Someone To Steal Page 11

  Cain slid his hands up her legs, rucking her skirt up to her hips. His questing fingers found hot, wet flesh instead of the panties he expected. He smiled against her mouth as he teased and pressed his fingers between her legs, stroking and pushing, thrusting long fingers into her until she was quivering with need. He withdrew his fingers when she was at the brink, smiling a little as she cursed him. He opened a condom from his pocket and secured it swiftly. He took her hips in his hand and thrust up into her, pounding hard, and she couldn’t hold out. She was screaming, clawing at his chest as she came. He flipped her onto her back as the shudders were still fading away and started rocking into her with a slow, irresistible rhythm. His hands wound in her tangled hair. He kissed her, pressed his forehead against hers and shut his eyes.

  It was like the movement of the sea rocking a boat, she decided, her mind still tumbling from the waves of pleasure even as tremors of electric pleasure began again. Cain always kissed her, always consumed her entirely, always wanted to be face to face with her, no matter how many times they made love. He gave her every sensation, every position she could imagine. But when it was his turn, he gravitated toward this, to leaning his forehead to hers and stroking her face, every part of their bodies touching as he found his own climax. The stark intimacy of it shook her. She cried out as a sudden orgasm took her, as much from the depth of his kiss as from the spot he thrust against just right that always drove her mad.

  He kissed her then, pulling her into his arms.

  “I told you we’d power through,” he said. “If they’re already sending assassins, we’re going to have to move tonight instead of in the morning and blow the depot.”

  “We’re going to have to work on your pillow talk, Macbeth,” she teased.

  “I love you. Is that better? I’ve loved you since you bargained for those stupid earrings.”

  “What?”

  “You’re audacious. You command attention. Anyone else would have been pleading for her life, and you wanted diamonds. I thought you were the very devil.”

  “Have I convinced you otherwise?”

  “On the contrary. First impressions never lie.” He kissed her temple. “If being with you means that I have to change my name and shave my beard and fence all your stolen diamond earrings, I’ll have to do it.”

  Riley smiled, kissing him over and over again. “You don’t have to shave. The beard adds to your masculine authority, I think. You don’t even have to live in a city. We’ll figure something out.”

  “Right now we have to go,” he said, leaning closer so his mouth was against her ear. “Let’s go blow up a weapons depot.” The touch of his mouth sent shivers through her, but she vaulted off the bed and dug in her bag for work clothes.

  She dodged quickly past the captive’s closet and into the bathroom. When she was ready, all clad in moisture-wicking black, her riotous hair slicked into an obedient ponytail, she met him at the door. Cain reached out and took her bag.

  “What, I’m taking that!” she said. He shook his head mutely and gestured to the closet, indicating the thug could overhear. “Fine. I need that stuff later, though. As long as we’re coming back,” she said louder as he tossed the bag on the bed.

  “It’s just dinner, kid. Not a sea voyage. You don’t need a backpack. It doesn’t go with your outfit.”

  “Whatever,” she said, sticking out her tongue.

  With a pang, she waved goodbye to the embroidered coat, the cell phone, her favorite red lipstick, even the paperback she was reading. Riley knew they wouldn’t be back.

  In the elevator, they were alone and she elbowed him.

  “Why couldn’t I take my stuff?”

  “Because tonight we’re going to die.”

  “Excuse me?” she gaped.

  “We’re going without a trace. Leaving everything behind that people would want to take if they were escaping. It has to look like an accident for us to get away,” He said, low against her ear. “You have to trust me.”

  “Then quit saying scary shit like ‘tonight we’re going to die’. It doesn’t inspire much confidence,” she hissed.

  Cain put on a dress coat over his flak jacket to walk through the lobby and he passed her something he’d had over his arm…her embroidered coat. Grinning, she clapped her hands.

  “Gimme, gimme!” she clamored.

