Page 47 of Afraid to Hope

Bane hissed through his teeth as her leg moved higher, her inner thigh rocking against him. Decision made, he removed her hand and pulled the skirt down over her legs, planting a kiss on Natasha’s nose before carefully extracting himself from her delicious, warm form. He moved to a chair and watched her sleep. She did not rouse but burrowed into the couch, seeking to replace his warmth and comfort.

He mulled over what had transpired since Natasha had first sauntered into Emmet’s office and come into his life, changing everything. Dating and sleeping with women had never been an issue, but then he’d never met any woman remotely like Dr. Natasha Jordaan. She was far from average, and her complexity fascinated him. Breathtakingly beautiful and extremely intelligent. Wise. The attraction between them instantaneous, like nothing he had ever experienced. Fierce. Off the charts, crackling electricity. He felt it in every pore of his being, and after spending time with her in and out of bed, he was sucked into a soup of emotions that astounded him. The fact that he might be falling in love with her had passed through his consciousness more than once.

Natasha sighed and flipped over on the couch, presenting her backside to him. Her skirt had ridden back up, exposing shapely calves.

“Damn, baby. You’re driving me crazy,” Bane groaned to himself, rubbing both hands over his face, recalling early this morning when those beautiful limbs of hers had clasped around him, urging them both toward a mutual explosion that went on for some time before it abated. Last night Natasha had allowed him in, but afterward, each time, she closed off. He assumed it came from being hurt and from fear of being hurt again. Lord knew she had suffered through plenty, but he was a patient man. As much as he enjoyed exploring and moving inside Natasha, he craved dismantling her protective emotional walls. He’d made some progress. She felt safe around him, welcoming his teasing and touch. She initiated conversation and physical contact, smiled more often and held his gaze, flirted with him. She showed him kindness and consideration. But trust? That was elusive. Bane yearned for when there would be no emotional reservations. He wanted all of her.

Bane had witnessed how she carried the weight of loss and betrayal in her eyes and in her soul when she told him about her friends and when they uncovered the family history in her grandfather’s office. Natasha needed to discover what he saw—that what she had been through was in large part what made her strong. Watching her sleep, at peace, gave him immense pleasure. He stood and stretched and sat gently next to her.

“Beauty,” he said softly, pushing her thick hair back from her face. “Time to get up.”

She rolled over and regarded him with sleepy eyes, her voice husky. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself.” Bane’s fingers caressed her forehead before kissing it.

“How long did I sleep?”

He looked at his watch. “Long enough. I moved our meeting back with Emmet given our discoveries. Noon. Also asked for a departure delay. We need to brief him. Simon will be here soon. I felt it best that he stays here while we’re out today and also on assignment.”

“Good calls, partner,” she said, holding eye contact and stretching her arms and legs. “I guess I needed that little nap.”

“Neither one of us got much sleep last night.” His eyes crinkled at their corners. “Sweet dreams?”

“Perhaps,” she said, smiling slyly and stretching. “Did you nap?”

“For about twenty.” He enclosed Natasha’s hand in his. “I cleaned up the coffee and breakfast. I’ll help you put everything up,” he offered, inclining his head at the scattered paper and files on the carpet. “Come on.”

Natasha and Bane organized everything, separating what they planned to share with Emmet. Everything else was returned to its original place.

“I feel as though we’re missing something,” he said, pausing after closing the cabinet door and locking it. His eyes passed over the folded drafting table and large swing-arm lamp, walls, and surfaces.

Stone coasters and a candid family photo topped the side table next to the couch. The heavy silver framed Natasha on the cusp of adulthood, her two younger teenaged brothers, and parents. She was dazzling even then, and from what Bane could tell, she, like her handsome brothers, was a blend of their parents’ ethnicities. The Jordaans had been a beautiful family. Bane could not possibly fathom what Natasha had felt when she learned her family had been killed or how she had dealt with it. He would have been consumed with grief and anger had it been his family. And now the discovery that her grandfather might have been involved in the American. Bane understood her shock, denial, and the need to clear him. He knew too well about being presumed guilty. Things were not always what they appeared to be.

Bane turned his attention to the neatly arranged desk. A large leather blotter; a chest of detailed inlaid metal and carved wood; a lamp; an older computer monitor; small globe paperweight; and a ceramic cup, seemingly made by a child, that held an assortment of pens and a pair of scissors. He lifted the curved lid of the chest. It held a tape dispenser, stapler, and paper clips.

“What are you looking for?” she asked, standing in front of the wall of framed coins.

“I’m not sure, but my sixth sense is telling me there are more pieces to this puzzle.” Bane’s eyes swept over beautifully painted wooden shutters that hung on the wall behind the desk. “Are these as old as they look?”

“Yes. They predate the 1900s. I can’t remember the year right now. They were a gift to my grandfather on one of his first jobs. The owners were modernizing their property and no longer wanted these. Such a shame because they’re a fine example of Berber-style art.”

“He had great taste.” His focus shifted to the impressive collections of coins displayed in large frames on the wall that Natasha stood in front of. “Those are originals? Antiques?”

“Yes. Pépé preferred to display his collections instead of art.”

“You collect coins. What do you think your grandfather’s collection is worth?”

“I have no idea without going through the catalog he kept. I know they are very valuable, possibly priceless. A few date back to Phoenician times.”

Bane whistled, his eyes sweeping over the coins again. “And you think all of them are here?”

“I am sure of it. He numbered the cases. I checked them while you were examining the desktop. All are accounted for and no coins appear to be missing. Why? Do you think there’s a connection?”

“Maybe. Where did he keep the catalog?”

“I’m not really sure. It’s a green leather-bound book, complete with receipts. He showed it to me occasionally. The last time was the summer before I attended university. It’s probably in here or in the master bedroom somewhere.”

“I’d like to see that,” Bane said. “Wouldn’t you? See what you glean from his catalog now that you’re an experienced collector?” He paused, his brows contracting as he considered. “I find it intriguing that the file cabinet was opened and searched, yet a priceless collection, fully in view, was untouched.”

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