Steal Me

by Lauren Layne

She waved a hand, giving him permission.

  His expression didn’t change from its stony impassiveness as he read the note.

  “Well?” she asked.

  Moretti’s eyes were still on the brief words. “He’s cocky.”

  “He always was.”

  Moretti glanced up. “That’s good. His self-confidence is justified thus far—he’s eluded us—but it will work in our favor if he gets too smug. He’ll get careless.”

  “So what’s the plan?” she asked, putting her elbows on the table and leaning forward so her head was in her hands. “What’s our next move?”

  “Our next move?”

  She gave him a tired look. “My name’s on that envelope. I can’t just sit and do nothing.”

  Her voice broke a little at the end, and Duchess, who’d been writhing her little body against Captain Moretti’s calf for the past ten minutes, immediately remembered her loyalties and came to curl up on Maggie’s foot.

  Anthony searched her face. “This isn’t your problem, Maggie. You know that, right? Not your problem to solve.”

  “Then why are you here?” she asked, feeling unusually snappy.

  His smile indicated he was enjoying her waspishness. Strange man. “We couldn’t open the envelope without a warrant. Which we could have gotten given the circumstances, but making the drive out to Brooklyn was a hell of a lot easier.”

  “No subway for you, huh?”

  “Perk of the job,” he said, slowly pushing back and unfolding his long body.

  Her feet were cramped and her legs were exhausted from a long day at work, but she stood as well, just so he didn’t tower above her.

  Then she realized that even at her full height, she was barely eye level with his chest. He’d tower over her no matter what.

  He’d also be just the right height to lean into. His arms would be big and warm and strong if they wrapped around her.

  Moretti cleared his throat, and Maggie jumped, wondering if she’d leaned.

  Duchess butted her nose once against Maggie’s leg, as though to say, be over there if you need me, before scampering across the room and making a flying leap onto the bed, then diving onto her stuffed penguin and thrashing the thing ruthlessly.

  Moretti moved toward the door, getting there in about two steps with his long stride.

  Then he surprised her by looking around, as though seeing her apartment for the first time. “I like your place.”

  She laughed. “There’s not much to like.”

  “It’s…”

  “If you say cozy, I’ll punch you,” she muttered.

  He threw back his head and laughed, surprising her. “I was definitely going to say cozy.”

  She found herself smiling despite the reappearance of her ex-husband in her life, and the weird longing she had for this complex man who she couldn’t get a read on.

  “Yeah, cozy’s a pretty classic synonym for tiny,” she said. “I know Brooklyn’s cheaper than Manhattan, but this is about all I could afford. After the divorce…” She shrugged.

  “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Ms. Walker,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle.

  “Well, I wasn’t explaining it to Captain Moretti,” she said in exasperation.

  He looked at her. “We keep doing that, don’t we? Crossing wires.”

  She stared at his chest. “I just…I don’t get you. You switch back and forth between Ms. Walker-ing me and then you touch my hand and call me Maggie, and—”

  He took a step closer. “And what?”

  “You confuse me.”

  “Do I?” His voice was soft. Thoughtful.

  She frowned. “You seem far too pleased by that.”

  “I admit, it gives me a certain measure of relief. To know that I’m not the only one who’s feeling a little off balance.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, you seem really disoriented here, Captain.”

  “You’re hardly an open book, Maggie.”

  She glanced up in surprise at that. “Yes I am.”

  That was one thing she was very sure of. Her entire life, people had been telling her that she wore her heart on her sleeve, that her facial expressions hid nothing, that she was transparent. She was the definition of open book.

  “Well, you’re a book I don’t know how to read,” he said gruffly.

  “Do you want to? Read it? Read me?”

  “More than I should.”

  Was it her imagination, or had he moved closer? Or had she? Somehow they seemed to be standing closer than they were before. And they were certainly standing closer than necessary.

  “You weren’t at the diner on Sunday,” he said gruffly. “My family won’t leave me alone about it.”

  “They’re blaming you? Why?”

  His eyes roamed her face. “They got it in their head I had something to do with it.”

  Maggie licked her lips. “They wouldn’t be wrong.”

  He flinched. “You were avoiding me?”

  “No! Well, kind of…”

  She put her hands over her face. “It’s embarrassing.”

  “Try me.”

  Maggie dropped her hands and gnawed on her bottom lip. Decided to go for it. “I was hungover.”

  His eyebrows crept up and he made a tsking noise that contradicted his increasing smile. “Why, Maggie Walker.”

  “Shut up,” she said, shoving a little at his shoulder. “It’s your fault.”

  He moved closer. “How’s that.”

  “Your text on Saturday night. The one about you being…you know.”

  His eyes darkened. “The one where I said I was jealous. Of the thought of you and Vincent together.”

  Maggie’s stomach flipped over. She didn’t know why, but this man’s no-nonsense way of talking did funny things to her lady parts. There was no game playing with him. At least never intentionally.

  “Yeah. That one,” she said.

  This time when he moved closer, she knew she wasn’t imagining it. She started to take a step back, instinctively, but stopped herself. She was tired of being afraid. Tired of being skittish.

  “That text freaked you out?”

