Pickled Christ, he was good at the hot sex part.
She couldn’t fake her response to that. She realized he always had been good at the sex part, but she’d had no scale of comparison. He’d been her first and she had a thousand reasons to remember him as a terrible lay. Maybe it was the long drought and the blowback from the Celestia job, maybe it was worrying about walking into yakuza territory to clinch the sale, but she’d never felt so free with another man, so deliciously ready to rock and roll, as she did with Cleve, and that was confusing. He was the enemy and a diabolically clever one, and she couldn’t afford to forget that in the heat of the moment.
She’d promised herself she’d keep it impersonal, wouldn’t say his name, but when he was inside her it was the only word she remembered. And she was keeping score. He only stopped being dangerous to her and Celestia when he was asleep.
Or dead.
Dead would be preferable, but she was a master thief, not an assassin, and dead could be messy, so dead, for all its crazy-good threat value, was off the table. Fuck it.
That left sexing him till he lost consciousness.
It would be an enormous hardship, but as she sat astride his hips, looked down on that lightly furred, nicely sculptured chest—damn, he worked out—she knew she’d find a way to get through it. The bastard had gotten steadily more handsome over the years and even less able to hide his feelings from her.
Another reason to distrust him.
He flexed his hands on her ass, eyes narrowing, while other parts of him thickened between her thighs. “You’re too thin, sweetheart. All bone and not enough padding. I want to feed you up.”
She pushed her hair out of her eyes and watched him eat up the movement of her breasts. “You get to fuck me, not make me breakfast.”
“I’d make you waffles with bacon and maple syrup.”
He was supposed to take offense, not run with the idea.
“I’d fry your eggs over easy how you like them, and butter your toast to the corners.”
She groaned. He wasn’t supposed to remember how she liked her eggs and her thing about dry toast. He was supposed to shove up inside her so she could ride him into a coma. Instead he was caressing her with firm hands and making her both wet and fucking hungry again.
“Maybe an omelet with mushrooms and roasted tomatoes.”
He wasn’t going to shut up, so she sealed her mouth over his, but when her stomach gurgled he laughed, their teeth clashed and they broke apart. “I would cook for you every morning if you’d let me,” he said.
Oh no, he couldn’t say ridiculous things like that. She bit his lip until he yanked on her hair to get her to stop. She’d already made him bleed once tonight, but violence was easier to cope with than whatever this other feeling he made flutter in her chest was. Something winged like hope and fragile like forever and not worth the electronics it was forged with.
“I forgot you were a Chatty Cathy.” Not true, but better to let him think her memories of them were faded ink on forged passports put through the wash so they looked more authentically used. Cleve had the gift of gab and her father had seen it straight off. He could talk himself into, out of and all around anything he wanted. He’d been a natural at eighteen and near legendary after two years of the professor’s private tutorials. But he’d never used that silken grifter’s tongue on her until tonight.
Made her want to bite it off.
Except she had other uses for it.
He caressed her cheek. “Give me that mouth and I’ll happily clam up.”
She tipped her chin and offered her lips. He’d always had the best ideas. Picnics on rooftops, premium joints smoked under the stars, parking in pretty places in stolen cars, break and enter for the sake of a naked moonlit swim or the use of a home cinema. He’d talked them into concerts and restaurants and out of trouble more times than she could count. Proof he was a liar’s liar, he’d been able to lie to her father and get away with it.
No surprise he’d sweet talked the hotel staff to get a room pass; that he was making her remember him too fondly, alarmingly so.
She gave him her mouth and her hands and her breath and her body. She’d ride him hard and put him away wet and then she’d be free of him. She’d take Celestia and move on, and he’d be nothing but muscle memory. It was a great plan, if only she could stay focused while he burned her up with his eyes.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like you’re the brightest thing in the world? Like I’m afraid you’ve got a hatchet hidden under the mattress and you’ll take my head off if I look away?”
“Do I have to pick one?”
He laughed. “Pick me, Aria. What we could be together.” He brought her hand to his lips. “We could steal the sun and ransom its warmth.”
“Shame you can’t fuck as well as you can—” He tilted her hips and pushed up inside her in one slick move. “Oh, fuck.”
“Thought you might like that.” She grunted assent and he did it again, the hip tilt, the savage thrust that touched her so deep it sent sparks showering up her spine and over her head. Impossible to keep her balance when she was melting, but then his hands were there holding her up.
“Fast or slow, baby? You choose. Fast will make you scream. Slow will turn you inside out.”
Fast would rewire her brain. Slow would pierce her heart. He didn’t get to make the rules. “Cocky bastard.”
That earned her a sharply delicious thrust, made her eyes slam shut. “Failure to choose results in the default selection.”
“Which is?”
He dragged her down to his chest. “Everything you didn’t know you needed.”
Might as well have lit a match and set her on fire.