  Cain helped her put it on to cover her burgling attire, so it looked like black pants and a nice jacket. He looped the purple scarf around her neck and nodded appreciatively. They crossed the lobby hand in hand. She smiled at him as they talked about a restaurant they had no intention of trying. Once they were on the street and out of the range of the hotel surveillance cameras, they took off at a run through the heavy foot traffic, their breath coming in visible puffs of steam. He ran slightly ahead of her, knowing the route, and they paused a block south of the warehouse.

  “It’s heavily guarded. I have everything here,” he said, indicating his jacket. “Do you want to do this?”

  “Yes. I only wish the Ukrainian were inside.”

  “No chance of that. He’s not a man to loiter in warehouses on weeknights. As of yesterday, he was in Athens.”

  “Better climate,” she groused. “Let’s do it.”

  “Fine. Follow me, then give me your coat and shoes and stay back.”

  “What? I just got my coat back!”

  “We’re going in. We have to be seen on the cameras. Stay close, leave your stuff inside, and then run out the side door when I tell you.”

  “This seems….”

  “Risky? Stupid? Fatal?”

  “Like I’ll get cold without my shoes. Why my shoes?”

  “If your remains were in the building, your shoes would be there.”

  “If they’re just going to burn up, I should have bought some cheap shoes. I love these shoes. If you’d told me at the hotel, I would’ve brought those sandals I wore in India. They hurt my toe.”

  “Because sandals in the Ukraine in October is believable?”

  “It’s better than leaving my—oh, forget it. I’m not going to stand out here arguing. Let’s go,” she said with an eye roll, following him toward a low green warehouse.

  He approached the main entrance. When a guard came out of the booth, Cain gave him a hale and hearty greeting. When asked for an ID, Cain pulled a gun with a silencer on it. With two soft pops, the guard wasn’t blocking their way anymore. Gaping, Riley skittered after him, wondering when she’d lost her nerve. She’d been out for blood after being kidnapped but this guy—what if he had a kid at home? What if he was just some minimum wage worker who had no idea what was in the building? Her brow knitted with concern, she looked questioningly at Cain.

  “He works for the mob. He wouldn’t be on premises if he were an innocent, kid.”

  “I’m not an innocent. Do I deserve to be gunned down, too?” she whispered.

  “Keep moving. We’re in this now. No second thoughts,” he said, squeezing her hand.

  He dispatched seven more guards before they were alone in the cavernous depot. He dragged the smallest guard’s body to the side exit and demanded Riley’s coat.

  “What?” she asked.

  “He’s going to be you,” Cain said, dressing the man in her coat and dropping her shoes beside him.

  Riley tried not to throw up. “Here. Lay this out.” Cain passed her some of the fuse and she busied her hands. Wiping glue and black slurry off her palms, she looked around, waiting for Cain to finish setting up the bomb. She heard a scrape on the floor and turned around to see one of the guards trying to get to his feet, leveling his gun at her as he staggered. She screamed and backed away, shoving over a tower of stacked crates onto the wounded man. Heart pounding, she ran to Cain.

  “One of them wasn’t quite dead,” She gasped. “I took care of it. He was going to shoot me!”

  “I shot him, it’s only fair,” Cain quipped. “Now go. Out the side.” He pointed.

  Riley looked at him for a mo
ment, had a split second understanding that she was going to make it out of the explosion, and that he probably would follow her safely, but he might not.

  “I love you,” she said.

  “I’ll be right out. Relax, kid. Trust the beard. It’s evidence of my masculine authority. Go.” He grinned, turning his attention back to the fuse.

  Riley dashed out the side and ran two blocks north as planned and waited for him. She felt the shudder, heard the unearthly crashing thunderclap of the explosion, and saw redness light the sky. She stared hard at the mess, trying to make out his running form approaching her, hoping to see him. She huddled against a brick building, cold without her shoes and coat, and wondered where he was, if he was hurt, if she should go back to look for him in case he needed help. She wondered why he never gave her a contingency plan in case he went down with the ship, as he liked to phrase it.

