Tags: Romance, romantic suspense, Love Story, Woman in Jeopardy, Intrigue, sensual romance, seaside, art theft, sex scenes, art thief, nova scotia coast, love scenes, east coast of canada, group of seven paintings, to catch a thief
camera. He looked like the devil's own son; like he knew what it was to walk on the dark side and loved every minute of it. Sparkling blue eyes fringed with thick, black lashes accented high cheekbones and hollow cheeks. The fullness of his bottom lip hinted at passion and robbed his strong, rigid jaw of some of its obstinacy. He was a disturbingly masculine man. The kind of man she kept her distance from. She dropped her hands down to her side and inched back another step as excitement streaked through her. Oh no. She was a big girl. Old enough to know not to mess with men like Chance. "Come on, Sarah." Chance's grin faded. "If you act like a virgin every time I touch you, no one's going to believe we just got married." "I'm not a...." She choked and looked away. He grinned again, both dimples popping into place. "Don't keep me in suspense. You're not what?" "Why did you make up that ridiculous story, anyway?" "You mean the honeymoon thing? I thought if you did turn up, we'd need a plausible story for being here. It was either that or buy a skidoo. In November, Ashley Cove isn't the kind of place people visit without a reason." "And if I didn't come?" He shrugged. "Guess my wife didn't follow the clues too well. It won't take more than a couple of days to find out if your father's in the vicinity. If I hung around for that long to make sure you didn't show up, no one would question it." "You've figured everything out, haven't you?" Why did that bother her? His lips compressed into a thin line. "Not quite. Let's walk to the diner. We need the time to trade life stories." "Life stories?" "Yeah, I always say if you're going to lie, you better know what you're lying about." He held the door open. "How about starting with your mother." "My mother?" He drew her arm through his and walked them both outside, closing the door behind him. "Your father told me you look exactly like her." "I do?" The question slipped out before she could catch it. "He never told you?" "No." She stared at the wet, black pavement, a corner of her mind wondering where all the snow had gone. "He won't talk about her. I know she's from the Whitley family of New York." She tasted the old bitterness. "That's The Whitley Family. All in capitals. I've never met them." He nodded. "That's who you were talking to on the phone when I saw you in New York." She tried to pull away from him, but he tucked her arm firmly against his side. "Who was it? Your grandmother, an aunt?" She hesitated for a minute, but couldn't think of a good reason not to answer his question. "My grandmother." "She sounds like a honey." She scuffed her big boots through the slush on the edge of the road. "Yeah." "Hey." He stopped. "You have no idea why she didn't want to met you." She raised her chin, but couldn't stop the small tremble in it. "Except I don't measure up to her standards." "It could be anything. My guess is you won't be able to change her ideas, so don't try." She watched a dark shadow move over his face. "You say that as if you know what you're talking about." He started walking briskly, dragging her along with him. "Why come back to New York now?" Interesting that he didn't want to talk about himself. Maybe it was better that way. She puffed to keep up with his long stride. "I told you. The weather got to me." "You have a trace of an English accent in your voice. I told everyone I met you in England, and you came back to live with me. But I really need to know, Sarah. We can't afford to get tripped up in a conversation." "So when do I get to hear about you?" "Me? That's easy. I'm thirty-two, grew up in Boston, went to Harvard, got my law degree, but never took my bar exam. I knocked around the world for a few years before working with your dad. That's how I met you." "Is that all true?" "Scout's honor." He saluted her with two fingers. "Except for meeting you, of course." "You don't speak like a Harvard graduate." He looked pleased, as if