by Folsom, Tina
“What now?” she asked and sought his eyes, leaning her head backwards, exposing the graceful column of her neck as if offering it up for a sacrifice.
Bold. He liked that in a woman.
Her lips beckoned to be kissed, smothered, crushed.
“A kiss.”
To his surprise, she shook her head. Why else would she have given her location away? She’d seen his hungry look in the auction hall, he was certain.
“Tomorrow night,” she promised, her voice a silky trickle, rendering him breathless.
His heart skipped a beat. She wasn’t turning him down completely. He could wait twenty-four hours, couldn’t he? His throbbing cock indicated a clear no, but his brain overrode his baser needs.
“Tomorrow night?”
She nodded and traced her index finger over his lower lip. The touch startled and aroused him at the same time. Keeping his eyes on hers, his tongue snaked out and lapped against her finger. Her eyelids dropped to half-mast as she held her breath. Encouraged by her reaction, he pulled her finger into his mouth and sucked on it.
Her skin was delicious, tasting of citrus fruit and vanilla blossoms. He saw her chest rise as she took in a breath and filled her lungs.
He reached forward and touched her silky blouse, stroking lightly over her breast. The absence of a bra surprised him, making him release an involuntary moan. Another second of this and he’d come right in his trousers.
She withdrew her finger from his mouth. “Eight o’clock at Claridge’s. You can buy me dinner first, and afterwards . . .”
She left the sentence hanging, sending a tingle of anticipation through his groin.
He knew the restaurant in Mayfair. In fact, he was a regular. And it wasn’t far from his home. Convenient. Ten minutes after dinner, she would tumble into his bed.
“I can pick you up.”
She shook her head. “I’ll meet you there.”
“I’m Marcus M—”
“I know who you are,” she interrupted.
It didn’t surprise him. His face was known all over London and beyond. For a split second he wondered, whether that was the reason she was interested in him. What if? He decided that it didn’t matter. If it made it easier to get her into bed, even better.
She stepped past him, her braless breast brushing against his arm, sending another lightning bolt through his body as she walked toward the exit.
“Wait! Your name.”
She turned briefly. “Olivia.”
Then she was gone. Her scent and her touch lingered, the natural perfume of her skin impregnating the air around him, rendering it heavy with desire and promise.
2
Olivia Hall pulled on her black boots, tucking the ends of her tight black trousers into them. She felt much more comfortable wearing those than the skirt she had donned the night before.
She hated skirts. They constricted her movements and were impractical in case she had to get away quickly. Neither did she like the stilettos she’d worn at the auction house.
But she knew men were suckers for high heels. Especially when they were on the end of legs clad in black stockings. So predictable. Really.
Funny, how men turned out to always react the same way. Almost boring. She hadn’t met a mark yet, who hadn’t come after her when she’d adjusted her stockings. Maybe she should come up with a new hook next time, otherwise things might get dull. On the other hand, why introduce something new into the mix when the old tricks still worked and worked every time?
This man wasn’t any different. Marcus Moncrieff, the wealthy art collector and entrepreneur. Olivia had watched him during the entire auction. She’d done her research on him. If she was anything, she was thorough. Before the bidding even started, she knew what he would bid on. That was why she was there.
At some point, Olivia had thought the older gentleman who’d bid against him would win the prize, but Marcus hadn’t disappointed her. He’d outbid the man every time and it was clear he wouldn’t give up until the vestal armband was his.
She liked that. A man who knew what he wanted. She understood it when she’d done her research on him. And he’d done exactly as predicted: Marcus had bought the artifact. As soon as the bidding on the item had ended, she’d gone into action.
When he’d walked toward the back of the room with his friend, it had only been a matter of a few minutes until he’d noticed her. She’d virtually felt his hungry eyes all over her body when she’d adjusted the stockings, which really didn’t need adjusting.
The moment his eyes had met hers, she’d felt an unknown sensation in her, but had attributed it to anticipation. His dark hair was a little shaggy, with waves suggesting it naturally curled under the hot steam of a shower. Eyes the color of moss implied hidden depth. Even in his elegant suit, he couldn’t hide his athletic figure, his broad shoulders, and his muscular chest.
Yet, despite his elegant clothing, there was something rough about him. He was a self-made man, not like his blue-blooded friend. Without a doubt, Marcus was attractive. More than that. He oozed sex appeal. She hadn’t seen a man in quite a while who looked this potent. Almost as if he was forbidden fruit.
Not that Olivia was going to sample any of it. She never did when it came to business. It was too risky. The only thing she had allowed herself was to touch his lips. The sensation had almost overwhelmed her, especially when he’d sucked her finger into his mouth. His tongue had played with her in a most seductive way.
Coupled with his hand brushing lightly against her breast, it had made her virtually forget her modus operandi: never mix business with pleasure. At that point, she’d almost regretted that he was the one who’d bought the artifact. Had he not, maybe she would have spent a night with him and satisfied the hunger in his eyes. A mirror image of her own for sure.
But as it happened, he had bought the artifact, the same she’d been hired to steal. And she would do it tonight while he was waiting for her at the restaurant for a date she would never have with him.
