To Tempt a Thief 1 (The Billionaire and the Thief)

by Pierce, Sylvia

  “Take them off,” he said. “Now.”

  The command, so firm and delicious after all their earlier jokes, made her instantly hot. She set the phone on the bed and stripped off every last scrap of fabric. She thought about closing the blinds, but decided against it, her body basking in the glow from the neighboring towers. With her bedroom lights turned off, no one could see inside, but the thought that someone might be watching anyway sent a forbidding thrill to her core.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’m here.”

  “Are you naked, love?”

  “Yes.” She lay back on her bed, stretched out over the top of her soft down comforter, grateful that her sister’s suite was clear on the other side of the penthouse. “Naked and alone, spread out on this huge king bed, and I’m very, very wet.”

  “Jesus,” the man said. “Do you have any idea what I’d do to you if I were there right now?”

  “I’m a little hazy on the details.” Ari was playing with serious fire, but she couldn’t stop. Honestly, it wasn’t just the museum run-in. She hadn’t stopped thinking about him for more than five minutes since he’d bought her that first drink at the auction. He’d made her laugh, and then he’d touched her in ways that no other man had ever dared, making her ache with a desire that still pulsed hot through her veins.

  Her fantasies would never let her be free of him.

  She didn’t want to be free of him.

  “Tell me,” she whispered, her hand trailing over her belly, down to the soft mound below. She stroked a finger lightly over her clit, shocked at how wet she really was. “Tell me what you’d do to this pussy if you were here right now.”

  He groaned in her ear, a deep vibration that made her nipples rise into stiff points.

  “Are you touching yourself?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you touch yourself last night, all alone in that great big bed without me?”

  “Yes,” Ari moaned, her fingers slipping gently inside. “I thought of you, your face buried between my thighs, fucking me with your mouth.”

  “That’s precisely what I’d do to you. I’d tie you to the bed first, though, good and tight, just so you couldn’t sneak away. Then I’d lick every inch of your flesh, sucking and tasting until I had my fill, until you were writhing on the bed, begging me to let you come. Would you like that, love?”

  “So much,” Ari breathed. She stroked her clit, slipping her fingers in and out of her pussy, coating herself in her juices. With her eyes closed she pictured his face, his lips, imagining them sucking her nipples, licking a path down her belly with hot, delicious strokes. “You have no idea.”

  “You’re getting close—I can hear it in your voice.” He moaned softly, a sound that raised goose bumps on Ari’s skin as she drove her fingers inside, then out, massaging her clit in slow, tantalizing circles as the sound of his voice made her even wetter.

  She was almost there, her muscles clenching, her heart beating wildly as she stroked faster and harder…

  “That’s it, gorgeous,” he purred. “I want you to come hard for me, come like it’s my tongue between your thighs, sucking that exquisite—”

  “Yes! Oh god, yes!” She exploded, panting into the phone as she came undone with a force she’d never before experienced through her own touch. It took her a minute to come back down, and when she finally did, her man was still on the phone, waiting patiently for her return. In the neon blaze of the city lights, her skin glistened, her body spent and relaxed.

  “I wish you were here,” she whispered, an admission that felt more needy than sexy, but Ari didn’t care. She did wish he was there, lying next to her in that great big bed, whispering about the naughty things he wanted to do to her. Kissing her. Holding her close as she drifted into a dreamless, worry-less sleep.

  “Me, too.” The stranger’s breath was slow and even, his voice gentle when he finally spoke again. “Sweet dreams, love.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  AN HOUR INTO the party, Jared stood on the patio overlooking the river, contemplating drowning himself in that godforsaken infinity pool.

  No one had cancelled, no one was fashionably late, and no one would give him a moment’s peace in his own home. He’d answered enough inane questions about the house to fill an entire issue of Architectural Digest, smiled at dozens of terrible jokes, nodded sympathetically through another lengthy debate about Manhattan preschools, and warded off no less than three propositions, two of which were from married women whose husbands were also in attendance.

