by Blake Wilder
Yeah, yeah, okay, Dec, I don’t know what I’m doing. Point taken.
I moved to the door, planning to pull it open again so that I’d have a clear path. But as I took that first step, a shiver went down my spine. It was like when you played hide-and-seek and the seeker came this close to your hiding spot. You knew the person looking for you, but there was still that little thrill about them almost finding you.
“Dec?” I would feel him wouldn’t I? Wouldn’t I sense that he was in here with me? Shit, what if I couldn’t? I sometimes had a sixth sense about the people at the poker table with me. I could tell if one of them was nervous or too cocky. I could also tell the ones that were just the right amount of cocky. Who knew what they were doing and who would challenge me. Dec was one of those. I’d sensed it the second he sat down.
But maybe I didn’t have the sixth sense needed for stealing.
Cheating at cards wasn’t the same as actual theft. I knew that you needed a special instinct to be good at that too. Sneakiness. Confidence. Intelligence.
Dec had all of that and then some.
Maybe I didn’t.
All of this waffling and hesitating and doubting myself was getting me nowhere though. This really was a good lesson. I needed way more confidence if I was going to pull this off with Warren.
I was going to have to thank Dec for his help later.
I had a few ideas about how to fully express my appreciation.
But first, I had to finish this game. Sure, I was probably going to lose. But I’d never played a game that I hadn’t seen through. I also thought Declan could tell that about me, and liked it.
I crossed the room to the door and tested the knob. It turned easily and I slowly pulled the door open. I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until I let it out upon seeing no one waited on the other side. I opened it completely, then looked around. I grabbed a book off the corner of the desk and propped it against the bottom of the door to keep it open. Then I turned back toward the painting.
Okay, now to get that down off the wall and out to the car.
Were there security sensors on it? It didn’t look familiar. I wasn’t a huge art aficionado, but there was something about this painting that made me think it was more nostalgic than expensive. Partly it was the location. The way it hung directly across from his desk, where he could see it all the time. Partly it was the subject matter. It didn’t fit the personality of the man I’d gotten to know tonight, but it hinted at a deeper layer. One that maybe sometimes saw things for their value beyond the price tag. I liked that. It made me want to know all about the painting. It also all mattered, I realized. It wouldn’t have sensors. It was here purely for the enjoyment.
I needed to get my head off of Declan’s feelings about the painting, but I realized that the reason someone owned something made a difference when you went to steal it from them. If someone owned something purely as a symbol of wealth and power or as a trophy of sorts, it would be displayed in different places in that person’s house than something that had actual sentimental value. It would also be protected differently.
I thought about my mother’s painting and Warren.
He wouldn’t display it to show it off. It wouldn’t impress anyone. So it wouldn’t be in his office or even a living room or study where he might meet clients. It didn’t mean anything to him emotionally. At least not in the sense that it made him feel happy or comforted or nostalgic. That’s what it had meant to my mother, not him. So he wouldn’t hang it anywhere that he’d see all the time like Dec had hung this painting. For Warren, it was a conquest, of sorts, but it was more personal. He’d put it somewhere that would make him feel…what? Like he’d won somehow? It wasn’t worth much—at least, price-wise, he owned far more valuable things—so he likely wouldn’t have it heavily secured.
Where would he put it?
His bedroom.
The thought hit me as I studied Declan’s painting.
Warren would put it somewhere that he would only be for a few hours a day—mostly unconscious—where he would see it, but wouldn’t stare at it. A place where he might feel a little vulnerable at times, where it could make him feel more in control when those feelings hit. Had my mother leaving him, shaken him? Or just pissed him off? He’d been the one to cheat, but it had seemed from my mother’s side of things, that he’d been completely confused about why she’d been so upset. The other woman—a girl, really—hadn’t meant anything to him, so why did she mean anything to my mom? And more, how dare she leave him? No one ever exited Warren Maxwell’s life unless he sent them away—fired them, divorced them, whatever. He hadn’t done that with my mom. He’d wanted her to stay. So when she’d had the audacity to walk away, had that made him feel weak?
I didn’t really care. But it did matter to my plan.
I would bet a good chunk that my mom’s painting was hanging in Warren’s bedroom.
Feeling more optimistic, and pretty smart suddenly, I stepped toward Dec’s painting. I reached out, putting a hand on each side of the frame, testing the weight and how it was hung. In the dim light it was hard to tell how it was mounted, but as I lifted the bottom away from the wall, it seemed that it was hung with a simple wire at the top. So I just needed to—
“What do we have here?”
I gasped and swung around at the sound of the deep voice behind me.
Right behind me.
Declan had not just come into the room, but he’d moved in behind me without me hearing him.
My heart pounded and I frowned. “Holy crap, you scared the shit out of me.”
“A closed door gives you notice someone is coming and gives you a few seconds head start,” he said.
“It also slows me down when I need to get out.”
“You always need more than one way out.”
I swallowed, the adrenaline still pumping. “Right. Okay.”
“Or, if not an escape route, a hiding spot. Someplace to wait for another chance.”
