Her Return to King's Bed. Maureen Child
men whether he liked it or not.
This hotel had been Rico’s dream. Built to his exact specifications by King Construction, the Tesoro Castle was the epitome of luxury hotels. He’d been working toward this project for all of his adult life. He owned several hotels and each in its own way was spectacular. But this place on Tesoro was his crowning achievement. He’d do whatever he had to do to protect his name and his investment.
Shaking his head in irritation, Rico turned and stared out his office window at the view spread out below him. The island of Tesoro, Spanish for “treasure,” was aptly named.
Miles of unspoiled beaches, aquamarine ocean, thick jungles with amazing waterfalls hidden away in the stands of trees. Sunshine every damn day and unlike most of the Caribbean, the trade winds blew across Tesoro almost constantly, keeping the heat—and flying insects—at bay.
Rico had spent months with Walter Stanford, negotiating for his own slice of the old man’s paradise. Hell, he’d even had some of his cousins come in and talk to the older man for him. Of course, Rico mused, that had worked out for Sean King, since he’d married Walter’s granddaughter Melinda.
After the negotiations, the months spent building this place and the time and expense of furnishing and staffing this hotel to get it just right...irritation blossomed into quietly restrained fury. No one was going to ruin this place.
His guests came to Tesoro looking for beauty, privacy and security and he would see that they got it.
Just the thought of jewel thieves on the island had him gritting his teeth and flexing his hands into fists that had no one to punch. He supposed it was only natural that thieves would find their way here to Tesoro, where the rich flocked in droves. Just as it was natural that when he found whoever was behind this, he’d see them locked away for decades.
But a professional thief risked a lot to make a play on Tesoro. The island was too small. Too difficult to get to and to leave from. And since no ships had left the harbor in days, whoever the thief was, he was still on the island and he still had the stolen property on him.
Jewel thieves.
Suddenly, those two words began to echo over and over again in his mind as warning bells started clanging inside his head. Even then, though, Rico assured himself that the little voice inside his head had to be wrong.
No way would she risk that.
Not even she would have the nerve to chance facing him again.
But what if she had?
“Boss?”
“What?” Rico glanced over his shoulder at Franklin.
“You want me to contact Interpol about this?”
The international police force with hundreds of member countries didn’t make arrests or have its own jail, but it could and did provide much-needed data on suspected thieves, killers and just about any crime imaginable.
“No,” he said, ignoring the look of surprise on his head of security’s face. Instead, he turned back to look out the window over the playground he’d built for the rich and famous. Rico’s brain was racing with possibilities and his adrenaline surged at the idea that he just might be at the threshold of the revenge he’d waited five years to take.
No chance in hell he’d bring Interpol into this before he knew whether or not his gut instinct was right or not.
“We’ll handle it on island,” he said, never taking his gaze from the horizon, where the sunlight glinted off the water in bright shards. “Once we’ve got the thief, we’ll decide what to do then.”
“Your call,” Franklin said, then he left, closing the office door behind him.
“Yeah, it is,” Rico told himself aloud. And if this jewel thief turned out to be the woman who’d stolen from him once before...Interpol would be lucky if there was anything left of her to hand over.
* * *
“Papa, please. Leave now before it’s too late.” Teresa Coretti glanced from her father to the closed door of his suite and back again.
She was so anxious just being here on Tesoro, even her nerves had nerves. But she’d had to come. The moment she’d realized where her father and brother had gone on their supposed vacation, Teresa had had no choice.
“How can I leave?” her father asked with an exaggerated shrug and a smile. “I’ve not finished my holiday.”
Holiday.
If only.
If Nick Coretti was really taking a sabbatical from his avocation, no one at the Tesoro Castle would have lost any of their possessions. No, her father could call this a holiday if he wanted to, but the truth was he was working. As he always was.
Dominick was a shorter, older, Italian version of George Clooney. His tan was permanent, and his sharp brown eyes missed nothing. His black hair was gray-streaked, but that only seemed to give him an air of distinction. He was polished and always a gentleman. He had been a faithful husband until Teresa’s mother’s death ten years ago.
Since then, he had used his considerable charm to smooth his way into high society, where, he said, “the pickings are always worth the effort.” He loved women; women loved him. And he was the best jewel thief in the world—not counting Teresa’s brothers, Gianni and Paulo.
Her father was always on the lookout for his next job. She should have known that he would never have been able to resist the allure of Tesoro. For him, it was the mother lode.
The problem was, this fabulous hotel belonged to Rico King and that was really not a good thing.
It had been five years since she’d seen Rico and just thinking his name sent a ripple of heat along her spine. Like it was yesterday, she could see those blue eyes of his as he stared down at her. She could almost taste his mouth on hers and hardly a night went by that she didn’t dream of his hands sliding across her skin.
She’d spent so much time trying to get Rico out of her mind as well as her life—and here she was. On his turf.
Warily, she turned her head for a quick look outside to the terrace, as if half expecting to see Rico standing there. Glaring at her.
But the elegantly furnished deck was empty save for the glass-topped table, the chairs and matching chaise and a silver bucket holding her father’s favorite brand of champagne. Which, she thought, brought her right back to the problem at hand.
“Papa,” she started, “I asked you to stay away from Rico King, remember?”
Nick flicked an imaginary piece of lint from the elegantly tailored suit jacket he wore, then smoothed one hand along the side of his perfectly styled hair. “Of course I remember, my angel. And as promised,” he continued, wagging a finger at her, “I have refused all temptation to relieve Mr. King of his valuables.”
Teresa sighed. “That’s not what I meant, Papa. Tesoro is Rico’s. Being here, stealing from his guests, you might as well be lifting his wallet. You’re tempting fate, Papa. Rico is not exactly an understanding man.”
“Ah, Teresa,” Nick said, carrying his crystal flute to the terrace where he refilled his glass and took a sip before continuing. “You were always too nervous. Too...” He paused, tipped his head back and tried to come up with the right word. Finally, he added sadly, “Honest.”
A wry smile curved Teresa’s mouth. Where else but in her family would honesty be considered a fatal flaw? She’d lived on the fringes of the law since she was a child. Before she was five, she could identify a plainclothes police officer as well as a possible mark with alacrity. While other children played with dolls, Teresa learned to pick locks. When her girlfriends were taking driver’s education, Teresa studied with her uncle Antonio, the master safecracker.
She loved her family, but she’d never been comfortable with stealing for a living. At eighteen, she had broken it to her father that she