  This, Evan Drake, is why I don’t favor parties.

  Worse, while the Hastings people, museum staff, and variously intolerable New York socialites oohed and ahhed over his art collection, drank his Champagne, fawned over his vintage cars, and ingratiated themselves in ways civilized human beings should find utterly embarrassing, all Jared could think about was the woman.

  He hadn’t seen her since the JHS run-in, but they’d talked on the phone every night this week, save for last night—he hadn’t been able to reach her. It had become the best part of Jared’s evenings, alternately making her laugh and making her come, sending her into the best kinds of dreams.

  He hadn’t mentioned the party again. In fact, there was a lot he hadn’t mentioned. She wanted to keep things simple, no attachments, nothing too deep. And as much as he wanted to know more about her, to see her, to feel the soft touch of her velvet skin beneath his lips, to drive his cock into her tight, gorgeous pussy, he didn’t want to push. Not like that.

  He still didn’t even know her name.

  So fucking hot.

  “Mr. Blackwell, there you are,” a voice called from behind, shattering his perfect visions.

  Jared took a swig of his scotch as he turned to face the guy—one of Hastings’s lower-level execs whose name Jared could not for the life of him recall.

  “Good evening,” Jared said cordially, reminding himself to be nice to his guests, even if they had followed him outside and broken into his most private, pleasurable moments. “I hope you’re enjoying yourselves. Dinner will be served within the hour, I’m sure. Have you tried the Champagne?”

  “It’s great. Everything’s great.” The guy—Tom or Todd or Tim something—tossed his arm around his companion, a woman who looked like she’d rather be manhandled by just about anyone else. “I’d like you to meet my wife, Jen.”

  Slipping out from her husband’s grasp, the wife extended a slim arm, her handshake cold and insincere. “You have a lovely home, Mr. Blackwell. And these gardens are so lush!”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “That painting in the foyer, is that a Chantuille?”

  “Chanteaux,” he said. “Blackbirds in Flight.”

  The woman elbowed her husband. “Told you.”

  “My wife, the art major,” Tom-Todd said.

  The woman placed her hand on Jared’s forearm, slinking further away from her husband to give Jared what she probably thought was a furtive look. “I’m wondering if you might find a moment to show me around later? I’d love to see the other pieces in your collection.”

  “Ah, another time, perhaps,” Jared said, grateful to see Evan approaching. “Lovely to meet you, Jen. The garden paths are well lit—feel free to explore.”

  “Won’t you join us?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry. If you’ll excuse me, it seems another matter requires my attention.”

  “Oh, of course.” She forced a smile as Jared walked right between them, making a beeline for his friend.

  Without waiting for Evan to speak, Jared grabbed his arm, dragging him through a side door that led into the massive garage.

  The scent of car wax, motor oil, and rubber tires calmed his nerves, the stately presence of his cars a familiar comfort. Thankfully, he and Evan were alone.

  “Don’t let anyone else in the garage tonight,” Jared said, bolting the door. “I don’t want them breathing on my cars. I already caught the old man trying to take the Rol
ls Royce for a joyride.”

  “Hastings still has a driver’s license?”

  “No, the old codger. He doesn’t. Thankfully I got to him before he found the keys.”

  Evan clapped him on the shoulder, his smile unwavering. “Sounds like you’re having a splendid evening, just as I predicted. Have you had enough to drink, mate?”

  “Just so you know,” Jared said, “I’m holding you personally responsible if any of these prats steal the family jewels.”

  “Aren’t your family jewels in England? With your family?”

  “It’s a figure of speech, Evan. Don’t test my patience.”

  “You don’t have any patience. But if it makes you feel better, I don’t think your guests are thieves. After all, they’ve paid handsomely for the privilege of your company.”

  “That’s fine, as long as you understand it’s coming out of your paycheck if they are.”

  “You need a drink,” Evan said.

  Jared tipped back his glass, an ice cube clanking against his teeth.