I nodded. That made sense. My eyes darted around the room. There was a closet. There was also a large armchair by the window I could have ducked behind.
While I was looking around, he moved in closer. “And you also have to decide if what you’re stealing is worth any possible consequences in case that escape plan doesn’t work out and you’re caught.”
The air around me heated and I felt my heart rate kick up again. It had nothing to do with being startled this time. This was pure lust.
“You have to always go in with the knowledge that something could go wrong. You have to be absolutely willing to accept whatever goes along with that.”
I wet my lips. I took a deep breath. “I understand,” I said softly.
“I hope you do.” His voice was low and husky and he braced a hand on the wall next to my head. “I hope you understand that these people, the ones that you want to tangle with, are not good people. They’re not nice. They’re not forgiving.”
“I have to be prepared for them to call the police,” I said, knowing that was definitely not where he was leading this little game.
Did I think he might be up for some Good Cop/Bad Girl role playing sometime? I really did. Did I think I could get him to use some handcuffs on me? Oh, yeah.
But that wasn’t what he was going for here.
I wanted everything he was going for here.
“Oh no,” he said softly. “Not the cops. Nothing that…civilized.”
My heart thumped and I felt my panties get wet.
Wetter.
“No?” I didn’t even have to try to make my voice throaty.
“But they would definitely want…retribution. Something from you in return.”
Definitely lust. No question about it. This guy was awesome and this game was awesome and I wanted him like I’d never wanted anyone before.
So as he leaned in, I did the only thing I could really do.
I ducked under his arm and bolted for the door.
Five
It took him a few seconds to realize that I was actually running away. Which gave me a little head start.
Of course, I had no idea where I was going. Not that it mattered. Getting away from him wasn’t really the goal here.
I skidded around the corner and headed down the hallway. At least I knew the general layout in this direction. I turned into the living room and glanced around. I could hear his footsteps behind me on the wood floor. He wasn’t running. He was walking.
Stalking actually.
That made the adrenaline pump hard and the pulse between my legs beat faster. He was confident he was going to find me. He knew that I couldn’t really get away. I was sure he knew I didn’t really want to get away entirely. I could have headed for the front door and out of the house if that had been my plan.
I couldn’t wait to see what he came up with when he did catch me. But the chase was definitely part of the excitement.
I heard him coming down the hall and I slipped behind the sofa. I tried to quiet my breathing and hold perfectly still. But it only took me about ten seconds in my hiding spot to realize that was a really dumb choice. Of course, I was behind the sofa. Obviously, the hiding spot had to be big enough for me to fit and stay for a while, but it couldn’t be the first place someone would check. This was a good lesson too. I had no choice but to stay put at the moment though.
I held still, pressing my lips together, waiting.
And waiting.
And waiting.
After nearly two full minutes, I was frowning. Where was he? Had he turned the other way? Did he really not know where I was?
I started to lean to poke my head out around the edge of the couch but hesitated. But what if he was just waiting out there? Waiting for me to get impatient and peek?
I started to nibble on my nail. What should I do? Stay put? Be patient?
Was this a test? Was he trying to show me that I needed to be prepared to hide out for a lengthy period of time in case something went wrong with Maxwell? Showing me that I should pick a spot where my legs wouldn’t start to cramp after only three minutes?
Or was he just playing with me?
Who was I kidding? I wasn’t patient and I wanted to get caught by Declan. What the hell was I doing behind this couch?
I got onto hands and knees and leaned around the corner, just enough to see the main part of the room. It was empty. As far as I could tell. I crawled partway out, along the side, and looked toward the doorway. He wasn’t there.
Frowning, I got to my feet. Now what? It wasn’t really sexy hide-and-seek if no one was seeking, was it?
Okay, so did I go try to find him? Go back and try to grab the painting again? Lure him to me that way? I mean…he was here somewhere. Right?
I was suddenly feeling confused. Discombobulated. I didn’t know what was going on. Who was where. What was going to happen.
Exactly the way it would be at Maxwell’s. It’s not like he’d be in on it. I needed to be able to think on my feet and adjust when things didn’t go the way I’d expected them to.
Fine, Dec. I’ll play this game with you. But I better get a big reward in the end.
I tiptoed to the doorway, listening intently. I needed to focus. The objective here was to get the painting. So, I’d get the damned painting.
I snuck down the hallway. There were no odd shapes making shadows, no sounds. I crept toward the study door. Was he going to get me in the study again and trap me there this time? Because that desk of his had looked pretty sturdy and I wouldn’t mind him punishing me a little…
What the hell?
I wasn’t into all of that.
Except…maybe I was.
I was four feet from the doorway when I heard a floorboard creak down the hallway behind me. My heart leapt into my throat and I froze. Holy shit. I was half scared, half excited. This was more fun than I’d had in forever. And dammit, I’d let my mind wander again.
I was more tuned in now, though. I thought about what he’d told me so far. I had to focus. I had to pay attention to what was going on around me. I listened for the brush of his pant legs against each other or anything that would signal he was moving. I heard nothing.
