“You don’t owe me any explanations,” she murmured, but the way she clutched the dish towel in her hands made Roark wonder if it was his neck she wanted to wring.
“Stay,” he repeated. “I won’t be long.”
Her muscles softened minutely as he kissed her gently on the corner of her lips.
“Okay.”
Satisfied, he returned to the agents.
“She seemed to need a lot of convincing to stick around,” Special Agent Matthews remarked as they headed down the hall. “Doesn’t she trust you?”
“She trusts me,” he said as the elevator doors closed, trapping him in the small space with the two FBI agents. “It’s you she doesn’t trust.”
“Really?” Matthews laughed. “And why is that?”
“She seems to think your pursuit is overzealous. Like maybe you’ve got the hots for me and this case is just an excuse to spend time alone with me.”
Agent Matthews laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “She has no need to worry on that score.”
“You’re right about that. I’m a one-woman man and she’s the one woman for me.”
“From what I’ve heard, everyone is surprised by your engagement.” Agent Matthews met Roark’s impassive stare with her laser-sharp gaze. “Why keep Ms. Minerva such a secret if you two were so in love?”
“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a fan of gossip, Agent Matthews.” He accompanied his mocking words with a bland smile. “Do you have a pile of glossy magazines hidden away in your desk drawer?”
“I don’t gossip, Mr. Black. I interview people for facts.”
“And yet you’re suspicious over the fact that I didn’t flaunt my relationship with Elizabeth for the amusement of the New Yorkers that read Page Six.”
While Agent Todd headed for the driver’s side, Agent Matthews opened the back of the black cruiser and gestured Roark inside. “I’m suspicious over the timing of your engagement. It certainly has taken the focus off the Gold Heart statue.”
Roark paused with his hand on the door and offered a sardonic grin. “What a cynic you are, Agent Matthews. Don’t you realize that love finds you when you least expect it?”
Five
With Roark gone, the loft felt cold and cavernous. The man certainly filled a space with his charisma and sex appeal. She shivered.
What new information could the FBI have that would prompt them to drag Roark out of his apartment at nine o’clock at night? She regretted doubting him about the authenticity of the Gold Heart statue in his possession, but could he be protecting the true criminal out of a sense of loyalty to his old teacher? Had Darius stolen Rayas’s statue?
Turned to ice by her thoughts, Elizabeth scooped a throw off the back of one of the couches and wrapped herself in it. The fat snowflakes drifting past the floor-to-ceiling windows drew her to the view of Manhattan.
Rampant longing continued to pulse in her loins. It shocked her how much she wanted Roark’s hands on her, his mouth coasting over her skin. Her body ached with unfulfilled desires as she stared at the street seven stories below. If not for the FBI agent’s interruption, she would have slept with Roark. What a mistake that would have been.
But even as the thought formed, the sentiment behind it was hollow. Elizabeth floundered in confusion. Either she was as misguided as ever when it came to romance, or Roark wasn’t the bad boy he appeared to be.
Elizabeth turned away from the window. When had she stopped relying on logic and looked to her instincts for answers? His reputation, the trouble with the Gold Heart statue and the suspicions of the FBI should have given her more than enough reason to keep him at arm’s length.
Instead, here she was, basing her decision to trust him on gut reaction. Granted, unlike other men she’d dated, not once had Roark acted in a way that undermined her confidence or made her feel insecure. But was she right to believe that he’d been truthful with her when his business dealings were questionable?
Emotions churning, she prowled across the living room’s gleaming wood floors and trespassed into Roark’s private domain. The last time she’d been in the loft, she’d been too busy with preparations for their “engagement” party to investigate the home of the man she was supposed to know everything about.
In fact, except for what she’d read in the papers and the little Roark had told her about his childhood, she had no idea about his interests outside treasure hunting and rock climbing. She knew he spent his days at Waverly’s, meeting with Vance and Ann about the current crisis and the auction house’s future.
The loft had four bedrooms in total. Elizabeth skipped the room she’d used to change the night of their engagement party and headed straight for Roark’s master bedroom. No surprises here. White walls. A gorgeous oriental rug covering the hardwood floor. An enormous king-size bed. Dresser and nightstands in some dark wood. More floating shelves held vestiges of Roark’s travels.
The lack of personal items and photos confirmed Elizabeth’s concern that Roark was a man who wanted no ties, had no family celebrations to remember. He liked his freedom to take off whenever the next adventure called. And she was someone who had her days planned down to the minute months in advance.
Retreating back into the hall, she pushed open the door to the room opposite Roark’s and stared in dumbfounded surprise. Here was the heart of Roark’s house. A cozy, cluttered space filled with wall-to-wall bookshelves, a chunky wood desk piled high with books and papers. Opposite her, an overstuffed chair sat beside an ornate fireplace.