  “Let’s just say I rather stupidly thought that liquid courage might help me figure out an appropriately witty response.”

  “You never did respond,” he murmured.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not much of a drinker,” she said. “A couple glasses of wine, and I wasn’t any closer to coming up with a response. At least not an appropriate one.”

  “The inappropriate texts are the best kind. Keeps things interesting.”

  “Is that why you said what you said?” she asked, tilting her head up to look into his face. “To keep things interesting?”

  “I said what I said because I meant every word.”

  “Oh.”

  The silence stretched between them, interrupted only by the occasional squeak from Duchess’s toy.

  “Maggie.”

  “Yeah?” It was more of a whisper, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “Yeah?”

  His gaze was hot when it clashed with hers. “I’d like to hear that response now.”

  “You want me to text you back?” she squeaked.

  He shook his head. “Tell me. No liquid courage, no cell phones. What were you thinking when I told you that I was jealous?”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head.

  His hand reached for her tentatively, his fingers hot through the fabric of her top, then firmer as his palm pressed against her waist.

  “Tell me.” It was a command. “Did you like that I was jealous? Did you want me to claim you as mine?”

  The words sent a shiver down her spine. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  The silence stretched out, and she felt a pang as his fingers started to slide away. Her palm found the back of his hand, holding him still as she opened her eyes, trying to tell him with her gaze what she didn’t know how to put into words.

  “I’m bad at this,” s
he whispered.

  His jaw moved slightly, as though he was gritting his teeth.

  Moretti took a half step forward, until they were toe to toe. If either of them leaned, just a little, they could be belly to belly, chest to chest…

  “There’s something I need to tell you.” His voice was gruff.

  Suddenly she became very aware what the heroines in her historical romance novels meant when they waited with bated breath. “Yeah?”

  “There’s a squad car outside your apartment building. And two officers.”

  Ice water. That’s what his statement was. Ice water doused all over them.

  “What?”

  “We have every reason to believe that Eddie Hansen knows where you live. He knows where you work. If he should try to contact you.”

  Maggie took a step backward and gave a harsh laugh. “You’re just telling me all of this now? What…what was with all of the flirting and the looks?”

  Anthony’s eyes flashed in anger. “You said you’re bad at this. I’m bad at this too. I may not be handling this attraction between us well, but at least I’m trying!”

  Maggie’s eyes widened in surprise, both at the words and the blurted nature of them. Captain Moretti struck her as the type of man who was always in control, but he didn’t look in control now.

  “Fuck,” he muttered. “I should go.”

  He backed away abruptly, turning to jerk open her front door.

  “Wait!”

  He paused and she went to him. Took a deep breath. “I wanted to text you that I could never date Vincent. I could never even consider it.”

  He didn’t respond, but he did shut the door. Slammed it actually.

  “And about the…attraction,” she continued before she could lose her nerve. “I don’t know what to do about it either. But I feel it. Like I’ve never felt anything before.”

  He closed his eyes. “You shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Why not?” she asked, lifting her chin in annoyance that he’d all but begged her to tell him what she was thinking and was now scolding her for it.

  He made a low growling noise. “Because now I won’t be able to stop myself from doing this.”

  His hand pressed against her stomach, spanning the entire surface as he pushed her backward into the wall. His eyes were wild as they looked down on her, and the last thought Maggie had before his mouth slammed against hers was that Anthony Moretti completely out of control was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen.

  His kiss was fierce. Carnal. Unapologetic. There was no soft coaxing to get her lips to open, he merely used his firm mouth to maneuver hers open and then he took.

  The hand on her stomach held her pinned against the wall as his other hand came up to the back of her neck, keeping her mouth tilted up for his wonderful invasion.

  Maggie hadn’t had much experience with kissing. A couple awkward pecks in high school, a casual boyfriend in her two years at community college. And then she’d met Eddie, and if there had been any decent kisses early on in the relationship, the memories had been overwritten by the sloppy, drunken kisses near the end.

  Anthony’s kiss was possessive and giving. Like the man, the kiss was deliberate.

  The way his tongue cleverly found all the most sensitive parts of her mouth, her lips, his teeth occasionally raking against her bottom lip, his—

  He pulled back, just slightly. “Maggie.”

  Her eyes opened, eyelids heavy. “Hmm?”

  His smile was surprisingly tender as he looked down at her. “You’re thinking too much.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  His thumb rubbed over her bottom lip, his eyes watching the gesture. “You’re letting me kiss you, but we’re not kissing. If you don’t want this—”

  Maggie went up on her toes, fusing her mouth to his to shut him up. Her teeth pulled none too gently at his top lip and she felt his rough growl of appreciation all the way down to her toes.

  The tip of her tongue brushed against his, and there was a moment of stillness before everything changed.

  No longer was it him kissing her, or her kissing him.

  They were kissing each other.

  Her arms wound around his neck, her fingers running through his short hair as both of his palms bracketed her waist.

  The kiss was both endless and over too quickly.

  His withdrawal was slow, his lips coming back to hers again and again, lingering until he finally pulled away.

  Their eyes met, and somehow the eye contact was almost as sexy as the kiss itself. And even more important.