A kiss she would never give him.
His London residence was a two story home on a quiet Mayfair street. By the time she reached it, darkness had already descended upon the city, and foot traffic was at a minimum in the residential area in the center of London.
Olivia had no problem breaking into the property despite the security system. She’d learned from the best: good old Dad. Picking a lock was a task she’d mastered at the age of twelve, and disabling a security system had followed five years later.
One of her specialties became opening safes. She was old school. Anybody could open a safe with explosives, but to tease the lock open the same way one teased a lover? Now, that was finesse.
By the tender age of eighteen, she was a pro. Now, at twenty-nine, she was close to retirement.
Olivia had even squeezed in four years at the University to obtain a degree in art history—something she found came in handy when negotiating her fee with the various art enthusiasts who engaged her services.
Her decision to become an art thief had not been a conscious one. She’d simply followed in her father’s footsteps and joined the family business. Just as her school friends joined their family’s accounting firms or clothing stores.
She was good, she was efficient, and she was a professional. Her real life and all the fun would start once she retired from her profession. In the meantime, her spotty sex life didn’t bother her too much. What were vibrators for? At least they didn’t ask her what she was up to when she left the house at night all dressed in black with a small backpack of tools slung over her back.
Olivia’s eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness in the house. She knew she was alone. A glance at the clock told her that Marcus would be arriving at the restaurant right now. He would wait for her. All men did. At least for thirty minutes, but most likely longer. By the time he was back at the house, she would be gone, and with her the vestal armband.
3
Marcus cursed the driver of the
black cab as it almost ran him over when it swung around the corner of the narrow street. He lost his footing on the slippery street and fell against a heap of old household items somebody had left on the sidewalk for the rubbish collector.
Perfect, now his immaculate outfit was dirty. As he lifted himself from his undignified position on the sidewalk, he heard a rip that sounded suspiciously like a piece of cloth tearing. He twisted his head.
“Bloody hell!”
That was just what he needed. With ten minutes to spare to meet his hot date, his trousers had ripped along his thigh. A wire sticking out from a discarded mattress was the culprit.
Now what?
Looking the way he did, there was no way he could show up at Claridge’s, particularly since the lovely Olivia was there waiting for him. It would be too embarrassing. If he hurried, he could make it home, change in a minute or two and be at the restaurant only fifteen minutes after their agreed time.
Marcus pulled out his cell, and while he rushed through the narrow streets of Mayfair, dialed the number for the restaurant.
“George, Moncrieff here.”
“Good evening, Mr. Moncrieff.”
“My reservation at eight. There’s a slight delay. Would you be so kind as to inform the lady once she arrives that I’ll be fifteen minutes delayed?”
“Of course, sir!”
“And please serve her the best champagne.”
“Very well, sir.”
“Thank you!” Relieved, he disconnected the call.
Minutes later, he entered his house and ran up the stairs toward his bedroom. All of a sudden, he stopped in his tracks in the upper hallway.
Something was different. Something was missing. It was too quiet. He instantly realized that what was missing were the familiar beeps reminding him to turn off the alarm system. Had he forgotten to set it before he’d left the house? Impossible. He was almost anal about setting the security system whenever he left.
As he stood wondering, he noticed a faint light traveling underneath the door of his office into the hallway. Had he forgotten to turn his desk light off? He wasn’t the forgetful type.
Then the ray of light shifted.
Somebody was in his office!
A burglar!
The office was where he kept some of his priceless artifacts, including the one he’d acquired at the auction the night before. He was having a display case custom built for it, and in the meantime, it rested in his safe.
Marcus crouched down to look through the keyhole. A chair partially obstructed his view, but he could clearly make out a figure kneeling in front of his safe. Hands clad in surgical gloves turned the dial, and it appeared the person was pressing a stethoscope to the door of the safe to listen to the interior workings of the lock.
He took off his shoes and, as quietly as he could, he snuck into his bedroom and opened the top drawer of his nightstand.
The 9mm semi automatic he retrieved from it felt cool in his hand. He wasn’t a particularly good shot; in fact, he had only shot the gun once or twice when he’d purchased it. It wasn’t even loaded, but it would do as a deterrent. The ammunition was locked in a cabinet in his office and therefore out of reach.
After a few deep breaths, he turned the knob to the office and swung the door open, before pointing the gun at the intruder who instantly jumped to his feet.
Correction: to her feet!
Clearly, she hadn’t planned on meeting him at the restaurant. The little temptress had simply wanted him out of the way.
Dressed in figure-hugging black trousers, a tight black turtleneck sweater and black boots, it was doubtful that the Maitre d’ at Claridge’s would have admitted her to the elegant dining room. They were, after all, a bit old fashioned and stodgy there.
“Olivia,” he greeted her. “What a surprise.”
It was the understatement of the century.
Her eyes searched for an escape route, but there was none. The window behind her had bars on the outside, and Marcus blocked the only door, the gun still pointing at her.
“And what is it that you’re after, since it’s obviously not my charming company?” Marcus asked casually.
