“So talk. Tell me how you became a jewel thief.”
He smiled, keeping his eyes on the road but obviously happy that she’d finally asked. “Short or long version?”
“Short.” She didn’t need the dirty details of his life of crime, just the reasons behind it. “Mostly, why did you do it? Misspent youth? Rebellious years and bad influences? A fascination with shiny, sparkly things?”
At least he looked amused. “I guess you could say I was righting a wrong.”
“What was the wrong?”
“My grandparents had lost some heirloom jewelry pieces and gold coins in a burglary. The police said they’d never get them back. So, I dropped out of college, learned a few new skills, and tracked down every piece. Of course, the new owners weren’t interested in giving them back, so I stole them. I got careless at the end and spent a year in jail. End of story.”
Okay, maybe his reasons were a slight deviation from the norm. “Like Robin Hood?”
“I prefer the Zorro analogy myself. It’s more appropriate with my Spanish roots.”
She had to agree. He was dark and charming, and far more dangerous than he looked on the surface. Like now—from his placid expression, he might have just admitted to a typical youth spent selling popcorn for the Boy Scouts. Nothing about Rocky was typical or expected, and she berated herself for not having known better. But family heirloom jewelry? Quitting college to track down stolen pieces? The short version of this story wasn’t going to do.
“I’d like the long version,” she decided. “Please.”
“Anything you want.” He favored her with a sexy smile that made it obvious he was referring to more than stories of his past. Despite her determination to keep the upper hand, fireworks exploded in her pelvis.
“Just your criminal history for now.” She tried to sound cool and collected, but knew she’d been a little too breathless to pull it off.
He winked at her. “I love it when you find me irresistible.”
She said, “I’m resisting just fine, Zorro. Go on.”
One more of those smiles and she’d make him pull over so she could have her way with him. Fortunately, he returned his attention to his driving and began.
“Think of a Spanish version of the Mayflower. My father’s family history goes back to the early Spanish settlers in California.”
“I thought that was mainly monks or priests or something—setting up missions and converting the so-called heathens.”
“And some wealthy land owners who stole their land. The important part here is that there was some rather good jewelry that came from Spain, along with some gold doubloons, and it all got passed down in the family. When a California museum did an exhibit on their early settlers, my grandmother loaned them the coins and three pieces of jewelry to put on display. When the exhibit was robbed, all of my grandparents’ pieces were taken. They were valuable, but the sentimental value was even higher. It was irreplaceable family history. The police had their suspicions but no solid evidence. My grandmother was devastated.”
“So you dropped out of school, confident you could solve the case.”
“Of course.”
“Very macho. Why not hire a private detective?”
“They did. No luck.”
“What made you think you could do any better?” He laughed. “That’s pretty much what my grandparents said. And my parents. But I had a roommate who knew security systems, and I had a plan to work with the fences. I’d bring them what they wanted in return for information on my family’s jewelry.” He shrugged. “It worked.”
“Somehow I doubt it was that easy.”
“Actually, it was, but I had to work with some scary people to do it. They got the leads I needed in return for me picking up a few items on their shopping lists. The last two pieces led me to Detroit.”
“So you really were a thief.”
He conceded with a nod. “I like to think I was a thief with principles. I had one rule: I’d only take previously stolen items. Anyone who bought from legitimate dealers or artists was safe. I’d only steal from other thieves.”
She supposed it was an important moral distinction, but not a safe one. “You must have made enemies.”
“I would have if they’d known who I was. There’s a member of the Russian Mafia in Detroit who taught me a lot of stuff I shouldn’t know, and who keeps my secret. In turn, I don’t tell anyone about the jewelry that ended up in his hands as a result of the tips he gave me. I stole for him, and he helped me find my family’s possessions.”
Something clicked in her memory. “Is that how you knew about the Pellinni Jewels? Because you were tracking down other valuable old jewelry?” He nodded. “So what did your grandmother lose? The Hernandez Jewels?”
He laughed. “Nothing exalted enough to have a name, but valuable enough to be attractive to their collectors. Being knowledgeable let me pose as a buyer and they gave me access to their collections. I found one of my grandmother’s necklaces that way. The guy actually invited me in and showed it to me. I robbed him later.”
She wondered if his family knew how much he’d gone through to find their jewelry. “Sounds like a dangerous life.”
“It was.” He gave her a hard look. “That’s why I want to keep you out of it. Exposing you to Sleazy was bad enough, and he was just the scum on the surface of a very deep, very dirty pond. There’s only one good thing I got out of those years—an appreciation for art and culture. Which is why I like coming to this place.” He tilted his head toward the window.
She peered through the slackening rain at the creamy stone facade of the Detroit Institute of Arts just before the car dipped into the underground parking structure. “The DIA?” She smiled. “Not a bad date, Hernandez. Plus they have a good cafeteria.”
He nodded sagely. “Eat now, work it off later.”
“Wow, such a smooth talker. You’re sweeping me right off my feet.” The embarrassing part was, it was true. It had been easier to pretend she didn’t like him when she avoided him. These past few days had been more about pretending she wasn’t constantly thinking about what it would be like to get naked with him.
