Thief of Hearts: A Rogue Billionaire Fake Fiance Romance

by Carter Blake

  I almost always mix business with pleasure. And considering that I didn’t bring a gift to the party—rude of me, I know—it would only be fair to give Kalista a little fun, before I steal that decadent ring of hers.

  “Excuse me, but I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

  I turn to look at my side, where the voice calls out to me.

  The woman is in her mid-thirties, bottle blonde—attractive, if I’m being honest—and thoroughly drunk. Her dark eyes are a glossed over from too much champagne, and the lopsided smile on her face isn’t there on purpose.

  “No, we haven’t.”

  “Ooh, you’re British. I love British men.”

  “Well that’s because only British men are real men.”

  The woman tips back her glass of champagne and finishes it in one gulp.

  I can only imagine what her total is after that glass.

  “Thirsty love?” I ask with a friendly chuckle.

  “Oh, you have no idea, my yummy British friend.”

  “Well, aren’t you the forward type?”

  She takes a step forward and places her hand on my chest. Her cheeks flush a shade of ruby that matches the earrings dangling from her lobes. The mystery woman bites down on her bottom lip and looks up into my eyes.

  She’s thirsty alright, and it’s not for more champagne.

  “You know, I have a nice, big, and empty room upstairs that we could enjoy. And I could show you just what it is that I’m thirty for.”

  Honestly, if the woman wasn’t so incredibly drunk, I would likely take her up on the offer. But I make sure that any woman I sleep with is in complete control of her mental faculties.

  Taking advantage of a woman in such a manner, is not my thing.

  I reach down and take the woman’s hand in my own.

  “I’m sorry love, but I’m not sure that would be a good idea.”

  I try to let the woman down as easily as possible, but I can see the sudden flare of anger in her eyes at my rejection.

  “And why not?”

  “Well I’m not too sure Kalista would enjoy me wandering off with one of her guests.”

  The woman raises an eyebrow and scoffs. She mutters something under her breath about Kalista always getting what she wants. Then, she storms away without another word.

  I look down at the diamond ring I slipped off the woman’s hand and grin. It’s from Tiffany’s and worth about ten thousand dollars.

  Not a bad grab to make up for the awkward encounter.

  Then, I think about her words about Kalista.

  And then about Kalista herself. She’s sharper than I had imagined.

  I had expected some half-witted heiress too drunk to remember her own name. But to see her working her crowd of guests has been impressive. The woman has some natural skill with people that could give others in my line of work a run for their money.

  Kalista is going to be one hell of a CEO, when her day comes.

  No doubt, she’ll take the world by storm.

  It’ll be interesting to see. But tonight, she’s just another mark. Maybe the most beautiful mark I’ve ever stolen from—but a job, nonetheless.

  Chapter 3

  Griffin

  The party is starting to wind down now. All the big-name guests have gone.

  Most of Kalista’s inner circle of friends—if you believe social media chatter—have all picked out a companion for their private in-room after parties. Unsurprisingly, they each grabbed a man who spent most of the night wearing nothing but caviar.

  I, on the other hand, have reached out to my hotel contact to get the access needed to Kalista’s room. Her room key cost me a pretty penny. But the money this ring is going to net me will more than make up for it.

  I’ve made sure that Kalista isn’t in her room when I slip into her suite.

  The room is everything you’d expect of a hotel that calls itself The Luxury.

  Heated marble floor throughout. Diamond chandeliers in all four rooms—five, if you include the chandelier shower in the bathroom. Floor to ceiling windows.

  Fuck—even the bed is large enough to fit a family of six on it comfortably. I’m a man who enjoys elegant luxury just as much as the next man, but even for me, this is too decadent.

  I’m convinced now that it would be a crime not to steal this ring from Kalista. Having the kind of money and to stay in a suite like this should be illegal.

  On the bright side, a room this large allows for plenty of space for me to lay low until Kalista returns from downstairs. Then, once she’s sound asleep, I can take the ring and leave.

