A Beautiful Heist (31 page)

“Cat ... I’m here for
you
,” he said.

“You—you’re what?”

“It’s always been you, Cat.”

The bridge tilted. Jack didn’t appear to care that we had an audience. He cradled my face in his hands and pulled me into a deep kiss.

My heart burst like hot popcorn. I forgot about everything else that was happening.

“I promised myself I wouldn’t hesitate if I got this chance again,” he murmured. “I need you to know that I was wrong. So wrong ...”

I pulled away, gazing into his eyes. “Wrong about what?”

“That I could live without you. It was stupid. And I’m sorry. I just can’t stand being away from you. Maybe you’re toxic, but I can’t help myself.” He smiled a crooked smile. “I’m hoping I haven’t screwed things up too badly,” he said, looking down sheepishly. Suddenly he looked nervous. He shifted anxiously, like an awkward teenager asking a girl to dance.

My head was spinning. This was all happening so fast.

I remembered, then, everyone else standing with us on the bridge. My eyes swiveled involuntarily to Ethan. He had turned away; his hand scrubbed his face as he gazed over the shifting water. I frowned and felt a twist in my chest.

But I turned back to Jack. Here he was, laying his heart out at my feet, saying the exact words I’d fantasized about him saying.

“Jack, let’s just take it slow,” I said. “This is all so much to deal with....”

“You’re right,” he said, nodding and brushing a strand of hair from my face. “There’s no need to rush. How about this—let’s just start with dinner.” He smiled. And those familiar, melting-chocolate eyes gazing into my face made my knees wobble. “How does that sound?”

The night sky was just barely beginning to lighten, washed with the chalkiness that heralds sunrise. Morning civil twilight is a sacred time of day for thieves: many ancient laws specified that, with the first light before sunrise, the nighttime crime of burglary was less wicked. Daybreak offered a sliver of forgiveness for crooks.

I heard the swish of tires as glossy black cabs slid over the bridge; the city was just beginning to wake. In the distant sky a jet plane was climbing out of Heathrow.

And my heart aimed for the moon.

I took a full, deep breath. “Dinner sounds perfect.”

Look for the next AB&T novel by Kim Foster,
coming in June 2014 from eKensington!
And visit Kim at
www.kimfosterwrites.com
for more news about upcoming projects.

First, I would like to thank my agent, Sandy Lu, for playing the role of fairy godmother and plucking my manuscript out of her inbox. “I’m not scared of books that cross genres,” she said. “I like them, in fact.” Bless her brave soul.

 

I want to thank Peter Senftleben, my editor at Kensington, for championing Cat’s cause, criminal though it was. His ideas are fabulous, his humor is wicked, his editing eye is sharp. He has been the best Sherpa a debut novelist could ask for.

 

I owe a debt of gratitude to the following mentors, teachers, and early readers of Cat’s story: Don Maass, Cameron McClure, Elizabeth Lyon, Carolyn Rose, and Lisa Rector Maass. My education as a writer would have been sadly lacking without their guidance.

 

A big hug goes to Eileen Cook for all manner of writerly support, and for holding my hand as I jumped into the abyss.

 

Thank you, Starbucks, for letting me share office space with you. And providing fuel.

 

I happen to have the most amazing support network a mom-writer-blogger has ever had. To Erica Ehm and all the awesome bloggers at the Yummy Mummy Club, and to all my fellow writers and bloggers and social media goddesses (you know who you are): I raise a glass of wine (or two) to you all.

 

Cheers and hugs go to my sisters, Deb and Vivi, for being my best friends, my first readers, and my unconditional fan club.

 

I give kudos to my father for exercising extreme restraint when faced with a fully trained, licensed, and practicing physician-daughter unaccountably chasing a deep desire to actually be a writer instead.

 

I will forever thank my mother for sharing her love of words with me, and for teaching me that dangling participles are at least as dangerous as dangling from tall buildings.

 

My heart is full of gratitude for my husband Ken. I want to thank him for embracing his solitary side and entertaining himself while I spent countless hours writing. Even more so for entertaining the kids. But mostly, for taking on the laundry. Around the third draft of this manuscript, he had mastered the division of colors and whites. Around the twelfth draft, he had achieved fifth level fitted-sheet fold. Ken, you ground me, you make me laugh, you keep me sane.

 

Finally, I want to thank my boys. Quite simply, you are my jewels.

eKENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

 

Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018

 

Copyright © 2013 by Kim Foster

 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

 

eKensington is a trademark of Kensington Publishing Corp.

 

Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

ISBN: 978-1-6018-3064-7

 

First Electronic Edition: June 2013