He moved slow, but never let her wait; he moved fast, but never so fast the sensation blurred. He kissed her deep and forceful, then neat and soft and languid. He held her like she could mistake this for play when it was deadly serious. He attacked her like she’d need traction and soothed her like she was prayer. She’d have to kill him after this, despite the mess, because he was lethal, a danger to the general population, and he knew too much about her now to go on living.
She’d meant to ride him till he was spent, but he’d let loose on her and she was awakened. Hope had strong wings and they caught the wind and sent her sailing as another orgasm rattled through her, making her teeth clack and her nails scratch, making him shout and bury his face in her neck, holding her like he would press them into diamonds.
She’d have to kill him now because she loved him. Had never stopped, even when she’d suspected him of all the worst crimes. She’d run from him because you couldn’t trust a thief who could fox a thief, a conman who could game a pro, a liar who could make you think you were the center of his universe before he stole it out from under you.
And you couldn’t afford to love one, even when it was written in his every touch, every look, that he loved you.
He rolled her so they were side by side, face-to-face. He claimed her with a leg thrown over her hip, a preemptive move to stop her leaving the bed. A good sign he wasn’t about to either, because she had no energy to stop him. So much for sexing him to death—all the juice she had left in the tank were for the kisses she peppered over his face.
He winced when she brushed against the cut on his cheekbone. “You learned to punch.” He’d cleaned himself up in the cab, but the wound was angry and bruised.
“I learned a lot of things.”
“Where did you go?” He gave her hair a sharp tug. “I looked everywhere for you. Tapped every contact, posted a reward for information. Knew you had the skills to disappear, didn’t think you’d become a ghost.” He took her hands in his. “Eventually figured you didn’t want to be found.”
“I was done with you, with that whole life.”
The grip on her hands tightened. “That was when you broke my heart.”
She pulled on her hands, but he held fast. She couldn’t slug him again, so she used her words. “You didn’t have a heart to break.”
He gave her a lopsided smile. “Surprised the shit out of me too. When you didn’t come back, I did the whole stages of grief thing. Confusion, fear, frustration, alcoholism, fighting, fucking everything in sight to get over you.”
“That wasn’t grief.” It was more like a tantrum. More like what she’d done too.
“My version of it.”
He released his grip on her hands; she could pull them free. She didn’t. “But you moved on. We both did, so it’s all good now.”
“I worried you were dead, my darling. Too many drugs, the wrong friends, situations gone bad. I hoped you were reformed, fat and happy in the ‘burbs with a bunch of kids and a husband who worshipped you.”
“Hah, fucking typical man, you never thought I could make it on my own.”
“I never thought you’d take my prize. You’re right. I’ve never been so grateful to be wrong in all my life.” He kissed across her knuckles. “Should’ve known you’d be sensational. That scam you pulled, must’ve taken months, so many pieces to juggle, putting yourself on the line. It was brilliant. Blows me away.”
Sometime during the conversation, he’d lit a flame in her chest, a little flickering spot of heat. He’d almost snuffed it out by assuming she’d fade away to nothing. Not that family was nothing for most people, but it had been nothing but disabling to her. And then he went and threw tinder on the flame and made it flare with the way he looked at her.
He was proud.
No one had ever been proud of her except her mom, and that was in the job description. If he made her cry she’d have to kill him twice.
“How do you know I snatched Celestia?” That was the mystery. How had she come undone?
“Because I was all set up to snatch her myself. I had men in the room. Gus, Santino and one of the guards.”
“Your crew did my hair and makeup?” Incredible, she’d not suspected a thing, but then she’d never had her hair and makeup done professionally for a photo shoot before either.
He laughed. “When I learned about the magazine shoot, I knew it was the perfect way to get my crew in there, get up close knowledge of how Celestia was being secured before we snatched her.”
“You replaced the magazine’s crew.”
“Like you replaced their chosen model. I paid off the real hair and makeup guys. More money than they’d make in their whole careers to forgo one job. But how did you get in there? I checked your background, because I’d thought about replacing the model too, but Melody seemed—”
“Suitably professional but nothing to crow about.”
“Yes, that. You fictionalized Melody’s whole career.” She nodded. That’d been the easy part. “Well played.”
And there it was again, a taller flame, a deeper warmth. She wanted to keep it burning. “I got the first model inconvenienced.”
“How?”
“She had an unfortunate accident at the gym.”
His brows furrowed.
“Broke both her hands.”
He snorted. “You took her out?”
“I dumped a dumbbell on her fingers.”
“Jesus.”
She shrugged. “They’re insured. She’ll be fine.”
“Then you dyed your hair, all this hair,” he tangled his hand in it and smiled, “and somehow conned the modeling agency to present you as an alternative.”
“I paid off the booking agent.”
“Of course you did. And the shoe?”
“Specially made by a friend.”
“Pari Sikander-Jah.”
“She sold it into the magazine as part of the shoot.”
“And months before you came up with this long con, you worked out the shoe idea, started starving yourself and practicing that pratfall and the sleight of hand.”
“You know all that because of your men in the room?”
“And a video feed. And because the stone I snatched was a fake. I’ve watched you on screen a thousand times and I still might not have worked out how you did it.”
