that this was business and she was a businesswoman. She’d worked with demanding clients before. Just because Roark Black was sinfully handsome and dangerously exciting was no reason to let her baser instincts get the better of her. He was a client. Nothing more.

“An hour and a half,” she countered, feeling ridiculous the second the words were out of her mouth. It was silly to try to play power games with this man when all he had to do was hit her with his crooked grin and every sensible thought fled her mind.

“I’ll text you my address.”

At one minute to ten, she stood outside Roark’s loft in Soho. She recognized her nerves had gotten the better of her when she’d gone home to change into a sweater dress in a silvery blue. She loved the color. It intensified the gold tones of her hair and drew out the flecks of cobalt in her eyes. But most important, the outfit gave her confidence.

Briefcase clutched before her, weight on the balls of her feet, she awaited the appearance of the first man in a year who’d imperiled her no-bad-boys edict. Pulse hammering, she dredged up every hurt and disappointment caused by the men she’d chosen over the years. Remembering past injuries took the edge off her unwelcome excitement at seeing Roark again.

And then, the door opened, revealing him in all his male splendor. He was dressed casually in worn denim and a long-sleeved gray shirt that intensified the smoky tones in his eyes.

“Elizabeth.” Her name sighed out of him like a lover’s exhalation. “You are even more beautiful than I remembered.”

Crap. Her heart fluttered like some idiotic debutant at her first cotillion.

“And you are more charming than ever.” Her voice snapped like a whip, snatching the compliment right out of the words.

He grinned at her, unfazed by her tartness. “Come in.”

The loft was as incredible as she’d expected. Sixteen-foot ceilings, enormous arched windows, exposed brick everywhere she looked. Wood floors gleamed beneath couches slip-covered in white. The living space was so huge he was able to have three separate sitting areas. One flanked the stone fireplace at the far end. One clustered in front of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves near an opening that she guessed led to the bedrooms. A third near the open kitchen with its dark granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances.

“This is nice,” Elizabeth murmured, reflecting on the shoebox she lived in. “Perfect for entertaining. How many people are you inviting?”

“I was thinking about a hundred or so.”

Elizabeth pulled out an electronic tablet and began jotting notes. “Did you have a date picked out?”

“I was thinking next Saturday.”

“That is short notice.”

Mentally running through her bookings, she keyed up her schedule, already knowing she had the Hendersons’ tenth wedding anniversary on that evening. The arrangements were all made. It was the sort of party Brenda could handle on her own.

“I’m happy to compensate you for any inconvenience it might cause.”

Elizabeth offered him a bright smile as she mentally calculated her commission. “What sort of party did you have in mind?”

“It’s an engagement party.”

“How nice.” And how surprising. She’d never pictured Roark Black hosting something like that. The man had commitment issues written all over him. “Who’s the lucky couple?”

“We are.”

Incomprehension fogged her indigo-blue eyes as she looked up at him. “We are what?”

“The happy engaged couple I’m throwing the party for.”

Her crisp professionalism wrinkled beneath the weight of her confusion. “We’re not engaged.”

“Not yet.”

The expression in her eyes went from shell-shocked to resolute. “Not ever.”

“I’m crushed.” He shouldn’t enjoy teasing her so much, but it seemed the only way to get past her guards and reach the woman behind the event planner.

“I doubt it.” She’d recovered her equilibrium and now regarded him with open skepticism. “Perhaps you should explain what’s going on.”

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