Thief of Hearts: A Rogue Billionaire Fake Fiance Romance

by Carter Blake

  Everyone here, after all, can afford it.

  I finish my glass of wine as the waitress brings over our bill. I say nothing as Griffin reaches down into his pocket to look for his wallet.

  The look on his face as his fingers find the lace of my panties—the same pair he had me model when we first came to Barcelona—rather than the leather-bound wallet containing countless euros, is priceless.

  For a moment, I think back to what he said to me in that dressing room, whispering into my ear.

  You’re damn right, ‘I’ll do.’

  “It’s okay, love,” I say, pulling his wallet from my clutch. I leaf through the orange, green and yellow euros that reside there. “I’ve got this.”

  Chapter 18

  Griffin

  There’s no way she actually planted the panties she was wearing in my pocket…is there?

  Does this mean she’s not wearing any now?

  I flash her a suspicious grin.

  I offer her my hand, which she takes as I stand, and I lead her out of the restaurant.

  “You know, you’ve got me thinking.”

  “Oh, do I?” She coos.

  She purses her lips together in a sultry little smirk that sets my blood on fire. Her brows rise as she eyes me up and down.

  “And, what exactly are you thinking about, Mister Gryphon?”

  “I’m wondering if you’re wearing anything under that dress, given what you planted in my pocket,” I reply, my grip on her hand tightening as I lean in to whisper in her ear.

  She chuckles and picks up the pace at the sight of the car coming around the lane.

  I open the door for her as the car comes to a stop before us. I make an exaggerated gesture for her to climb into the back seat.

  “Your chariot awaits, love.”

  She giggles and steps in. Once she’s sitting down, I close her door and walk around the car to my side.

  Before I’ve even closed my door, I tell the driver to take us to my flat—and to make it quick.

  “Now, is that a proper question to ask a lady?” She laughs softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

  Her tone is deliciously flirtatious as she mockingly scolds me.

  “Maybe not a lady,” I lean in closer and place my hand on her thigh. “But not so far off a question for a man to ask his wife, no?”

  “Uh, wife?” she asks, her eyes wide and a brow cocked in confusion. “Listen, buddy. You may be able to pull a fast one on me and pick my pocket without me noticing, but I’m pretty sure that you and I haven’t gotten married.”

  She raises her left hand and points exaggeratedly at her empty ring finger, waving it around and scoffing.

  “Besides, no ring. Any decent husband would get his wife an engagement ring and a wedding band. My husband wouldn’t be decent, he’d be fucking fantastic, and so would my rings. Plural. Clearly, you are not that man.”

  Her face is smug as she smirks at me, and she looks down at my hand on her thigh.

  I laugh at her, teasing and give her a squeeze, chuckling as I do.

  “No, you’re right, Miss von Knopf. I’m not, but we could play the part. What do you say?”

  “I’m not sure I follow what—oh!”

  Realization washes over her face and she beams at me, eyes sparkling. She gasps in excitement.

  “You want to be a married couple tomorrow night, for our heist?” She looks at me with a surprised grin. “I have to say, I’m impressed. That’s a fantastic idea!”

  She nods approvingly as she slides her hand over mine on her thigh—giving it a playful squeeze that stirs my cock—as her grin changes from surprised to mischievous.

  “Isn’t it, though? I’m not just a pretty face.”

  “So it would seem.”

  She turns her head to the side. Her piercing blue eyes look me up and down once more. “I have to say, I’ve done my share of role playing. But I can’t say ‘wife’ is a role I’ve ever played.”

  “Oh? You like role playing, don’t you? Do go on.”

  She laughs and playfully bumps my shoulder, resting her body against mine.

  For the rest of the ride back to my flat, she remains against me.

  It feels right having her lean against me like this. Any man in his right mind would be absolutely mad to say otherwise—a beautiful woman like her doesn’t come along every day.