  “Here, have mine.” Evan handed over his scotch. “I insist.”

  Jared downed it quickly, grateful that Evan always seemed to know exactly what he needed, right when he needed it. He set the glass on wooden shelf behind them, taking a deep breath. “All the bloody yakking. The smiling. I don’t like it.”

  “But it’s for a good cause,” Evan said.

  “Why couldn’t we just write them a check?”

  “I’m not talking about the children’s museum,” Evan said. “I’m talking about Hastings. Despite your best efforts, and the fact that you wouldn’t let the geezer drive your car, it seems his board members are quite enamored of you.”

  “Is that so?” Jared asked. He’d never admit it to Evan, but the news filled him with relief.

  “Word is, Mr. Blackwell, you’re the dog’s bollocks.”

  “That’s a step up from nefarious.”

  “Indeed.” Evan’s brow furrowed. “If only they could figure out why you’re still single.”

  “Any theories?”

  “Oh, the usual. Deep emotional wounds, fear of commitment, only child syndrome, take your pick.”

  Jared laughed. “I’ve got five siblings, you git.”

  “I’m just the messenger.” Evan clapped him again on the shoulder, giving him an encouraging squeeze. “Come on. If we don’t get back inside, they’re bound to notice and come looking for you.”

  “I hate this, you know,” he said. “And I especially hate you. Worst idea you’ve ever had.”

  “You say that about all of my ideas. Especially the ones that work.”

  “This time I really mean it.”

  “Great! Now that we’ve got that sorted.” Evan opened a door that led into the huge stainless steel kitchen, bustling with caterers and bartenders. “Come on, then.”

  Jared followed Evan inside, and then punched in the alarm code, securing the garage behind them.

  “The first course will be served in one hour, sir,” the head chef said.

  “Perfect,” Jared said. “Thank you. Everything smells delicious.”

  After fixing themselves another round of drinks, the men weaved though the crowded kitchen and formal dining room, Jared doing his best to avoid eye contact while Evan deflected the overly talkative guests. By the time they reached the expansive open foyer, Jared was feeling marginally better about the evening.

  Evan had been right; the guests were having a grand time, laughing and chatting amongst themselves, enjoying the hors d'oeuvres and drinks his caterers delivered on elegant black trays. Now that they’d seen Jared at home, perhaps the Hastings people would feel a bit more at ease about their potential relationship. And of course, the Children’s Museum of Art would be able to do some great work with the proceeds from tonight’s dinner.

  As much as Jared hated to admit it, he was glad Evan had suggested hosting the event. Despite his anxieties and general aversion to putting his private life on public display, Jared couldn’t imagine the evening being a more smashing success.

  Until the greeter ushered in a late-arriving guest, and Jared’s heart nearly jackhammered out of his chest.

  Standing in the foyer, dressed in a slinky black dress that slid over every delicious curve and elegant satin gloves that reached her elbows, was one very devious, sexy-as-sin, hazel-eyed woman.

  His woman.

  Ari gave herself ten more seconds to stop feeling sorry for herself and get her head in the game.

  Never mind the Brit’s sexy voice, or the fact that she’d missed out on it last night, way too nervous about the impending job to answer his calls or texts.

  Never mind Vincent’s filthy hands, how she’d fought him off the entire drive up from the city.

  Never mind that she’d hardly gotten any sleep, jolting out of bed at every creak and groan, convinced Vincent had found a way into her bedroom, just as he’d threatened.

  Never mind that she’d lied to Tasha, convincing her that the boss was sending her on an overnighter for an important conference, an event she couldn’t miss.

  Ari took a steadying breath, willing herself to forget it all. None of it mattered. Tonight, right now, standing in this gorgeous mansion in the shadow of the Catskill Mountains, Ari just had to finish the job.

  Get in. Get the intel. Get out.

  And above all, don’t get noticed.

  After checking the hallway to confirm no one had followed her upstairs, Ari slipped into a bedroom and shut the door behind her, confirming what her observations of the first floor had already implied.

