The Rogue's Fortune Read online

  This encounter with Elizabeth had hit him the same way. He’d held her hand in his and recognized she was the genuine article. No artifice. No games. Pure attraction. And he intended to have her.

  “We’ll continue this conversation later,” he assured her.

  Her eyes said: don’t count on it.

  “Mr. Black?”

  He strode away from the petite event planner with the lush figure and unforgettable indigo eyes and made a beeline toward the two obvious outsiders bracketing Ann. Unlike her assistant, Waverly’s CEO wasn’t in the least bit flustered that FBI agents had crashed the party. Her calm under pressure was one of the things Roark liked most about the head of Waverly’s.

  Her gaze locked on him as he neared. Eyes hard, she offered him a neutral smile. “Roark, these are Special Agents Matthews and Todd. They would like to ask us a few questions in private.”

  Roark eyed each in turn, recognizing Todd as an agent he’d seen in passing, but had never had any direct interaction with. Agent Matthews was brand-new. Tall and lean with black hair that spilled over her shoulders in abundant waves. Her dark brown eyes had tracked his progress across the room toward them, and Roark knew this one looked at him and thought career advancement.

  “We can speak out on the terrace.” Whipping off his tuxedo jacket, he draped it over Ann’s shoulders as they headed to the door that led out onto a small outdoor space. Elizabeth’s deft touch could be seen here, as well. With white lights tangled in white pine boughs and candles in modern hurricane lanterns, the terrace oozed romance.

  After three months in the jungle, Roark appreciated the cool November evening as he enjoyed the glow of Manhattan visible beyond the terrace’s cement half wall. Most of the time he found the city too tame for his taste. But there was no denying it sparkled at night.

  As soon as the door shut behind them, Roark spoke.

  “What can we help you with?”

  “This is about Rayas’s missing Gold Heart statue,” the first FBI agent said. “We’ve had a new report from Prince Mallik Khouri that a masked man with Mr. Black’s exact build stole the statue from his rooms at the royal palace.”

  “You can’t possibly think Roark stole the statue,” Ann protested, but it was all for show. She didn’t look a bit surprised that Roark was being accused of theft.

  “We have reports that he was in Dubai at the time,” said Agent Matthews. “It wouldn’t be impossible for a man of his talents…” the FBI agent twisted the last word to indicate what she thought of Roark’s abilities “…to slip into Rayas, get into the palace and steal the statue.”

  “It’s completely within my power to do so.”

  Ann’s grim glance told him to let her handle the accusation. “He wouldn’t.”

  “Just like a thousand other illegal things are in my power to do,” Roark continued, staring Agent Matthews down. “But I don’t do them.”

  “Sorry if we can’t take your word for it,” Special Agent Todd said.

  “There’s no proof that Roark was involved.” Ann showed no sign of believing otherwise and Roark appreciated that whatever her opinion of him, she hadn’t thrown him to the wolves.

  “The thief made the mistake of cursing during the scuffle.” Matthews nodded. “The voice was deep and very distinctive.” Her gaze locked on Roark. “He claims it was your voice, Mr. Black.”

  “We met briefly once in Dubai years ago. I can’t imagine that he’d remember my voice.”

  But Roark recognized that he was the perfect scapegoat. And Mallik had another reason to suspect that Roark would break into his rooms at the palace.

  “Why is this the first we’re hearing about this thief?” Roark demanded.

  “Prince Mallik was embarrassed to explain his failure to stop the thief to his nephew, the crown prince.” Matthews arched her brows. “But he’s convinced it was you.”

  “He’s mistaken,” Roark snapped.

  Ann put her hand on his arm and spoke in a calm, but firm voice. “I’ve met Prince Mallik. He seemed like an honest, gracious person. However, in the midst of a fight, I imagine being overwhelmed by adrenaline, with heightened senses, he may only think he heard Roark’s voice. Didn’t you say the thief wore a mask?” Ann didn’t wait for the FBI to confirm her statement. “Perhaps his voice was distorted by the cloth.”

  Roark was working hard to keep his temper at a low simmer. “Have you questioned Dalton Rothschild about the theft?” The rival auction house owner had been a thorn in Waverly’s side for years. “He’s got a bone to pick with Waverly’s and I wouldn’t put it past him to send one of his minions to Rayas to steal the statue and pin the blame on me.”

  “Dalton Rothschild doesn’t share your controversial methods for procuring artifacts, Mr. Black,” Agent Matthews said. “We would have no reason to question him in this matter.”

  Of course they wouldn’t. It wouldn’t surprise Roark to find out that Rothschild was the one that pointed the FBI to Waverly’s in the first place. The guy was a slick operator, but as greedy as they came.

  While Ann escorted the FBI out, Roark stayed on the terrace and let the chilly fall air cool his ire. Through the large half-circle windows he searched the party for Elizabeth Minerva. She drifted through the well-dressed guests like a wraith, her blond hair confined in a neat French twist, stunning figure downplayed by the simple, long-sleeved black dress.

  Hot anger became sizzling desire in seconds. From the moment he’d set eyes on her an hour ago, he’d been preoccupied. Petite, curvaceous blondes weren’t really his type. He preferred his women long and lean with flashing black eyes and golden skin. Passion ruled him when it came to antiquities and lovemaking.

  His sexual appetites would probably break a dainty, graceful creature like Elizabeth.

  “Roark, what are you staring at?”

  Without his notice, Ann had returned to the terrace and stood beside him. Roark cursed his preoccupation. Being caught unaware could get him killed in many of the places he ventured.

  “How can I get in touch with your party planner?” he asked.

  “My assistant made all the arrangements.” She sounded surprised that he’d asked. “I’ll have her email you the contact information.”

  “Wonderful. In a few weeks we’re going to have reason to celebrate.”

  “You mean because of the Gold Heart statue?” Ann paced toward the terrace wall. “Are you sure it’s not the one stolen from Rayas?”

  “Are you asking me if I stole it?” He’d grown weary of her lack of trust in him these past few years.

  “Of course not,” she said, her tone smooth and unhurried. “But you’re sure your source for the statue is completely legitimate?”

  “Absolutely.” He touched her arm. “You can trust me.”

  Some of the tension seeped out of her. “I know, but with this new accusation, we have to be more careful than ever.”

  And careful wasn’t something he was known for.

  “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 i
t 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?