  I’m usually pretty good at keeping my emotions separate from my jobs and marks, but this time, I can sense that something is different.

  I started off this job annoyed with how it was going. Irritated that I had some heiress to look after further complicating things, but as time passed, I find myself growing quite fond of her.

  It’s hard not to sneak glances at her.

  And that smile!

  God, her smile could light up an entire room.

  I shake myself from my thoughts as we pull up to my flat.

  I steal a glancing look over at her and smile.

  “Home sweet home, wife.”

  She rolls her eyes at me, but there’s a playfulness in them all the same.

  Kalista really is a saucy little thing.

  We get out of the car and hurry inside. I take her coat for her as she sits down on the couch.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  I walk through the hallway until I reach the kitchen. I open the cabinet and scan the bottles. I’m on the hunt for something special. My fingers glide from bottle to bottle until I find the one I’m looking for—a vintage red.

  I uncork it and pour two glasses. The floral aroma fills the immediate area.

  With the glasses in hand, I return to the sitting room.

  She smiles at me when I saunter back in, and she pats the empty cushion next to her.

  I join her on the couch and set our glasses down. I seat myself close to her so that I can slide my hand onto her thigh.

  She looks at me, and I give it a firm squeeze. Her eyes light up like fireworks when I do. She bites her lip and smirks before looking away and reaching for her glass.

  “So,” I growl playfully. “Tell me more about this role playing you apparently have so much experience with.”

  “Well,” she purrs, taking a sip from her glass. “Since you’re my husband and all, I suppose a story or two wouldn’t hurt. What would you like to know?”

  Placing her glass back on the table, she bats her eyelashes at me, and bites her lip again. It sends a chill up my spine. I take a deep breath and smile at her.

  Slowly, I begin slipping my hand further up her leg until I’m teasing the hem of her dress with my fingers.

  “Tell me your favorite.”

  She sighs, and her eyes dart down to my hand briefly before they come back to my heated stare, and she smiles.

  I feel her hand slip over mine as she slowly slides my hand further up the curve of her thigh, smirking at me as she does so.

  “Well, there was this one time I pretended to be the damsel-in-distress type, got kidnapped, and a big, strong, handsome man came to my rescue,” her voice is a suggestive, husky whisper.

  I inhale sharply and grit my teeth in a knowing grin.

  She pouts at me and bats her eyelashes—squeezing my hand as she does.

  “Oh, do you like that idea?”

  She licks her lips with a wicked grin on her face.

  “Go on,” I say.

  She leans forward and places her hand on my knee. Teasingly, she slides it up my leg as she brings her face just inches from mine.

  Just a couple of inches further up, Kalista, and you’ll understand just how much I like that idea.

  “Well, my favorite part is what happens after he saves me, and takes me back to his place.”

  Her eyes dart to my lips before gazing back into my eyes.

  My breath quickens, and all I can focus on is the fact that those perfect plump lips are right there for the taking.

  I smile when she leans closer. Her eyes again darting to my lips.

  I t
ilt my head and start leaning in, but I’m halted by a playful swat at my chest as she giggles and falls back against the couch.

  “Actually, Griff.” She sighs, raising her arms above her head and yawning in an exaggerated fashion. “I think I’ll save that story for another time. I’m pretty tired.”

  Without giving me a chance to object, she grabs her glass of wine and stands. She flies off to her room, waving at me over her shoulder as she rounds the corner.

  “Fuck,” I hiss under my breath as I find myself staring down at the bulge in my pants.

  I stand and start pacing back and forth in the living room, trying to calm down, but it’s not helping.

  My attention falls to my own glass of wine, and I retrieve it from the table. I swirl my glass around and watch as the red liquid swishes and sways back and forth like silk hugging the curves of the wine glass with ease.

  It’s doing nothing, but reminding me of the way Kalista’s dress hugged her curves just right.

  It’s painfully obvious that my problem isn’t going away on its own.

