She pulled back. “A princess?”
Okay, too sappy. “A hot babe?”
She raised her eyebrows.
He decided to go with the truth. “A beautiful, intelligent, funny, gracious lady?”
“That’s not bad.”
He took the champagne from her hand and set both glasses down on the bedside table. “Come here,” he said, needing to feel her all over again. He gathered her into his arms and they stretched out on the comforter.
She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder.
He stroked her hair, releasing its scent. “Wenches and ale. How is it you know more about my family than I do?”
“I’m nosey. I ask lots of questions.”
He settled his arm more comfortably around her. Traffic sounds came to life on the street below, and the rising sun flashed its orange rays through the balcony doors.
“Let me ask you a question,” he said, twirling a lock of her hair around his index finger.
“Fire away.”
“You said you had foster parents.”
She nodded. “I lost my parents in a house fire when I was five.”
Cole tightened his arm around her, and the ceiling fan whooshed into the silence.
“My foster parents were friends of the family. Nanny Emma and Papa Hal raised me. But they were older. And they’ve both since passed away.”
Cole’s heart went out to her. He didn’t know what he’d do without his family. “You must miss them all.”
“Nanny and Papa, yes. But I don’t really remember my parents at all. I have these vague images of them in my mind.”
“What about pictures?”
“Burned in the fire. A few of the neighbors had shots of my father from a distance, but they tell me my mother was always behind the camera, not in front of it.”
Cole’s chest tightened at the injustice. Never to know what your mother looked like? At twenty, he’d ached for his mother. Sydney had been five.
Protective instincts welled up inside him. “What about newspapers? Her high school yearbook? Surely somebody-”
“It’s okay.” Sydney reached over and stroked her palm across his beard-stubbled cheek, comforting him, when he should have done it for her.
“What do you remember?” he asked, covering her small hand with his own.
“My mother’s locket.” Sydney relaxed against him again, smiling at what was obviously a touchstone memory. “It was silver, oval-shaped. It had a flower, I think it was a rose, etched into the front. I don’t know whose picture was inside, but it would dangle down when she bent over to hug me. I distinctly remember reaching for it. Her hair was blond, and it sort of haloed around the locket.”
“Where’s the locket now?”
“Destroyed by the fire.”
“Oh, Sydney.”
“It’s really okay.”
He tucked her hair behind one ear and gently kissed the top of her head. “I guess that explains a lot.”
She tipped her chin to look up at him, green eyes narrowing. “Explains what?”
“Your profession. Your burning desire to locate antiquities.”
She pulled back. “I locate antiquities because I have a master’s degree in art history.”
“You have a master’s degree because you’ve spent your life looking for the locket.”
“That’s silly. The locket was destroyed more than twenty years ago.”
He touched her temple with his index finger. “Maybe in here.” He placed his hand over her heart. “But not in here.”
“Did you minor in psychology?”
“Computer science. With a major in agriscience.”
“Then you’re completely unqualified to analyze me.”
“I supposed you’re right,” he said to appease her. But qualified or not, he knew hers was a personal search.
She stifled a yawn.
“We need to sleep,” he said.
“It’s morning already.”
“Not quite.”
He sidled down the bed, keeping her wrapped in his arms.
“We do need to sleep,” she agreed. Then she smiled as she closed her eyes.
Cole sucked in a deep breath. Sleeping with Sydney in his arms. He could get used to this. He shouldn’t. She had her career and he had his family.
Still, he could get used to this.
Eyes closed, Sydney waited until Cole’s breathing was deep and even. Then she blinked away her fatigue and watched his profile in the gathering light. His tanned skin was stark against the white pillowcase, and she gave into an urge to run her fingertip along his rough chin. She wished she could be honest with him, take him with her, listen to his advice.
For a moment she considered waking him up and swearing him to secrecy. Then she could tell him all about his grandmother’s problem, and they could solve it together.
But she couldn’t do that. She wasn’t even sure Cole would want her to do that. She had a feeling he’d consider a promise to any member of his family to be a sacred trust.
When she was sure he was sound asleep, she carefully inched out of the cradle of his hug and slipped from beneath the covers.
It was 8:00 a.m. in Miami, five in California and seven in Texas. She could only hope that Cole’s late night and all those time zone changes would keep him unconscious a few more hours.
She tiptoed into the living room, carefully clicked the French door shut behind her and turned on a small lamp on the desktop. Then she opened her purse and retrieved the number for the Miami fashion show. Hopefully, they’d have contact information for Rupert Cowan.
She dialed the number, spoke to a show coordinator who had Rupert Cowan’s business phone number and address. She jotted it down on the hotel notepad, peeled off the sheet and tucked the slip of paper into her purse.
She had no way of knowing if he was the right Rupert Cowan. Heading down there might be a waste of time. But she couldn’t for the life of her come up with a way to broach the subject with him on the phone.
She had no choice but to approach him in person and keep her fingers crossed.
She might have one heck of a lot of explaining to do once she got back. But it was time to pull out all the stops. If Rupert Cowan did have the brooch, and if she could get her hands on it, Cole would probably be grateful enough not to question the details.
She unzipped her garment bag, retrieved a blazer and skirt that were only slightly wrinkled, then dressed and headed for the lobby.
When Cole woke up, Sydney was nowhere to be found. She wasn’t in the suite. She wasn’t in the hotel restaurant. And she wasn’t in the lobby.
He knew he had to stop being suspicious of her, but it was unnerving to have her just up and disappear. They were supposed to be working together. Even though he’d promised to give her the benefit of the doubt, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was up to something.
Okay, so there was every chance that she was investigating antique dealers, or maybe she’d just gone around the corner. She could easily show up any minute with coffee and bagels.
Still, he glanced around the suite, taking inventory. Her suitcase was open on the sofa. Her toiletries were in the main bathroom. She’d opened a bottle of water at the bar.
What else?
He glanced around for clues.
A pen lay haphazardly across the oak desk next to a hotel note pad. Nothing to say the housekeeping staff hadn’t set them out crooked, but nothing to say Sydney hadn’t used them, either.
Cole held the notepad up to the light, staring across the fibrous surface. There were a few indentations in the paper, so he took a trick from a television crime drama and shaded across them with a pencil.
Rupert Cowan-2713 Harper View Road. Didn’t sound like a deli or a coffee shop to Cole.
Didn’t sound like anything, he told himself. She could have a perfectly legitimate reason for writing that down and leaving.
After last night, he was giving her the benefit of the doubt if it killed him.