The Lady Is a Thief (21 page)

 
   
Her muscles took a moment to adjust, but she
clung to him, staring up into his desire-laden eyes and her heart squeezed at
the want in them—the want and the tenderness. He held himself still, letting
her get used to him. But she didn't want to wait. The delicious ache of being
so full increased the pressure and pleasure tangling inside. She wrapped her
legs around his hips, giving him freedom to thrust.

 
   
Every stroke of his cock driving home
thrashed her with need and she dug her nails into his back, arching her hips to
meet him. They dangled over the precipice, every glide of his skin scorching
her, each kiss digging deeper into her soul until he pushed her over the edge
and his mouth claimed her scream as he followed her.

 
   
He collapsed and rolled over, draping her
over the top of him as they panted. Their legs tangled and her heart soared as
the reality echoed her earlier imagining. She tucked her head against his
chest, listening to the mad thrum-thrum of his heart. His fingers tangled in
her hair, stroking her scalp lightly. He didn't let her
go,
a possessive arm locked around her waist and kept her fastened to him.

 
   
She didn't want to go anywhere. The scent of
their passion perfumed the air around them and she felt dizzy from wanting and
having him all in the same embrace. She didn't want to move.

 
   
Ever.

 
   
“Jarod…”

 
   
“The time for second thoughts is long over,
Kit Kat.”
His voice roughed, sleepy and more than a little
arrogant.
Arrogance he fully deserved.

 
   
“No second thoughts.” She shifted to rest
her chin on his chest and gaze up at him. He still panted, and tremors raced
through his body. A sense of power flooded through her—she made him feel that
way.

 
   
“Good.”

 
   
“But…”

 
   
He groaned and pinched her bottom. “Yes, I
love your ass.”

 
   
Laughing, she nibbled a bite of his
skin—hot, salty, and completely masculine. Her sex clenched around his
softening cock and he hissed out another breath. “Thank you, but I was trying
to say thank you.”

 
   
Lifting his head, he gazed at her. The stern
expression completely gone, replaced with a naked tenderness that snapped
shackles around her heart.
“For what?”

 
   
“For trusting me.”

 
   
He tugged her up and their mouths collided
in a sweeter kiss, soaked in passion. They clung to each other, exploring,
teasing, and adoring. She sighed. He owned a piece of her whether he realized
it or not. Her secret agent man infiltrated her heart and set up shop when she
hadn't paid attention. A tear splashed down her cheek and Jarod pulled back to
look at her.

 
   
“Hey…” Concern darkened his voice.

 
   
“I want to—no—I want and I need to tell you
the truth, now.”

 
   
He stroked her hair back from her forehead.
“You don't have to.”

 
   
“I know.” She did. She recognized
that—baring the soul wasn't for everyone. “Keeping it from you—it wasn't about
protecting me or holding myself back, but now it feels like it is and I don't
want there to be lies between us.”

 
   
Blowing out a slow breath, he nodded and
with one arm against the bed, he shifted them both up until he rested against
the pillows and she snuggled against him. “You haven't lied to me, Kit Kat.”

 
   
“No, but I haven't been completely honest,
either.”

 
   
“Arguably, neither have I.” His swift
agreement and aligning himself on her side bolstered her confidence. He'd not
lied to her either—they'd omitted a lot—but they'd fought for truth in every
stage of the game.

 
   
She opened her mouth, but he pressed a
finger against her lips and stared at her steadily. “Whatever you tell me,
whatever 'truth' you reveal—it changes nothing between us.”

 
   
Pondering that, she shook her head. “Truth
always changes things.”

 
   
“No, truth only changes the illusion. I know
you and I don't have any illusions. You have a life and a past and you've made
choices. But you're not flippant or reckless or entitled—no matter your
upbringing. So I know the truth of you, Kit Kat. Tell me what you feel the need
to, but you don't have to.”

 
   
The anxiety twisting her stomach settled and
she nodded slowly. “The same goes for you, you know?”

 
   
A wry grin curved his lips. “My life is a
lot darker than yours, Kit Kat—and there are things I can't tell you.”

 
   
“National security.”
It wasn't a guess.

 
   
He said nothing, but massaged her back in
gentle, circular strokes.

 
   
“Okay,” she accepted his silence as the
answer. “I won't put you in the position of having to explain.”

 
   
He smiled and she laughed, shifting to wipe
the traces of damp tears from her face. “You realize this is a completely odd
conversation.”

 
   
“I've had stranger.” He teased. “But not
with anyone as lovely or as interesting.”

 
   
“Good.” She exhaled. The time for putting
off the truth anymore was over. “I told you about my mother…” She waited for
his nod before continuing. “When I went looking for her, I also found my
grandfather—her father—a man named Sebastian Kant. He was a thief…”

 
   
L
ocated
on about fifteen acres, the hospice offered a park-like setting for both
recuperating patients and those soon bidding farewell to the world. The
serenity of the location coupled with the competent staff and the latest
technology offered the best possible care and they'd done everything she asked
for the cantankerous old man she adored. Several of the staff recognized her
when she walked in, tote bag in hand. They gave her quiet smiles, friendly
nods—each served up with a dose of sympathy.