  I take a large swill of wine and set the glass back down. I’d hoped the wine would take the edge off—at least some—but, instead, it’s left me wondering if Kalista tastes just as sweet.

  “Fuck it,” I grumble. “I’m going to take a cold shower.”

  I walk through the apartment to my bathroom, kicking off my shoes as I go.

  I pull off my shirt as I reach and turn the shower nozzle on. The shirt gets tossed into the hamper next to the sink, and my pants follow.

  My thumbs slide beneath the waistband of my underwear just as I feel something tickle the top of my foot. I look down—finding myself unable to stop the grin on my face—as I register what’s there.

  Bending over, I reach down to pick up the tiny scrap of paper; shaking my head in disbelief as I recognize Kalista’s scrawl on it.

  How on earth did she manage that? The little minx.

  Chapter 19

  Kalista

  My whole body quivers with excitement.

  We’re here. We’re finally here.

  The room is awash with golden light from the chandeliers overhead, and the effect is more impressive by the way the light is reflected by the array of jewelry.

  There are single pieces in this room that could easily equal, or exceed, the value of some of the lots up for auction.

  It’s just such a shame that one of them is around the neck of a bitch like that.

  “Did you see that?” I lean in and whisper into Griffin’s ear.

  He looks at the woman in question. Her dress is far too small for her, and the large shimmering emeralds around her neck and wrist is perhaps the nicest—no—the only nice thing about her.

  She’s a caricature, almost comical, except there’s nothing funny about the way she’s treating the poor serving girl.

  The woman snaps her fingers in the young woman’s face—once, twice, and then a third time. Despite the constant chatter in the room, I can hear her asking where the champagne is, and why her glass—and the serving tray—is empty.

  As though one nineteen-year-old is responsible for the champagne reserve for the entire auction.

  “I see her,” Griffin whispers back, staring at this woman with a strange kind of fury.

  We’d blow our cover if we did something now, but I know Griffin is committing her face to memory. The woman, however, is relentless, almost yelling at the poor girl who is just trying to diffuse the situation.

  It’s then that we both realise that, despite her best efforts, the only English that the waitress can speak or understand is ‘Yes ma’am’ and ‘I’m sorry’.

  She has no idea what this bitch is screaming about. It takes everything I have not to just sweep in there and rescue her.

  “Come on, dear,” I say, emphasizing all terms of endearment—just in case anyone’s listening to us. “Let’s head to the bar, maybe we’ll spot someone else.”

  “Of course, love,” Griffin agrees and places his hand on the small of my back, leading me to the mahogany bar at the end of the room. His fingers against my skin—through the cut out of my dress—sets my skin tingling with electricity.

  “Could I have a martini, please?” I ask the bartender, who nods and then looks at Griffin, who orders a Macallan on the rocks.

  “A martini, huh?” Griffin says to me while we’re waiting.

  “It felt fitting for the occasion.”

  “You’re not James Bond, you know.”

  “I know.” I smile. “That’s why I didn’t say ‘shaken, not stirred’.”

  Griffin laughs and shakes his head.

  The bartender brings our drinks over to us, and I immediately take a sip of the cocktail.

  We stand and watch the crowd for a few moments longer. Griffin spots a beautiful and ornate sapphire ring—that clashes horribly with the rest of the outfit that its owner is wearing.

  A crime of fashion that could only be undone by us relieving her of the ring.

  Then, I spot a man who I swear I’ve seen before.

  I’ve actually never seen him in my life, but between his bad toupee and upturned nose, it feels like I’m looking at every man my father’s ever done business with.

  “Why are billionaires so afraid of balding?” I ask Griff. With his full head of thick dark hair, I can’t ever imagine him without it.

  “I don’t know love, but here’s a better question.” He nods to the same man, and then the small blonde that moves to his side. He wraps his arm around her, and she leans against him subtly.

  “Is that his daughter, wife, or mistress?”