I had a few advantages. I was lighter than him and barefoot, so I’d make less noise on the floor. I also knew my way around now. The study was just ahead on my left.
But he had to know I’d be going back in there, right?
So I moved forward and turned right instead of left. I darted across the hall and through the first doorway I saw.
The kitchen. I looked around. There had to be a pantry or closet or—
“Hands on the counter.”
The deep voice was accompanied by a thick, strong arm banding around my waist.
I gasped and felt a little light-headed as the adrenaline surged.
Dammit, I hadn’t heard him at all. “Fucking ninja,” I mumbled.
The arm tightened. “Hands on the counter now.”
Holy crap. Since when did bossy do it for me? Never. Not before now.
But damned if my hands didn’t lift and flatten on the granite top of the counter in front of me.
This was one of those big fancy kitchens with an open concept into the living room off to my right. It had counter space for miles and a center island. The counter I was bracing my hands on had bar stools tucked under it on this side and a freaking hibachi grill on the other. Nice. I wondered if Dec would make me some—
His hand skimmed up my outer thigh and I completely lost my train of thought. Whatever I’d been thinking about shrimp and yum yum sauce could wait. A big, hot man was running his hands all over me. It had been a while since that had happened and my nipples tightened as he palmed my hip and gave it a little squeeze.
“Damn, I’m glad you’re the one trying to rip me off,” he said. “I can absolutely take my frustrations out on you.”
A shiver went through me. In any other circumstance, with any other guy, that would have sounded ominous. Dec had made it sound that way on purpose, I knew.
It sounded fucking delicious. My nipples and clit were definitely not getting the message to not like this. Or to be scared.
I was hot and wet and ready.
His hand ran up the front of my body, over one breast, pausing on my hard nipple and giving it a little pinch that shot electric sparks to my clit. Then he continued up until his hand rested at the base of my throat. He tipped my head back and put his mouth to my ear, his breath hot. “How much shall I take from you in exchange for that painting?”
All of it. Anything. Everything.
I swallowed, the feel of his hot, heavy hand on my throat making me throb with desire. “But I didn’t take the painting.”
Was that my breathless voice? I’d never heard that from my mouth before.
“True.” He stroked his hand up and down my throat.
Again, that would have been scary with anyone else, but I felt my pussy get wetter. What was wrong with me? I should not like this.
“So I guess I can’t keep you here, tied to my bed, spread out for my pleasure at any given moment, forever,” he said.
But for the rest of the night would be okay.
No, I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to be tied up.
I was a liar.
“The painting didn’t even come off the wall,” I said, forcing more strength into my voice.
“That’s true. That’s too bad,” he said, dragging his lips up and down the side of my neck. “I have so, so many ways to show you that you messed with the wrong guy. It takes a lot more than a pair of gorgeous green eyes to get me to turn the other cheek when someone intrudes in my home. I need to feel I’ve properly…violated you in return.”
Oh my God. What the hell was happening to me? He’d used the word “violate”—with a sexy-as-hell little pause in front of it—and I was about to melt into a puddle of lust at this guy’s feet.
But dammit, there was something about Declan Black that made me feel protected. A
s if he’d be worshipping me rather than defiling me. It was the way he’d looked at me all night. Like he admired me. Respected me. Enjoyed me. There was more here than physical attraction. It was as if we knew each other. Understood each other. He was in security but he totally understood my mission with Maxwell.
We’d also both cheated one another. Took a con to appreciate a con, I guessed.
I didn’t really know how he wanted to play this. Did he want me to beg for mercy? Offer to give him whatever he wanted? That was kind of hot. Or did he want me to fight?
I thought back to the poker table where we’d met.
We’d fought. Competed. He’d been turned on by the way I played. Cheating, sure, but definitely not backing down.
I leaned back into him, settling my ass against his fly. He was hard. And huge. And I wanted that.
I knew exactly how to get it too.
I wiggled my hips and gave a little whimpering sound. I turned my head. His hand was on my neck but he wasn’t actually holding me. He turned his head too, our mouths meeting—just a quick brush though. I didn’t kiss him. I could tell that’s what he expected, so instead I said, “I hope that statue that was sitting on the table next to the fireplace wasn’t too valuable, then.”
That clearly surprised him. He paused, then I felt his lips curl against mine. “The statue that was sitting on the table next to the fireplace?” he repeated.
I nodded, brushing my lips over his. “Was.”
“You stole the vase and pretended to be stealing the painting to distract me from the missing statue?”
No. I hadn’t even touched the statue. I’d noticed it, evidently, but hadn’t given it much thought. But now that I had…that was a pretty good ruse. Maybe I could use that somehow with Maxwell. Distract them from what I was really doing. Make them look left while I was messing around on the right. Hell, I wished that I simply wanted to steal something from Maxwell. A foot-high statue or even jewelry would be so much easier to get out of the house. Why couldn’t my mother have treasured a necklace or a pair of earrings? If only I was doing it for money. Or just for revenge. But those weren’t my motivations. It had to be that painting.