He made sure she didn’t stop thinking about it, too. He held her hand as they walked through the museum, occasionally stroking it with his thumb while pointing out the bright colors in a Van Gogh or the sense of movement in a Degas, as if he had no idea what he was doing to her. He didn’t fool her, though. It was hours of foreplay, keeping her mind on physical sensations, and it worked. By the time they carried their trays to a table, she was so focused on him she barely noticed the people around them. She thought he was just as focused on her, so she was surprised to see him scanning the crowded tables in the cafeteria.
“Looking for someone you know?”
His gaze darted back to her. “No one important, just a couple old friends I noticed earlier.”
“Really? Do you want to go say hello? I don’t mind.”
He smiled. “Perhaps friend is the wrong term. I recognized them, that’s all. How’s your lunch?”
His eyes searched the room again, settling on a table behind her. She lowered her sandwich, watching as something hard crept into his gaze. She didn’t want to be obvious by turning to follow his stare, but something was up. She considered it: two people he knew but didn’t want to talk to. And obviously didn’t trust. In an art museum.
She inhaled sharply, nearly choking on her chicken salad. His brow creased with concern. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, and leaned across the table so he’d hear her whisper. “Are they art thieves?”
His long, dark lashes blinked in surprise. “Who?”
“The guys you’re watching. Do you think they’re planning a robbery?”
His lips curved upward. “You’re talking about the big leagues, honey. I don’t even know those kinds of people.”
“Then why do you keep looking at them?”
His expression was nonchalant as he made a dismissive g
esture. “It’s nothing, just your self-appointed Colombian groupies. Guess they got that flat tire fixed.”
Her throat tightened again and all that carefully constructed sexual tension drained away. “They followed us here?”
“Apparently. I couldn’t be sure in the rain, but don’t worry, I’ll lose them once we leave.” He stroked her cheek. “Hey, you can trust me. They won’t be a problem.”
It had to be a sign of how far they’d come, because something made her believe him. “Okay.”
He beamed at her confidence, a sexy, riveting smile which pretty much restored most of her naughty thoughts.
Except for a few casual glances to keep track of their tail, she had his undivided attention as they toured the rest of the museum. Who knew a man’s hand lightly rubbing the back of her neck could be erotic? The old woman who stood next to her as Janet stared at a contemporary painting and moaned softly must have wondered what she was missing in the splatters of paint.
By the time they left the museum she was ready to suggest the nearest hotel, but he was still following some master plan of his own as he pulled back into the early evening traffic.
“We can have dessert at the house, as soon as I lose those goons behind us.” He drove with half his attention on the rearview mirror.
She decided he could handle the Colombians, and tried to concentrate on the rest of their evening. “I don’t need dessert.”
“I think you’ll want this dessert.”
If he’d planned it, this had to be something more than cake and ice cream. “What kind of dessert?”
“Whipped cream.”
A fluffy pile of calories she usually preferred to skip. “On what?”
“You.” He gave her a sly grin. “And me.”
“Oh.” She had to admit, it was intriguing. “I’ve never had that kind of dessert before.”
“I’m not surprised. That husband of yours looked a bit stiff—and I don’t mean where it counted.”
She held back a laugh, choosing to sound indignant instead. “Banner wasn’t the first man in my life. I have had some experience, you know.”
“I see. With whipped cream?”
“Well, no—”
“What? Handcuffs and whips?”
“No! I just meant I’m not, you know, naïve.” She thought about what he’d said and bit her cheek. Maybe she was naïve. “You aren’t into stuff like bondage, are you?”
He leered, making her heart skid in her chest. “Scared?”
“No.” She shifted in the bucket seat, considering how far she should trust him in this. According to Ellie, he’d dated a lot of women and was undoubtedly more experienced than she was. “Maybe.”
He reached over to squeeze her hand. “Just whipped cream, sweetheart. Nothing kinky. Unless you call licking it off your breasts kinky. Or following a line up your thigh, licking slowly until I get to the top. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure I get every last bit of cream— everywhere.” He turned his hot gaze on her.
Her heart nearly beat through her ribs. She swallowed and licked her lips, and swore her thighs were parting in anticipation. “I think I could eat a lot of dessert tonight.”
His slow, crooked smile made her want to take him right there in the car.
She was suddenly in a hurry. “Have we lost our friends yet?”
“Not yet.” He signaled his exit from the expressway, giving anyone who cared plenty of time to follow them.
“I hate to tell you, but that’s not gonna do it.” She watched the traffic behind them in the passenger’s side mirror. “Which car, the black one behind us?”
“White SUV, four cars back.” He made several more turns through a light industrial area, signaling each one in advance. The SUV was half a block behind them when they pulled into a lot and stopped at a tall chain-link fence topped with razor wire. Behind it she saw nothing but haphazardly parked rows of cars, most of them pretty disreputable looking.
“What is this place, a prison for cars?”
“Exactly. It’s an impound lot.” He rolled his window down and waved at a man behind the fence.
The man squinted, then broke into a smile. “Hey, Rocky!” He pushed a button on the fence and a gate slid open. Rocky rolled forward, meeting him halfway.