 
   
Sebastian was not long for this world, a
fact she'd had more than a year to accept, and yet grief still clawed at her
throat. She walked down the long corridor toward the private suite that ensured
him his dignity and comfort. The medical reports said he rarely roused from his
bed most days and his brightest moments came when she called.

 
   
Regret flickered like a candle guttering in
a hard breeze. She could have spent the last year with him, save for the
retched phone call so many months before when he confessed to sending someone
out to steal
The
Fortunate Buddha
. She didn't think she'd understood him and cut
short a ski trip and business negotiation to fly halfway around the world. His
mind wandered sometimes—congestive heart failure depriving his brain of
critical oxygen and blood supply—they were fortunate he didn't have more
strokes.

 
   
At the door to his room, she paused to
collect herself. Further down the hallway the door to the stairwell swung
closed, but she didn't see anyone.

 
   
“Just
go see your grandfather and don't worry about anything. You'll have your time
with him.”
Jarod's promise echoed in her ears. She ignored the closing
door, exhaled a long breath to release the anxiety, and let
herself
into Sebastian Kant's room.

 
   
Machines beeped in quiet testimony to his
heart's continued efforts. The big man lay against the sheets, nearly as pale
as the blankets covering him. His weathered face, once tan and filled with
laughter, was solemn in sleep. Wrinkles fanned out in deep grooves from the
corners of his eyes. The shopping bag's weight cut into her hand.

 
   
The old man lying there bore only a passing
resemblance to the vital man she'd gotten to know and adore over the years.
“Grandpa?” she pitched her voice low, unwilling to disturb him if his rest was
deeper than just a doze.

 
   
He blinked, revealing a pair of pale green
eyes—they'd been a deeper color once upon a time. Seeing them the first time
they met, she'd seen her own eyes reflected back at her. Neither of her parents
had green eyes, so she never understood that visceral connection to another the
way she did to her grandfather.

 
   
Until Jarod.

 
   
“Hello, baby girl.” He wheezed the words and
punctuated them with a cough.

 
   
Brushing her lips against his cool, dry
cheek, she forced the tears burning behind her eyes to stay there. “How are
you?” She perched on the edge of the bed and set the bag down on the floor near
her feet.

 
   
“Better now that you're here.
Missed you.”

 
   
“Missed you, too.
I'm sorry it took me so long to get back. I've been trying for a while.”
Morocco. Geneva. New York.
A long while.
She sniffed,
swallowing the mourning ache and keeping her smile warm and teasing. “But I
knew you'd wait for me.”

 
   
“As long as I can.”
In his prime, Sebastian Kant had been a handsome, dapper man. A con man from a
young age, he used his charm to woo wealthy women and men alike. The women all
fell a little bit in love with him and the men wanted to be his friend or
partner. He took his act from small time to large with a series of jewel heists
that earned him notice and prestige. His best friends were also his thief
buddies—and the stories he used to tell would make her sides burn with
laughter. Quite the rogue, they took on more and complex jobs, acquiring
priceless artifacts and gems from around the globe.

 
   
“The doctors told me you haven't been eating
and they want to give you a feeding tube.” The utter indignity of the last call
came just before her meeting in New York. The doctor insisted that Sebastian
wasn't in his right mind anymore and that his refusal to eat was tantamount to
suicide.

 
   
“You told them no?” Wandering and exhausted
as the old man might be, he fixed her with a sharp look.

 
   
“Of course I did. I made you a promise and
I'll keep it. But you do need to try and eat.” She chided him. Sebastian didn't
want to be kept alive by machine. The vitality of the man seeped away with
every passing month, but his pride remained intact. His only regret—or at least
the only one he ever expressed to her—the failure that ended his lucrative
career all those years before. The failure that landed his best friends in long
prison sentences—in a foreign country.

 
   
They both died in Thailand and left
Sebastian to mourn them with a laurel of guilt and responsibility that he wore
to this day.

 
   
“Louis called. The boy is in town and
promised to come see me.” He coughed again. She expected as much. Sebastian
mentored Louis when he was at university and while her relationship with the
Viscount was adversarial at best, Sebastian still saw him as a rebellious young
man and not the psychopath he grew up to be. “He tried to get the Buddha for
me. I gave him the plans. But the partners he brought into the deal—they stole
it.” Sebastian sighed. “I almost had it once, did I tell you?”

 
   
A thump in the hallway pulled her attention,
but the door didn't move and she saw no one in the rectangular observation
window.
“Yes, sir.
I remember.”

 
   
“Pete, Jim and I—we were riding high on the
best summer of our lives. We'd toured Europe courtesy of the wealthy.”
Sebastian rambled now, his wheezing straining every third word. “But Pete heard
about the temple and the Buddha—and he said to me, 'Sebastian, that's it—the
score of a lifetime. They say if you rub his belly, you'll be blessed with good
fortune for all your days. Think about what we could do if we had that.'”