  This might be easier than taking candy from a baby, now that I think about it.

  It’s a little after three in the morning when Kalista strolls into her room, with two of her bodyguards. She stumbles a bit here and there as she moves, thanks to all that champagne in her system. Her security detail moves to help her, but she waves them off.

  “You boys can leave. You got me here in one piece.”

  “We really should do a check of your room, Miss von Knopf.”

  “Todd, seriously. Nothing is going to happen to me in this room. Now go, so I can get to bed.”

  Her two muscled watchdogs, in their matching black suits, look at each other with apparent annoyance, but Kalista’s the boss.

  “Yes, ma’am. We’ll be in the room next door, if you need us for anything.”

  “Thank you, boys.”

  The men in suits leave the room. A heavy sigh of relief from Kalista fills the air the second the door clicks shut.

  “Ugh, finally,” Kalista mumbles, as she kicks off her Jimmy Choos.

  From my hidden position in the suite, I watch as Kalista grabs the phone and calls down to room service. She orders some chamomile tea and warm milk. Both are excellent choices, for winding down to relax.

  Once she hangs up, the lovely heiress begins to remove all the fancy jewelry adorning her curvy figure. All of it except for her new ring.

  She stands from the couch and begins to peel off her cocktail dress. I’ve seen the girl in bikinis many times, but to see her live, in a La Perla, is something else entirely.

  I feel a bit like a deviant, watching her from the shadows as she undresses. But I must admit, I’m enjoying the view thoroughly.

  Kalista turns and leaves for the bedroom, before undressing further.

  I’m a bit thankful for that. The last thing I need is for my cock to burst from my pants and give away my position. Maybe I should have mixed in some pleasure tonight after all.

  When she returns to the main room, she’s wearing a silk nightgown that hugs her body like a fitted glove. There’s an urge inside me, to step out from my position, and kiss her on the silk covered flesh of her tits and stomach.

  Thankfully, a knock at the door interrupts those thoughts.

  “Hmm, fast room service, too,” she coos to herself, as she moves to the door.

  Kalista opens the door, and there’s a loud gasp that explodes from her.

  “Who the fu—”

  “Shut up and get inside.”

  That’s not room service.

  Two men in hotel uniforms force Kalista back inside her room. One is holding a pistol on her, and the other is pushing a large room service cart. This is a kidnapping attempt.

  And not a bad one at that.

  Kalista is alone and still slightly inebriated from the party. She’s in no shape to put up a fight. It would be easy to drug her, put her in the cart, and wheel her out without anyone knowing what’s happened until they make their ransom demands.

  It’s still a risky move given who she is and where they are, but I know more than anyone that a big pay-off takes risks.

  The man pushing the cart pulls out some rope and moves on Kalista to tie her up.

  I know that I shouldn’t get involved.

  This isn’t my fight. I’m here to take her ring and leave.

  But something inside me is telling me to stop this.

  I
step out from my cover and rush toward the man with the gun first. The two kidnappers are surprised at my sudden appearance.

  I grab the wrist of the man with the gun and twist it in my grasp. He lets out a groan, that’s followed by a quick scream when I break his twisted arm over my shoulder.

  I elbow him in the face with enough force that his jaw breaks, and he falls unconscious.

  The other man tackles me to the floor from behind. I can feel him fumbling around for a pistol of his own. Getting shot isn’t on my list of things to do tonight.

  I reach down, grab the man’s leg, and bend it against my thigh in a direction that the human leg isn’t meant to bend.

  A scream, like the one made by his companion just a couple seconds ago, escapes from his lips when the bone breaks. I follow up with a nose breaking head butt, before delivering a hard right that knocks the man out.

  I turn to look at Kalista from over my shoulder. The birthday girl is nearly in shock, not that I blame her.

  “Francis, are you there? Did you get the girl already?”

  My gaze turns to the man whose arm and jaw I just broke. Moving over to him, I open his jacket to reveal a small radio with a blinking red light on it.