“Hey, Danny. I want you to meet Janet Aims.”
“Hi.” She leaned forward to see him better, smiling, like stopping by police impound lots was something she did every day.
Danny ducked his head and looked her over. “Hey, Janet. Nice to meet you.” As he straightened she caught the nudge he gave Rocky’s shoulder.
“Got a favor to ask you, Danny.”
“You aren’t here to pick up a car?”
“Nope, just passing through. That okay?”
“No problem.” Danny raised his head and looked up and down the street. “That white Caddy?”
“Yup. Bad people, don’t mess with them.”
“Don’t worry, I just work here. I don’t know nothin’.”
“Thanks, buddy.” Rocky eased the car forward as the gate closed behind them. Waving, he headed down a row of cars that looked like the sloppy overflow from an outdoor concert.
She saw nothing ahead but more cars and another razor-topped chain-link fence. “I don’t get it.”
“Let’s hope they don’t, either. There’s a back gate that lets out on another street. By the time they figure it out, we’ll be long gone.” He waved at a gangly kid with an earpiece who’d apparently just gotten orders to open the back gate for them. They cruised through, hit the street, and sped back toward the major roads.
“Won’t they just wait for us at home?”
“I’m sure they will. But whose home? Mine? Yours? Elizabeth’s?”
“So we’ve reduced the odds of them finding us.”
“Better than that. We’ve got a place they don’t know about—Jack and Ellie’s house.”
Safe, but a little weird. She really didn’t want to make love in the same bed Ellie and Jack used. A big sexual buzzkill. “Um . . . I don’t really want to have sex in my best friend’s bed.”
“Neither do I. They have a guest room.”
“Oh.” She smiled. “Not bad. And you need to water those plants.”
“Then this is a necessary stop, isn’t it?”
“Vital. Ellie loves that fern.”
He parked in the empty spot in the garage, ensuring no one would see their car. All it took was one kiss and they stumbled into the house, kicking off shoes as they tried to kiss and walk at the same time.
“Wait,” he said against her lips, sucking the lower one into his mouth before pulling away. “Refrigerator.”
“Not again. I’ve already done the refrigerator thing. I want a bed.”
He chuckled as he opened the door and pulled out a spray can. “Whipped cream.”
“Oh.” She was salivating already, picturing where she wanted to spread it on that hard body of his.
He yanked her back against him, kissing her hard and deep. She came up gasping for air and more than ready to play his game. “You asked for it, buddy.” Grabbing his shirt in both hands, she jerked it open, sending buttons flying across the kitchen floor and parting the blue hibiscus flowers and green palm fronds to reveal a plane of tanned chest. She smiled.
“I hope you know how to sew.”
“Give me that can. I’m feeling inspired.”
Something sparked in his eyes and he didn’t stop to ask questions. Giving it a shake, he held the aerosol can between them.
Holding up two fingers, she allowed him to spray them with a glob of the silky cold confection. She studied his chest like a master studying a blank canvas, then smeared a line of cream across his right nipple. Beneath the cold white stuff, his nipple tightened into a hard bud. She paused to admire it, then leaned in and ran her tongue over it, lapping at the tight nipple and savoring the sweetness in her mouth. Savoring, too, the warm yearning that blossomed below her stomach. “Ooh, I’m gonna
like this.”
“Jesus,” he breathed. The can hit the counter. The next second her shirt came over her head and his hand pushed at her bra, bypassing the hooks and simply shoving it down to release an eager breast. “Perfect,” he murmured, touching with one hand while the other reached blindly for the whipped cream and found it. He spritzed a dollop over her nipple.
She gasped at its cold touch. It quickly turned warm from the heat of her breast, and she burned as his mouth settled over her nipple and sucked hard. Fierce jolts of pleasure shot through her, settling between her legs in a pool of heat. She moaned, pushing into him, one hand holding his head to her while he suckled before releasing her and raising his eyes to hers in a smoldering gaze. “This is the best idea I ever had.”
“I have a better one.”
He treated her to a devilish smile, grabbed the whipped cream, and took her hand as he headed for the hallway. Seconds later she was standing in Ellie’s guest room, one breast exposed, taking in the clean lines of dark furniture while he set the container on a night stand and flung aside a comforter. Without hesitating, he turned her around, unfastened her bra, flung it aside, and gently pushed her onto the bed.
She caught her breath and smiled up at him as he settled astride her. “Nice technique, Hernandez. Primitive but effective.”
“Glad you approve.”
She ran her hands up his chest and over his shoulders, appreciating his lean muscles. She could watch him with his shirt off all day and never get tired of the view.
“Hey, what’s the tattoo on your shoulder mean?”
“Claw marks, because I was a cat burglar. Get it? I did it right before I embarked on my life of crime. It’s embarrassing, but I used to be a bit cocky.”
She laughed. “So what are you now?”
He held her gaze, something blazing deep within his eyes. “Confident. And incredibly competent.”
He sprayed a dab of cream on one finger and held it in front of her.
She closed her mouth over it, making a show of sucking the cream off, then licking her lips. “Yum.”
Thieves Like Us Page 18