  She had no contacts, very little cash, and a hit out on her by the Russian mob. She wouldn’t survive long in the Ukraine without him. She started to wonder where the US embassy would be…Kiev probably, and whether she was getting hypothermia yet. Siren wails filled the night and she sank to the pavement. They would find her coat, her shoes, and perhaps her lover in the detritus of that blast, she thought.

  Riley laid a hand over her mouth to cover the sound of her sobs, twisting the ends of the purple scarf in her other hand. The smell of ash, creosote and cinders was sharp in her nose, setting her sneezing while she cried. A fine mess, she thought, checking her hoodie pocket for a tissue that wasn’t there.

  “Here, kid,” she heard his voice and looked up to take the handkerchief he held out.

  Mopping her face with it, she staggered to her feet and into his arms, crying louder and harder than before.

  “I thought you were dead,” she hiccupped.

  “Not me. I’m an old pro, remember.” He kissed her then, his face and hands streaked with black, a small scratch bleeding on his forehead. She nipped at his bottom lip, her hands knotted in the collar of his jacket.

  “Here,” he said again, passing her a flask from his belt. “The good Scotch from the emergency kit.” She took a long drink, and its burn flowed through her with the calm that followed. He drank and replaced the cap. She handed him his handkerchief.

  “I cannot believe you had that monogrammed.” She rolled her eyes at him, trying to suppress a grin.

  “Why should I not have a monogram? I’m a gentleman thief. An art dealer. A living legend. Who is more deserving of one?” he challenged.

  “ST? Sapphire Thief? Fine. I want mine stitched in FB for Fucking Brilliant. You still owe me flowers, and now a monogram,” she teased. He kissed her again and slung an arm around her shoulders with easy affection.

  “We have a flight to catch.”

  “I’m guessing we have to abandon the private jet,” she said with a touch of regret.

  “This one’s borrowed.” He assured her.

  “The Indian guy?”

  “No. Sasha.” Cain said.

  Oo00oO

  The bungalow was unbelievable. It looked like a photo from a lavish travel web site, standing on poles out in the clear turquoise water. Riley ran down the dock and into the high, round room. A magnificent cluster of magenta orchids were scattered across the white canopied bed. Colorful fishes flitted beneath her feet beneath the glass viewing window in the floor.

  “Like it?”

  “Love it,” she told Cain, turning slowly with her arms out to show that ‘it’ encompassed the view, the orchids, the ocean, the bed, and him as well.

  “And you thought you wouldn’t like Belize.”

  “You’re so right. I’m an absolute fool,” she said dryly.

  “Was that a forbidden ‘whatever’?” Cain challenged.

  “I’m going for a swim. Are you coming?”

  “In a second. First, I have something I want you to wear.”

  “What is it?” she demanded, eager to get her bikini on and snorkel in the crystalline waters.

  “These.” Cain tossed her a black velvet bag.

  She picked at the drawstring until it opened. Sheila Graves’ diamond Art Deco fan earrings spilled into her hands. She screamed and clipped them on.

  “What? Are they too much with cut-offs?” She pivoted and did a twirl.

  “They’re perfect,” Cain said, pulling her to him and kissing her. “Now take them off. We’re going for a swim, or so I’ve been told. Do you want to put them in the hotel safe?”

  “Nah, those things are too easy to break into. I’m putting them in my shoe.” She grinned.

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  Men of the Capital Series

  The Billionaire’s Hotline (Excerpt Below)

  A Matter of Taste

  The Doctor’s Damsel

  Excerpt from ‘The Billionaire’s Hotline’ Download Instantly Today!

  “That’s right, Miss Hollingford, number nine on the list. Rebecca, actress, 27. Tonight at the Blake, say eight o’clock,” Jasper told his social secretary.

  So far, the project had worked like a charm. Hot and cold running blondes at the touch of a button. Last night’s text had delivered a stunning lab assistant to his favorite sushi place in a barely-there bandage dress. She wouldn’t eat, swearing that there were bacteria in raw fish, so he didn’t even have to buy her dinner, just a dirty martini. Tonight he wanted someone light and fun. An actress sounded just right, although 27 was a little on the elderly end of the spectrum for his taste.

