Thieves Like Us

by Starr Ambrose

  He probably wouldn’t mean so much to her if he didn’t represent her only chance to get out of the house, she told herself. It was a bonus that he was fun to be with and, as Libby’s friend said, cute in a bad way. Oh hell, who was she kidding? He was downright dangerous, and any woman with hormones knew it. But the real danger with Rocky was an emotional attachment that would just get her hurt in the end.

  That danger was especially high tonight, judging by the hooded looks he kept shooting her way as he drove. She smiled, recognizing the route he was taking. “Jack and Ellie’s house?”

  “Of course. I’m really worried about that fern being lonely while they’re gone.”

  “Oh, me, too,” she assured him.

  “But if you don’t mind, I’d like to stop at my place first, just to make sure nothing happened today. I’d like to think Easy Joey would give up on breaking in, but when the guy thinks he has a point to prove, nothing will dissuade him.”

  “Okay.” She was content to let him lead tonight.

  She watched him as he drove, not even trying to hide her interest. She noticed the way his hands held the wheel and imagined them touching her with the same casual competence. Then she noticed his legs, recalling the hard muscles of his thighs as he knelt between hers. It nearly made her blush, but it was impossible to ignore. She was obsessed, completely tuned in to his body and how he felt. Beside her, on top of her, inside her.

  “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to pull over right here.”

  “Just watch the road. I can watch whatever I want.”

  His look promised payback.

  Rocky kept Janet close as he checked out his alarm and the first floor. She let him check the upstairs alone while she poked through his CD collection and bookshelves. The man certainly had a broad range of interests. She wandered back to the kitchen, where memories hit her. Not visions of the miniature explosion in the sink, but the thrill of being pressed against his refrigerator while he drove her crazy with desire. She remembered every touch, her body burning again as she did. She glanced at the kitchen counters, distracted by what he’d promised to do on them. Or on the floor.

  She stood next to the countertop, stroking the granite, gauging the height. Nah, it could never work.

  “Interesting thoughts?” He stood behind her with his arms crossed, his hip cocked against the stove.

  She smiled. If he didn’t already know what she was thinking, he hadn’t been paying attention. “It’s too high.”

  “Maybe you’re just not creative enough.”

  “Whoa. Is that a challenge?”

  “Could be.” He moved toward her, looking her over. His gaze changed as she watched, becoming hypnotic, his body moving as stealthily as a cat on the prowl.

  She waited until he stood in front of her, so close she could feel the heat of his body inches from her own. She licked her lips. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but if you lead, I’ll bet I can follow.”

  “Bet you can,” he agreed, bending to nip at the delicate skin beneath her ear, sending shivers all the way down to her fingertips.

  She tried to replicate the maneuver, but he moved his head and her lips hit air. “Uh-uh,” he said, giving her a thoughtful smile. “You don’t get to play this time.” Before she could protest, he slipped his hands around her waist and boosted her onto the corner of the counter above the lazy Susan. He pushed between her legs and leaned into her, holding her hands to the countertop. Her heart sped up a few dozen beats.

  He leaned closer, his chest touching hers. “I know you said you hate me, but I’m starting to think you lied.”

  “That’s just the pheromones.” She dismissed the subject. “Are you planning to have your way with me or not?”

  His smile was tolerant. “It’s more than pheromones.”

  Because it felt dangerous, she hedged. “What makes you think so?”

  “I can feel your heart pounding.”

  No kidding. She was surprised the whole counter wasn’t vibrating. “That’s because you’re so annoying. You gonna make a move here?”

  He clicked his tongue disparagingly. “You’re too impatient. Making love is an art.”

  She was tempted to correct him, to say they were having sex, not making love, but he was kissing her neck and unbuttoning her top. She didn’t want to interrupt. Besides, if the man was willing to put enough dedication and focus into sex to call it an art, she wasn’t about to argue.

  He popped the front closure of her bra with a smile. “Easy access. Were you planning ahead?”

  “Darn right,” she managed before sucking in her breath as his mouth explored. His hands did, too, holding, caressing, and finally drifting down to her waistband. She arched back, doing her bit to help. While he opened the snap at her waist, she ran her hands through his hair. Desire and affection and need mixed together in hot waves. She tipped her head against the cabinet and moaned. As if it was a signal, his mouth came back to hers and he took the sound into himself. She opened to every touch, feeling as if he was peeling back layer after layer until she was laid bare.

  Bare. Only one of them was bare. With urgent whimpers she pulled at his shirt, needing to feel his chest against hers. He understood, and tugged it off, her tender nipples against his chest.

  “Oh, yes,” she groaned.

  “Hold onto me.” He pulled her closer and she held his shoulders, not knowing what he wanted. In the next second his hands slipped beneath her bottom, taking her unfastened shorts with them. He set her back on the counter as he dropped them to the floor.

  His fingers were on her, probing and stroking, while his gaze held hers. “I love when your eyes get all soft and hazy like that,” he murmured.

  She caught a few panting breaths while she worked at his belt and zipper. “Glad to oblige your sexual quirks.”