  His hand moved up to touch a strand of hair that had come loose from her ponytail. “Here’s the part where I tell you that we definitely should not have done that…that I’ve violated at least a half dozen of my own personal ethics, to say nothing of the department’s.”

  Her heart started to sink, until he continued speaking with a rueful smile.

  “It’s also the part where I tell you that I wish I could do it all over again.”

  Her lips tilted up. “No regrets then?”

  His eyes clouded over, and he didn’t answer. “Maggie—”

  She laid her fingers against his lips. “Can we just…not do that part tonight? Can I just have this moment? That kiss to think about?”

  His smile was quick and sexy. “You’re not going to hit the bottle again, are you?”

  She smiled back. “Nope, learned my lesson. I’m a lightweight.”

  His lips pressed briefly against her forehead. “Good. I want you to remember every moment. Like I will.”

  Her eyes closed in pleasure, even as she wondered what the hell they were doing.

  “I should go,” he said, taking a step back. “The guys in the patrol car will no doubt be wondering what the hell I’ve been doing in here so long.”

  Maggie’s smile dropped as she remembered the reality of the situation—remembered why he was here.

  Eddie. Smiley.

  “Hey,” he said, touching a fingertip to her face. “Don’t do that. Those cops outside are there for your protection.”

  “They’re there to catch Eddie as much as they are to protect me,” she pointed out.

  “Yeah,” he said, looking troubled as his hand found the doorknob of her front door. “The problem is, I care a hell of a lot more about the second one than I should.”

  Maggie opened her mouth, wanting to say…something.

  But he was already gone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Anthony was experiencing déjà vu. And not the pleasant kind that involved reliving a fantastic moment.

  A moment, say…like kissing Maggie Walker.

  No, today’s déjà vu came in the form of a frowning paternal figure, a tart-mouthed grandma, a sweet but interfering mother, plus a whole slew of noisy, outspoken siblings.

  “So you never said where you were with the Smiley case,” Tony said, reaching across the table for Anthony’s bacon.

  Yup. Definitely déjà vu.

  “No, I didn’t, did I?” Anthony muttered, sipping his coffee.

  His father chewed the bacon and frowned. “Why do you have so much more bacon on your plate today? You usually only get a couple strips.”

  Anth picked up a piece of bacon and bit into it, letting the salty pork roll over his tongue. “Maybe someone noticed that my pieces always get pilfered.”

  “God, it’s easy to be a man,” Elena said, propping her chin up on her hand. “All it takes is throwing a couple extra slices of pork fat on the plate, and bam! He’s in love.”

  Anth glared at his sister. “I’m not in love.”

  “Weird. I didn’t get any extra bacon,” Luc mused. “Did you, Vin?”

  Vincent lifted a corner of omelet with his fork and pretended to look under it. “Nope, nothing here. Do you think…is it possible…could our Mags prefer the captain to us?”

  Anth fixed his brothers with a look, refusing to be riled. “First of all, bambino, you didn’t get any bacon
because you insist on ordering a side of fruit. And Vin, you didn’t get any extra bacon because—”

  “—because he isn’t come-hithering our waitress,” Nonna chimed in.

  Anth turned his glare to his grandmother. “I’m not come-hithering anyone.”

  “You are a little bit, dear,” his mother said, patting his hand softly. “You keep looking at our Maggie.”

  Our Maggie.

  Why did everyone think she belonged to the group? Anth resisted the urge to correct his mother—to claim her as his Maggie. Because she wasn’t. Would never be.

  But damned if she hadn’t felt that way when he’d had her pressed against the wall with his hands all over her…

  “You’re off base,” Anthony said, pointing his fork around the table. “Every last one of you. I’ll have you know—”

  “You still haven’t said anything about Smiley,” Tony broke in.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Dad, that’s enough!”

  At first, Anthony thought that he might have snapped—that what he’d been thinking for the past three weeks had exploded out of his mouth instead of staying buried in his subconscious where it belonged.

  But it wasn’t Anth who had spoken. It was Luc.

  Anth was torn with conflicting urges. He both wanted to scold his brother and utter a heartfelt thank-you.

  But before he could speak, Elena beat him to it.

  “Luc’s right, Dad,” Elena said. “You’ve got to leave Anth alone on this. He’s handling it.”

  She leaned over to kiss their father’s cheek to soften the blow, a move that was rendered pointless when Vincent too decided to join the fray.

  “Seriously, Pops. I know you like to follow up on your kids, but spread the love, huh? Anth’s been getting all the attention for weeks now. Anyone else getting bored of it?”

  Nonna’s hand shot up before she too reached over to grab a bite of Anth’s pile of bacon. “I’m bored of it. This Smiley’s a boring criminal. He’s barely a criminal. I mean, he leaves thank-you notes…”

  “That’s not the point,” Tony grumbled.

  “What is the point, my love?” Maria Moretti murmured softly, stirring cream into her coffee.

  “That every case matters,” Tony said. “If he wants to move up—”

  “Dad.” Anth kept his voice gentle.

  “Translation,” Nonna stage-whispered. “Shut it, son.”