He’d gone ahead and snatched the fake stone. She’d fooled even the great Cleve Jones, the Shadow. Total forest fire in her chest. He had to be able to see it glowing under her skin. “What gave me away?”
He traced a finger over her brow. “Your fake musical name.” Dammit. She had to quit it with the music terms conceit for her aliases. “And your glorious laugh.”
Only this man would catch her on those details.
“A near perfect crime, Aria. Until that moment where you realized you were going to get away with it and you lost it, laughed like the real you. Still, I only understood it was you after I was holding the fake Celestia.”
Pride before the fall. He had caught her. She’d have to deal with that. “So now what? One of us double-crosses the other?”
He stroked her hair back from her face. “I think we should eat.”
“You aren’t going to take Celestia from me?” He’d be hard-pressed because Celestia wasn’t here and not even the Shadow could be in two places at once.
“I’m going to order room service. A little celebration feast.” He kissed her forehead. “You’re going to need the calories, because I’m going to take them out of your hide with a dozen more orgasms.”
Best not to let him see he made her happy. She rolled her eyes. He slapped her ass and bounded out of bed toward the phone. Huh, well, she could eat, but there was the pressing matter of her new coat, left in the coat-check of the club. She had to go get it.
While he checked the room service menu, she visited the bathroom and cleaned up, emerging dressed in jeans and a sweater.
“I have to go out for a while.” She winced. This was awkward. He’d know Celestia wasn’t in the room if she was willing to leave him here alone.
He was back on the bed, wearing a hotel robe, his cell in his hand. Who had he been talking to?
“Your coat is on its way back here and room service will deliver in five.”
“You had my coat collected?”
“The front desk was very obliging.”
He’d known she left her coat at the club when she was trying to lose him. Had he guessed there was something important about it? She needed a change of subject fast before he connected it to Celestia.
“You set up a trust for me. Why?”
He sighed as if having to explain this again was a bore. “Because whatever your father’s game was, you didn’t deserve to be treated so poorly. His assets rightly belong to you.”
“And you say I can simply show up and claim the house.”
He nodded. No showmanship, no sales pitch. Maybe he was telling the truth. But she’d be a fool to trust a maybe. “I’m not letting you take Celestia,” she said.
“You won’t be able to shift her.”
“You didn’t know I was going to snatch her. You don’t know what I can do.”
“Anything you set your heart and mind to, Aria. But walking into a yakuza stronghold would be a mistake.”
Poker face, but it was hard not to react. He thought she could do anything she set her heart on. Christ, why did he say that? It made her want to throw herself at him, forgive everything and start over. But worse, how did he know about Shoma?
“I don’t know what would make you think I’d do that.”
“There’s only one buyer in the world willing to take such a famous stone and pay a fair price for it, and I’ve been her main supplier for years. You’re poaching on my territory.”
“I have a list of buyers.”
“No, Aria, you don’t. Th
is is a rare stone that needs a rare underworld buyer, and Shoma knows it.”
She worked to keep distress off her face. He knew almost all her secrets now. “I suppose you’re going to tell me it’s for my own good to hand Celestia over.”
“I was trying to think of a way to make that not seem like defeat when it’s the only option you have. I’ll cut you a deal.”
“I don’t need your charity.”
“No, but until you’ve moved that stone you need my protection. Shoma knows I don’t have Celestia. And she’d prefer to take it from you than buy it from me. And she will take it from you.”
“I’ll find a way to make the deal. I don’t need you.”
“I wish that was true, Aria. If I thought you could hide from the yakuza, and Shoma wouldn’t have me tortured till she found you, maybe—” He was interrupted by a knock at the door that startled her.
She watched him answer it, calmly signing for the room service and then carefully receiving and hanging her coat on a padded hanger in the cupboard. There had to be a way around this. Celestia was her score and she’d think he was lying except she’d tried to contact Shoma again and her calls had gone unanswered. But they were traceable, even if she ditched the yakuza phone. Shoma would know where to start looking.
If there was any truth to what Cleve was saying, she was in danger already.
Chapter Eight
Once delivered to the room, buttoned and square on the padded coat hanger, the navy trench coat hung longer on the right side. Aria had stitched Sweet Celestia into the lining. Cleve ran a hand down the coat’s length to check and found the bulge. Clever, but not clever enough to outwit Shoma. He simply had no recourse but to convince Aria to take him on as a partner and secure the sale—and her life.
You’d think that would be easy. She’d loved him once, impossibly, recklessly. She looked at him now like she might feel something for him again, but maybe not as much as she felt for the steak sandwich she was attacking.
He settled at the table opposite her and watched her devour everything on her plate. What was he supposed to do if he couldn’t win her over? Hit her over the head with something and drag her back to Bali where he could keep a watch on her? The moment he turned his back she’d drown him in a rice paddy. Forcing her wouldn’t do, but that left winning her, and she thought he was a liar still.
Caught in the Act: A Jewel Heist Romance Anthology Page 6