  Jasper had had a productive day, finalizing the acquisition of two more promising competitors in the wind energy industry. He didn’t care much about green energy, but he liked to breathe and figured it was easier to make a profit off people who were healthy and generating income to buy his other products. It seemed a sound investment. Better than those e-cigarettes he’d passed up; although they were gaining popularity, he still thought they looked ridiculous. He hoped the actress didn’t smoke plastic cigarettes or anything else…he couldn’t stand the taste.

  At eight, Jasper was sitting at the bar at the Blake in the same suit he’d worn to work. If it had been a date or an event, something where he had to worry about the impression he’d make, he would have gone home to change. As it was, he was able to work straight through until 7:45 and still make it to his rendezvous on time. He congratulated himself again on the sheer convenience of his planning…investing in a hotel with a lux bar close to the office, hiring a secretary and ersatz bagel boy to orchestrate his social life. It was good to be king, he mused complacently.

  At 8:10, his actress had not arrived. He called Miss Hollingford with instructions to text the woman again. At 8:20, he demanded the number and texted her himself. There was no response, and certainly no delectable blonde on the menu at the Blake Bar. Exasperated, he texted again five minutes later. Didn’t she realize his time was valuable? If she showed up by 8:30 and apologized, he’d still sleep with her, he decided magnanimously. If she showed up by 8:40 and was suitably gorgeous, he might even buy her a drink first, although to his mind she had already wasted the getting-to-know-you courtesy quarter hour with her appalling lateness. He knew he should give up and return to the office, but he was reluctant to admit that his system had failed. It was a matter of pride now. Even though he could be at the gym or signing off on a leveraged buyout. Irritated beyond the telling of it, Jasper texted again. It felt good to plague her with obsessive reminders. It was satisfying somehow. He didn’t even admit the possibility that she’d discarded the phone or forgotten to charge it.

  At nine, a vagrant entered the bar, her cut-offs and tank top spattered with paint. Messy brown hair was coming out of a lopsided ponytail and her face was flushed. Pe
rhaps she was mentally ill, Jasper thought idly. Security should come take care of this before the patrons were importuned with some sort of scene. Even his house cleaner dressed better than that. What business she thought she had in an upscale hotel bar was beyond him. He punched in another text angrily. Seconds later, an absurdly loud message beep sounded…from the phone that vagrant creature held in her hand. She brandished it with disgust and marched directly up to him.

  The mentally-ill street person addressed billionaire CEO Jasper Cates.

  “Who the HELL do you think you are?” She hissed. People had ceased to talk and were avidly listening to the confrontation. Jasper let his derisive gaze sweep her from head to toe languorously.

  “That depends entirely on whom exactly you think I am.”

  “You’ve been texting this phone incessantly for the last hour and a half now what do you want?”

  “There appears to be some mistake. I was trying to reach Rebecca,” he said smoothly, pleased that he remembered the actress’s name and wondering why in God’s name the half-witted bagel boy would have given a phone to this harpy. She wasn’t blonde, she wasn’t happy, and she clearly wasn’t overfond of Crossfit, judging by the softness of her shape. She wasn’t even clean.

  “Becca is my sister,” she said. “You need to leave her alone. She’s happy. She’s with someone now, and she doesn’t need you fucking things up for her with your stalking.”

  “Did you just say fucking in the Blake Bar?” Amusement quirked the corner of his sardonic mouth.

  “Yes, I fucking did,” she spat. “Now stop texting and calling this number. It’s not Becca’s phone anymore, and I’m certainly not interested in you.”

  “I assure you I won’t be trying to contact anyone at that number again. Clearly Rebecca’s life is going another direction now. I cherish the effort and grace required to inform me of that fact when a simple text message would have been adequate.”

  “You were texting her obsessively. It was—alarming. I wanted to make sure you backed off.” A number of sophisticated diners were gaping at her, and her courage withered. “I know how I must look. I was painting my apartment when you started texting and…I guess I didn’t think it through.”