  “Francis, answer me dammit. Did you get the girl or not?”

  I run over to the suite’s entrance and look out to the hallway. There’s no sign of anyone, including Kalista’s security. You’d think her security detail would have heard the commotion, if they were next door.

  I look back over to Kalista, as she hides behind the couch.

  “Who are you? Who are they?”

  “I know now isn’t the right time to say this, but that hurts, love.”

  Take the fucking ring, and go, Griff! Don’t stand around and talk!

  It would be the smart thing to do. Do the job, leave, and get paid.

  But to leave her now, knowing that there are others out there after her is just too cold for even me.

  Maybe it’s my inner hero talking, but I must get Kalista out of here.

  I grab the chloroform that the kidnappers brought with them, and I approach Kalista.

  “No, get away from me!”

  She tries to slink away, but I move faster than her. I slip the cloth over her face and watch as she slowly fades into sleep.

  “Sorry love, but it’s not safe for you here.”

  I place Kalista in the cart—reluctantly and carefully—and linger on the giant ring on her finger. I may be the hero in this story, but I’m also an opportunistic one.

  I’m the Gryhpon, after all.

  Chapter 4

  Kalista

  I don’t open my eyes at first.

  I just lay there, basking in the soft silk beneath me. The smell of bacon, crepes, coffee, and Nutella fills my nose.

  I stir from sleep with a satisfied smile. I’m in love with how thick the air is with the scent of breakfast, which is unusual for the hotel.

  Someone is singing from the next room. My security guard never sings—he’s horrible at it. Then, it hits me.

  I’m not in my hotel anymore.

  The memory of the fight, of the strange men—it all comes back to me, along with the throbbing—no, pounding—headache. It drums against my temples, pulsing the memories through my mind.

  I open my mouth to speak—to cry out—then I feel the gag on my lips and the ties around my wrists. Both are strangely made of silk, and as I move my hand, I have about three inches before the ties stop me.

  I didn’t realize that kidnappers can be the gentle sort.

  I open my eyes, blinking until the sunshine from beyond the window is no longer blinding. I’m not in my hotel room anymore—rather, I’m in someone’s apartment. I crane my neck forward, trying to see past the antique four poster bed.

  I kick some of the hangings out of the way with my unbound foot, yet I see nothing of importance.

  What I do see is an open archway, a man’s suit pants hanging over the back of a chair, and my shoes next to a particularly ornate Oriental rug. Art and trinkets are carefully positioned around the room.

  Whoever owns this place has good taste.

  This isn’t the holding cell of a kidnapper…so what happened?

  Is this some kind of surprise stripper prank? One where you go to the stripper instead of them coming to you?

  I wrestle with the wrist ties once again, but—unsurprisingly—this stripper is good with knots. I slump back against the headboard, and put on the best angry, pouting face that I can—with a gag in my mouth that is.

  The sounds of cooking stop. The singing becomes louder and louder. I furrow my brows further, straightening my back and trying my best to look dignified.

  “Oh, come on now, love, you look like a smacked arse,” one of the most gorgeous men in the world says.

  He’s tall, dark-haired and, holy fuck, he’s handsome—not to mention shirtless—but something about him feels familiar.

  “Right, we’ve got tea, coffee, orange juice, and some nice Dom Pérignon from the party last night.”

  His British accent rolls over the words so smoothly, and it stirs something inside me—as does the tray of pancakes he’s carrying.

  But he’s also my kidnapper.

  I can’t tell whether I want to marry him or if I want to murder him.

  Actually, if I murdered him, I could still have that breakfast.

  “Let me go!” I say through the gag, which means it sounded more like ‘lehme goh!’

  I bet my friends are pissing themselves with laughter right now.

  “Are you sure that’s what you want?” he asks, sitting at the edge of the bed.

  He sets the tray over my lap, almost as though he’s adding another obstacle to keep me to the bed.