  He pulled her forward, fitting her against him. The important parts were evident even through his pants, and still a couple inches off. “You’re right, this doesn’t work,” he told her.

  She clamped her legs around him, throbbing and desperate for relief. “I gotta tell you, that’s an even bigger disappointment now than it was a few minutes ago.”

  “Hang on.”

  She clung to him as he pulled her off the counter and walked a few short steps to the kitchen table. The smooth wood pressed against her bottom as he set her down, feet dangling over the edge.

  She fixed startled eyes on him. “On the table?”

  “Why not?” He was making quick work of stripping off his pants and shoes, and putting on the condom he pulled from his pocket.

  She giggled nervously. “Because you eat here?”

  He gave her an appreciative look from head to toe. “Believe me, dinner will never be the same again.” He pressed her back as he said it, propping one leg on a chair and hovering over her. “In fact, maybe kitchen tables were made for this. I think we’ve found the right height.”

  She didn’t have to look to know he was right; she could feel him hot and hard and poised at just the right spot between her thighs. She circled him with her hand just to watch his eyes grow dark as they closed halfway.

  “You know what I love about you?”

  He was suddenly still. “What?”

  “Your eyelashes. I’m a sucker for long lashes.”

  She thought he’d smile, but he didn’t, simply watching her as his hands spread her thighs. “The curse of the Hernandez genes. Dreamy eyes.” He pushed against her.

  “Mmm,” she said, appreciating the pressure and wanting more. Moving her hand aside, he rubbed himself against her while she closed her eyes and fisted her hands, lost in the sensation.

  “Rocky.”

  She opened her eyes. “Please,” she whispered. “Now.”

  His gaze steady on her own, he slipped inside her. Warmth filled her, flowing to every limb, followed by a deep restlessness.

  She had to move, but her damp skin stuck to the table. He moved for them, turning the vague
, restless feeling into something tighter and heavier, an energy that burned until it was nothing but raw urgency beating in time with her pulse. Every stroke was too much and not enough. His arms were braced on the table beside her, and she gripped his wrists, using the leverage to increase the force of each stroke, and urge him to pump harder.

  She gasped as the first spasms hit, then gave in to the mindless bliss, riding her orgasm as he pushed harder and faster until he reached the same mind-blowing peak. With one final thrust, he went still. She could feel his breath on her neck, and she went limp on the table.

  “I can’t believe we just did that.” She reached up to stroke his face affectionately, feeling the stubble on his cheek. “But I’m definitely accepting any future dinner invitations from you.”

  He smiled. “You’re the only one on the guest list.”

  “I think you mean on the menu.”

  His lopsided smile was back. “Even better.” He licked her neck until she was helpless with laughter.

  “Get off and help me up! No, wait,” she ordered, pulling him back for a long kiss. “Okay. Go slowly; I don’t want to leave too much skin behind.”

  He did, grinning. “I guess we don’t need to go to Jack and Ellie’s house after all. Unless you’d like to use me again.”

  She’d been the one to insist that she was only using him for sex, so it shouldn’t have struck her the way it did. But what he’d said made the past fifteen minutes sound crude and dirty. That wasn’t at all the way it had felt. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she no longer wanted Rocky to think she was using him.

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Say what?”

  “That I’m using you. It doesn’t sound right.”

  “But you were the one—”

  “I know. Just don’t. Please.”

  “Okay.” He pulled her close, her breasts pressed against his hard chest, his arms holding her tight. His kiss was tender, and she knew he meant it to soothe her even though he didn’t say so.

  She kissed him back, wondering how everything had turned upside down in such a short time. Words that hadn’t bothered her before sounded different now. What had begun with strict boundaries seemed to have crossed them when she wasn’t looking. An uneasy flutter in her chest made her pull away. Stepping out of the circle of his arms, she put some distance between them.

  “I want to wash up.”

  “Use the upstairs bathroom; it’s bigger.”

  Checking to see that the window blinds were drawn, she scampered upstairs, well aware that his gaze followed every jiggle and bounce. Typical Rocky—he’d always been open about his attraction to her. It used to make her uncomfortable, but she had to admit it gave her a little thrill of power to catch his appreciative stares. And there was nothing wrong with that.

  Except there was. In fact, it was in complete conflict with the code she’d sworn to follow ever since her narrow escape from Banner: Never trust her feelings. They’d led her astray before, into a marriage to an emotionally detached, calculating man who was most likely a psychopath.

  She tried to block her thoughts, but they kept battering her, insisting on being heard. Spying a radio on the bathroom counter, she turned it on, bouncing loud rock music off the tiled walls while she turned the shower on full blast, drowning out the little voice inside her head.

  He nearly missed the alarm. The rush of water upstairs had covered up the tiny, intermittent beep from the security box. If he hadn’t walked into the laundry room to drop a washcloth and hand towel into the laundry basket, he never would have noticed the blinking red light. Even then, he double-checked the circuits before coming back to that one alarm, forced to admit that only one circuit had been broken—the one for the skylight in the upstairs bathroom.