  This guy is loaded.

  She hadn’t even done a thorough sweep, but she’d already determined it to be exactly the kind of exclusive, eclectic cache Davidson had predicted: Paintings from the Italian Renaissance, Russian avant-garde, and contemporary works the owner had likely commissioned directly from the artists. Exquisite New Kingdom jars and statues made of Egyptian alabaster and faience. Silk scrolls and wall panels from thirteenth century Japan. The entire home was a museum in and of itself—and that wasn’t even counting the classic cars Vincent had mentioned. Ari knew a lot more about fine art than she did about automobiles, but the way he’d gone on about them, those beauties had to be worth millions.

  Millions that someone else worked for. Someone you’re going to hurt.

  Shaking off the ever-present guilt, she sent Davidson a text to hint at her initial findings, hoping it was enough to keep his incessant check-ins at bay. I’m having a lovely evening—even better than expected. I think a family trip to the region sounds like a great idea! The more, the merrier. LOTS to do here.

  With heavy tapestries drawn over the windows, the bedroom was too dark to explore unaided. Ari flipped on the flashlight on her phone, quickly scanning her surroundings. It wasn’t the master suite, but even this secondary bedroom was lush with paintings and beautiful antique furniture.

  She made her way to a large, walk-in closet full of women’s clothing and shoes, everything protected by clear plastic garment bags.

  Interesting.

  Davidson’s surveillance had indicated that the homeowner lived alone—not with a woman. Then again, with everything bagged up and put away, it was likely that the woman who’d once occupied this room hadn’t been here in a while.

  A low shelf along one wall held an assortment of jewelry boxes, and inside the largest, Ari found a piece that took her breath away.

  With gloved hands, she fingered the ruby-and-diamond bracelet, admiring the way the gemstones sparkled in the low beam of the flashlight.

  It’d been more than a decade since she’d earned a place on her father’s crew with that minor jewel heist. But for a fleeting moment, warmth spread in her belly, a familiar rush that made her feel both excited and dirty.

  Excited, because she’d never forget the look of pride on her father’s face that night when she’d shown him her score.

  And dirty, because rifling through people’s heirlooms and possession
s was one of the most despicable things one human being could do to another. More than just a crime, it was a violation, pure and simple.

  With a deep sigh, Ari put the bracelet back, grateful that the only thing she’d be taking tonight was information.

  Through an open archway at the back of the closet, Ari entered a small dressing room, just large enough for a chair, a full-length mirror, and a chest of drawers.

  On the wall above the chest was a painting of a dour woman gazing into a mirror. The reflection staring back at her was that of a young girl. Though Ari couldn’t make out colors in the dim light, she knew the woman’s hair was dark, the child’s light, their eyes the same haunting blue.

  She knew the painting by heart.

  Memory’s Memories, by Viola LaPorte.

  It was one of her father’s. From the missing cache.

  Tentatively Ari reached for the painting, tracing the edge with a trembling finger. Tears blurred her vision as she realized with shocking clarity that she’d been searching for this for the last five years, ever since Davidson had shown up at her father’s penthouse with his head down, unable to meet her eyes.

  He’s dead, Arianne. I’m so, so sorry…

  All the auctions, the high society events, the fundraisers… It wasn’t just because she was afraid of Davidson, afraid of ending up on the street, afraid of losing her sister. It was because she’d hoped, on some deep impossible level, that she’d find the missing cache. That she’d piece together the clues and follow the trail straight to her father’s murderer.

  That she’d finally clear his name.

  And here, tonight, was her first clue. The first link anyone in the crew had ever found.

  It shouldn’t have surprised her. With a $70 million street value, a cache like that didn’t just vanish. It might go underground awhile, but it always resurfaced, usually in pieces. A painting here. A vase there. Even one piece could lead them to the rest.

  And this was it. Her one piece.

  Ari blinked away her tears and looked again at the painting. If this one had shown up, others would follow. Maybe they already had. Maybe they’d even be in this very house.