  “Because if I untie you, you’re going to scream, and we can’t have that, can we?”

  “Fuck you.” I say through the gag.

  The stranger laughs and shakes his head. I’m glad someone thinks this is funny.

  “Maybe later, yeah? I mean it though, you shouldn’t scream. Or try to escape.”

  I narrow my eyes at him.

  “If you scream, then I’ll just tie you up again, and I’ll eat all this breakfast right off your lap,” he smiles, and I falter briefly in my sulking. “Then, I’ll crack open that Pérignon and wash it all down. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

  Then—to torture me further—he pinches a piece of bacon between two fingers and takes a bite. My stomach growls its answer before I can open my lips and comply. Indignantly, I huff, looking up at this stranger through my eyelashes.

  Silently, I ask him, what the fuck are you waiting for?

  His fingers linger at the corner of my mouth, pausing for one teasing moment before he unties the gag. I breathe in the sweet, breakfast air and his scent—which is an intoxicating mix of ginger, maninka fruit, and lavender—as he leans into my personal space to release my wrists.

  “There you go,” he says as he sits back and looks at me. “Doesn’t that feel better?”

  I’m reluctant to say that it does, but he already knows.

  “So, tea, coffee or champagne?”

  “Champagne,” I perhaps say a little too hastily.

  The strange man laughs at me again. But I’m too busy pulling the plate of crepes towards me to care all that much what he thinks. Are these stuffed with bananas, too?

  He leaves for a few moments, and comes back with a bottle and two glasses of champagne. I could watch him come and go all day.

  “I put on some coffee, too. I feel like you’re the kind of girl who needs both right now.”

  My mouth is filled with crepes, chocolate, and strawberries. But I don’t disagree with him. This guy really has to be one of the nicest guys that I’ve ever been kidnapped by. But given that it’s a list of one, he’s also the worst.

  “So, you’re the guy who kidnapped me?” I ask, and he almost spills the champagne.

  “Me? What? No!”

  He looks a
t me as though I’ve just said something unbelievably stupid.

  “I rescued you from a kidnapping. Surely that’s got to mean something to Mummy and Dad-dums?”

  He hands me a glass of the Pérignon and takes a sip from the bottle.

  “Then, who are you?”

  “I told you, the guy who rescued you,” he smiles charmingly like some kind of dashing prince. But I’m not in the mood to be a princess.

  “I’m Griff, or Griffin, if you’re nasty.”

  “I’m Kalista—”

  “Von Knopf,” Griff interrupts before I have a chance to finish. “Yes, I’m quite aware who you are, love. Like I said, that was quite the party you threw last night.”

  “You were at the party,” I realize, sipping at my champagne. “I remember seeing you, but I don’t remember you on the guest list.”

  Now I remember this man. And the Ace of hearts up his sleeve.

  “That’s because I wasn’t invited,” Griff says calmly, pinching a strawberry from the tray. “I was there to take some treasures.”

  Then, he gets up from the bed, disappearing through the archway as I hear the coffee machine finish its cycle.

  “You were there to get laid?”

  “Well, it wouldn’t have hurt to try,” he answers as he walks back into the room with a cup of coffee in each hand.

  “But I’m not sure how lucky I got, ultimately,” Griffin adds with a shrug as he places both cups down on the tray.

  It takes everything I have not to choke on the banana.

  “So why did you kidnap me instead?”

  “Yes please, scream it louder,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “It’s been so long since I brought a woman here. No doubt the neighbors have been concerned for my wellbeing.”

  My heart begins beating hard in my chest.

  I know I was drunk, but my mind can’t put the pieces of the night together. How could anyone else have gotten close to kidnapping me? Security was only in the next room.

  My mind races as I try to make sense of the last twenty-four hours.

  Do my parents know where I am? Do any of my friends?

  “Careful, love, you think any harder and you might end up with an aneurysm,” Griffin interrupts my train of thought, and I look back toward him, still confused.