  It could be a short. With all the steam that must be billowing up there, some of it might have seeped into a loose connection and tripped the alarm. He might have even talked himself into believing the light had been blinking all day with no one there to see it, except he’d checked the box when they first came in less than an hour ago. The sentry light had been off. And he’d bet his life it had been off when Janet walked upstairs, naked and flushed from making love, and closed herself in the bathroom.

  The acid deep in his gut began a steady burn. From upstairs he heard water beating down and music blaring; it was more than enough to drown out the sound of a skylight being forced open.

  The knob squealed as she shut the water off. Condensation dripped down the frosted glass of the shower door. Sliding it open, she wiped the water from her eyes and groped for the towel she’d left on the bar outside the door. Her searching hand found a bare, hairy arm.

  She inhaled a scream. It tried to come out, but the hand covering her mouth wouldn’t let it. With another frantic swipe at her eyes, she blinked.

  “Rocky!” It came out muffled behind his hand.

  “Shhh.” He held a finger to his lips. With the other hand he reached for the radio and turned it off. In the sudden silence she could hear the last tiny gurgle of water going down the drain.

  “What the hell are doing? You scared me to death.” She whispered harshly, resenting that she didn’t know why she had to. The sound barely seemed to carry through the heavy steam anyway.

  Instead of answering, he wrapped her in the big bath towel he had ready, tucking it snuggly around her and ushering her out of the bathroom. He closed the door behind them.

  The hallway was about twenty degrees cooler than the bathroom, and she shivered, water running down her legs and dripping onto the carpet. She held the towel together at her breasts with one hand and planted the other one firmly on her hip. “What—”

  His fingers went to his lips, repeating the mime to stay silent. Her voice changed to an irritated whisper. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing yet,” he said softly. “I just want you to stay out here. Did you hear anything unusual while you were in there?”

  “A bad David Bowie cover. I don’t know why they find it necessary to ruin a perfectly good song.”

  He was so preoccupied with his thoughts, she didn’t even get a smile. “Any scratching sounds or grating noises from the ceiling?”

  “No. Rocky, will you please—”

  “Shhh!”

  She mouthed the rest: “—tell me what’s going on?”

  He held up a finger while cocking his head toward the bathroom door, listening. “Just being cautious.”

  Cautious, her butt. He was whispering so quietly she could barely hear him. He was worried. Then his body froze and his eyes narrowed. He’d heard something on the other side of the door.

  She copied his stance, completely still, head tipped attentively to the side, the only sound a soft splat of water that dripped from her bangs onto the back of her hand where it held the towel together.

  Scritch.

  The small sound came from up high, behind the door. Seconds later it was followed by a creak.

  Before she could ask questions, Rocky jerked back to life, taking her by the shoulders. “Wait in the bedroom,” he mouthed, nudging her in that direction.

  She understood immediately that someone was in the bathroom. Someone had been breaking in through the skylight above the bathtub while she showered.

  She didn’t have to guess who the weasely little pervert was—Easy Joey.

  A prickly feeling slid down her spine as she replayed her actions. She’d stood in front of the sink and in the shower, but not close to the bathtub. Could he have seen her from the deeply recessed skylight, even at that angle? Seen her standing there naked?

  Anger snapped like a rubber band, stronger than her fear.

  “Rocky,” she called loudly. “Are you in the bedroom? I’ll be right there.” She took a few steps in that direction, then stopped to see what Rocky would to do.

  He nodded his encouragement and flattened himself to the wall beside the bathroom door, motioning her down the hall. She shook her head. She might not be able to kick
Easy’s ass herself, but if Rocky intended to, she wanted to see it.

  He looked ready to argue, but something turned his attention back to the bathroom door. He crouched, with one hand on the knob, as if waiting for a signal. Ten feet away, she waited with him, not daring to breathe. Wondering if their burglar intended to search the house for valuables first or if he’d be tempted by whatever his perverted little imagination thought they might be doing in the bedroom. Come on, Easy. Having been his victim once, she was eager to see him get what he had coming.

  They stood still.

  Rocky must have heard whatever he was waiting for on the other side of the door. Without warning, he threw it open and dove into the bathroom. She heard the crash of bodies and a startled cry, followed by the sharp smack of a fist on flesh. Then it was quiet. A cloud of steam billowed into the hallway and dissipated.

  Keeping a firm grip on her towel, she approached the open bathroom door. Inside, Rocky crouched on the tile over the spread-eagled body of Easy Joey. While Easy moaned, Rocky rooted through a small knapsack. He tossed it aside, returning his attention to the man on the floor.

  “Easy!” Rocky slapped him, none too gently.

  Easy blinked several times. She knew the second full consciousness returned, because he scrambled into reverse, a half crawl propelled by elbows and feet, until he backed into the toilet bowl. “Don’t touch me!”

  “Then don’t move.” Rocky stood, kicking the knapsack further away as he turned to look at Janet. “Hey, babe, could you call nine-one-one and tell them to come pick up this piece of garbage?”

  “No, wait!” Easy yelled. She did, even though he directed his plea at Rocky. She didn’t want to miss anything. “We had a deal. You said I could try to break in. You can’t call the cops now.”

  “Why, because that would be just like what you did to me when you set me up?”