  I study her for a minute. She’s wearing a beautiful Oscar De La Renta dress, but it looks wrong on her, somehow.

  She’s not wearing the dress—it’s wearing her. Like a man had picked it out—a man who, ultimately, knows nothing about a woman’s body.

  “She was his mistress once, but now she’s his second—no, third—wife,” I conclude, and I pity that poor girl across the room. She looks my age, and yet she’s trapped with him.

  I look at Griff briefly, and I can’t imagine my life without him.

  Or, I can’t imagine going back to my old life.

  Is this really what we are all like? Swanning about in ballrooms, comparing caviars and wasting money on things we don’t need?

  I sigh and look about the room. If I’d never met Griffin, this would still be my life. I’d be wearing a gown, and laughing at shit jokes, and drinking champagne just to numb the boredom I felt from being here.

  I take a sip from my martini, and then drink the rest. Griffin appears not to notice, or if he does, he says nothing.

  I think he must understand. He must have been in my shoes at one time.

  We wander around the ballroom for hours, watching everyone like hawks—trying to find more marks. I suggest that the ninety-year-old man and his wife might be an easy mark, but Griffin disagreed.

  He would be an easy mark with those arthritic wrists, but the way he looks at his wife restores some of my hope in humanity.

  However, the young man—late twenties, at the oldest—who tripped the waiter carrying canapés deserves everything that Griffin and I will do to him.

  His high pitched, mocking laughter echoes throughout the room, and I want to trip him in just the same way.

  He might have a man’s body, but if he wants to act like a child, we’ll treat him like one.

  “Right love, you ready to go to work?” Griffin asks. He too, has just watched this man make a fool out of another server. Though in his eyes, I can see that Griffin would much prefer to knock some sense into the bastard rather than stealing his wallet, keys, and dignity.

  “I’m ready when you are, Mr. Langdon.” I smile sweetly and lean up. We kiss each other on the cheek—I feel his hot breath on my skin, and my hand touches his chest gently.

  “Go make me proud, love,” he whispers in my ear. As we walk in different directions, I feel Griff’s hand smack my ass. I
hold my head up high and walk through the crowd, finding the marks I’d picked out for myself.

  My Alexander McQueen clutch bag was deceptively large—we’d picked it to be the perfect size for an operation like this, and Griffin’s Armani suit had secret pockets hidden in the lining.

  He’d had it custom made in Italy, and despite how it clung to his body in all the right ways, you would have no idea there were millions of dollars’ worth of jewelry on him if you hadn’t seen him take it.

  And of course, no one ever sees.

  I start with the man with the bad toupee, sweeping over to him and placing both hands on his arms. I make a scene, but not too large, to draw everyone’s attention to my lips and my mouth as I kiss him on either cheek.

  That way, no one watches my hands as they slip his wallet from his jacket.

  As I leave, I look at his wife one last time. Her eyes meet mine, and she clearly wishes to be anywhere else but here.

  My next mark is the woman with the garish sapphire ring. She’s wearing long white evening gloves, so slipping it from her finger was almost child’s play.

  It slips into a secret compartment in my dress, and the woman practically falls over herself at the sight of me.

  She has no idea who I am—she only knows me as Mrs. Langdon rather than Kalista von Knopf. But I’m young, and I’m beautiful, and rich people are nothing but shallow.

  It’s why they like diamonds.

  I scan the room to see where Griffin is—if he’s left any marks left for me to catch. He hasn’t. I feign conversation with another guest, and I watch him from the corner of my eye.

  Griff has left the man and woman who abused the servers for last.

  He starts by spilling his drink, the ice tumbling everywhere all over the floor. The young man doesn’t watch his feet, and slips right in the puddle, spilling champagne all over the busty woman from before.

  They’re horrified and too caught up with the other to notice Griffin, as he slips the emerald jewels from her wrist, as well as the wallet from his pants, and the car keys from his jacket.