Her eyes skimmed over his body, briefly resting on his torn trousers. He followed her look.
“Lucky accident, otherwise I’d be sitting in the restaurant now, waiting for you in vain.”
Olivia finally spoke. “Lucky for you, I suppose.”
She knew she was caught, but she didn’t know what he would do. Neither did he.
Should he call the police? Have her arrested? Clearly, she was a burglar. A cunning one at that. She should be punished.
Marcus let his eyes roam over her body. He knew already that she had amazing legs. She’d shown them off to him the night before—and not by accident, he knew that now. But the tight fitting clothes she wore now accentuated her curves even more.
He’d bet a hundred quid that she didn’t wear a bra under that snug sweater of hers.
“Ever been to prison?”
He saw a quick flash of fear in her eyes.
“I’ve never gotten caught.” Her voice was silky and just as tempting as he’d found it the night before.
“There’s always a first. I never caught a thief before either. Especially not such a hot one.”
Color slowly rose to her cheeks. Good. He liked her reaction. At least, he didn’t leave her cold.
“So you caught me. What now?”
Marcus smiled. Olivia was trying to take the offensive.
“You’ll have to deal with the consequences, I’m afraid.”
Sure, there had to be consequences. He’d have to punish her. And he suddenly knew exactly how.
He took a couple of steps toward her, and instinctively, she backed away. Her eyes went to the weapon in his hand. He shrugged and placed it on his desk, then continued his approach until he stood only a foot from her. Considering that he was much taller and heavier than she, he knew she couldn’t overwhelm him even if he was unarmed. If she tried, she’d soon enough find out that he had a Black Belt in Karate.
Olivia stared at him, then back at the gun on the desk. Was she trying to figure out if she could get past him and reach for it? Turn the tables on him?
Slowly, he shook his head. “Olivia, Olivia,” he said as if talking to a naughty child.
Naughty, yes. A child, no.
How naughty was exactly what he wanted to find out.
“We won’t need a gun, and we won’t need the police. I think we can take care of this between us.”
She raised an eyebrow. “How?”
He gazed at her luscious mouth.
“A trade.”
“Name your price. I’ve put sufficient money aside for unfortunate events like these.”
Was she thinking she could buy her way out of the situation? Yes, he’d let her pay, but English pounds weren’t his currency of choice. “I’m not talking cold hard cash.”
“A transfer to an offshore account then to avoid the taxman?” She offered with a knowing smile.
He moved his head closer and dropped his voice to a whisper.
His hand came up to stroke her jaw, before his fingers traced along her neck.
She shivered. He could only echo the feeling.
“You know what I want.”
“You must be joking.” Finally she was catching on to his way of thinking.
“I don’t have a sense of humor when it comes to my prized possessions.”
Olivia swallowed hard. “What kind of trade are you offering?”
He looked straight into her eyes. “Prison or my bed. The choice is yours.”
4
His bed!
Of course Olivia had suspected what he wanted. She was a woman after all, but to hear his proposal roll over his lips so smoothly made her insides tremble. She’d seen that look before. It was the same he’d given her in the foyer of the auction house. And it had made her feel queasy then. It was worse now.
&n
bsp; Having a man like Marcus lust after her, desire her, want her in his bed, was a powerful turn-on, despite the precarious situation she found herself in. She could feel his breath on her face, the searing heat of his body bringing her cells to a fever pitch. His fingers on her neck burned like molten lava.
She couldn’t think clearly with him standing so close to her. She felt her nipples harden at the thought of his proposal. A night with a sexy man in exchange for being let off the hook? Why not take it? What did she have to lose?
But what if it was a trick?
“What guarantee do I have that you won’t go to the police anyway?”
He shrugged. “Only my word.”
She didn’t know him. Yes, she’d done her research on him, but it didn’t mean anything. She didn’t know whether his word was good or not.
She felt him move closer, his thighs brushing against hers. She inhaled sharply.
“Maybe we should seal our deal with a kiss?” Marcus suggested.
Olivia gave him a panicked look. “I haven’t accepted it.”
“Maybe not consciously, but your body . . . ” He let his eyes sweep over her breasts, focusing on the hardened nipples that pressed through her sweater.
Darn traitors!
To emphasize his point, his hand trailed down to one of the peaks and touched it, swirling his finger around it then lightly taking the little bud between his thumb and index finger, squeezing gently.
A stifled moan escaped her lips. This man would be her undoing. She felt like melting into his touch. Would it be too forward if she took his hand and guided it under her sweater to touch her naked skin? How long had it been since a man had touched her this intimately?
God, what was she thinking?
“What guarantee do I have?” she heard herself say. Was she crazy even thinking about accepting his offer? Was it any surprise that she couldn’t think clearly with his masculine scent drugging her?
“I’m going to kiss you, and if you don’t believe me after that . . . ”
He didn’t finish his sentence. Instead his mouth moved closer. His lips touched hers, very gently at first as if he was testing if she’d push him away. She had no intention of doing so. She had wanted to feel his lips on hers the moment she’d seen him in the auction hall. Had craved it in fact.
