The Lady Is a Thief (3 page)

 
   
“
Hmmph
.”
Miles folded both hands on top of the cane and leaned on it. “Don't try to
placate me. You're going to listen to everything I say, nod respectfully, and
just go do whatever the hell it is you want.”

 
   
Laughter rippled through her and she was
still chuckling when the express elevator dinged open on the ground floor.
Despite his infirmities, she led the way out because Miles wouldn't have it any
other way. Pressing another kiss to his cheek, she winked. “How about I promise
to discuss it with you before I do what I want to do?”

 
   
“It's better than nothing.” He returned the
buss to her cheek and patted her arm. “Give my regards to your father and
remind him he owes me for that last poker game.”

 
   
“Yes, sir.”
Another
wink and she pivoted on her heel to head out. Midtown Manhattan hummed with
foot traffic, cars, and tourists. Her limo sat out front waiting for her. If
she hurried, she could be at LaGuardia in a couple of hours and, after weeks of
delay, finally be on her way to Los Angeles.

 
   
A very masculine hand caught the door in
front of her and pulled it open. Startled, she glanced to find Parker smiling
at her. His easy expression didn't quite reach his eyes. “Mr. Parker…”

 
   
“Lady Hardwicke.” His voice lacked any
discernible accent, but possessed a distinctly masculine quality, low and
direct. He motioned her through the door and followed after her. He caught the
second door and opened that as well.

 
   
Traffic noise spilled over them as they
stepped out onto the sidewalk. “You handled those men very, very well up
there.”

 
   
She appreciated the compliment. “Thank you.
You didn't seem to have much to add to the conversation.”

 
   
“It wasn't a conversation.” The right corner
of his mouth turned up into a wry grin. “Or at least, that wasn't their plan.
They wanted to brief you, have you sign off, and move on.”

 
   
She nodded, bemused that he noticed. She
walked over to the limo and handed her purse to the driver who opened the back
door and stowed it inside. “It's what they usually expect, although I've never
done what's usually expected of me.”

 
   
“I liked it. You handled all of it gracefully.
But why Dubai?”
He canted his head, curiosity in his
tone, not criticism.

 
   
She wore four-inch heels and still had to
look up at him. Crossing her arms, she considered ignoring his question and
asking him to join her for the ride to the airport and drinks along the way.
But she never mixed business and pleasure.

 
   
Well,
almost never…

 
   
He wore no ring on his left hand and no tan
line betrayed the recent presence of one. But it wouldn't be the first time a
married man decided to forgo the wedding band.

 
   
“Why not Dubai?”
She turned the question back on him. “It's a wealthy region, plenty of
opportunities, multiple construction projects, and booming western interests.”

 
   
“Because it's a glut, too.
You're not looking at creating anything new or cutting edge as you explained to
Miles. So is Dubai a distraction to focus them on something that won't work and
rile them up?”

 
   
Intrigued, she arched both brows and closed
the gap between them to less than a foot. “Why would I want to distract them?”

 
   
“So you can close the deal you really want,
and then make a peace offering after you concede to their wishes.”

 
   
Her belly fluttered.
Oh, hello, Mr. Intelligent and Sexy. That should be illegal.
“Interesting supposition.
What deal do you think I'm really
after?” If only she planned to stay in the city for another few nights, she
might be able to explore the depths of this man—or at least find out if he is
married.

 
   
“You didn't comment on the Costa Rica
proposal at all. In fact, you distracted them with a colorful golf joke and
derailed the entire conversation for an hour.”

 
   
A warning tingle raced up her spine. “Clever
deduction, but maybe I just like golf.”

 
   
Parker
laughed,
a
hard, delicious sound that caressed her. Excitement curled in her chest.
“That's why you
stared
off into space when they
debated the last Master's.”

 
   
Did he
watch me through that whole meeting?
She rifled her memory for what areas
of their organization he represented, but couldn't place him. “I learned a long
time ago, it's good business to not disagree with the men you're talking to,
particularly about their favorite sports.” She made a show of glancing at her
watch, even though she knew the exact time. “I have a flight in a couple of
hours, would you like to join me for drinks on the way to the airport? My
driver can take you wherever you need to be after.”

 
   
“I would enjoy that.” He motioned to the
car.

 
   
Ronald, her driver, gave her a mildly amused
look as she slid past him and into the car. She scooted over the seat and moved
her purse before Parker joined her. They had a wide selection of drinks in the
mini bar, but Parker chose a bottle of water.

 
   
So did
she
.

 
   
Leaning back, she crossed her legs, very
well aware that the skirt rode up and with no table between them now. “So tell
me about Costa Rica, Mr. Parker, and why you think that's the deal I should be
interested in?”

 
   
Amusement creased his face.
“Jarod.”

 
   
“I'm sorry?” She played dumb easily enough,
paint on a pretty smile, lift her brows and blink. Most men bought it.

 
   
“Jarod Parker.” He held out his hand and she
took it. “But please call me Jarod.”

 
   
Electricity skated over her palm at the warm
contact. His fingers closed on her hand and she realized just how large a man
he was.
Appearances really can be so
deceiving…
“All right, Jarod. Call me Katherine.”

 
   
He smiled, holding her hand hostage. “Would
you mind Kat?”

 
   
“Actually, I prefer Kit.”

 
   
“Kit.” He rolled the name around on his
tongue. Her gaze went unerringly to his mouth. What else could he do with that
tongue? “Kit Kat—I like it.”

 
   
Her face warmed. Dear God, was she blushing?
Clearing her throat, she extracted her hand and opened the water bottle. “I
prefer Kit, but I reserve that only for my friends. So you may call me
Katherine.”
Time to get some distance and perspective.

 
   
“Whatever you say, Kit
Kat.”
He settled back against the seat and the tingles radiating out
from her middle increased.

 
   
Oh.
My.

 
   
L
ady
Hardwicke wasn't what he expected when he leveraged an invitation to the meeting
with her financial advisors. Miles Fitzhugh dabbled in the traffic of stolen
artwork—enough to have had his hands slapped by the IAAR more than once. His
latest fiasco included a Raphael, one that could have sent him to a plush
prison cell for the rest of his life. The IAAR gave Fitzhugh a choice, return
the Raphael and cooperate with a future 'favor' or face criminal charges.

 
   
The wealthy banker blustered and argued, but
like all the powerful men before him, caved at the idea of facing a real
consequence to his actions. Using his Walter Curry identity, Jarod sent an
email briefly introducing Jarod Parker to him and the orders to allow him to
attend the meetings. When he arrived that morning, Fitzhugh barely said a word
to him—just vouched him through the door and all but ran in the other
direction.

 
   
Jarod didn't mind the lack of support. In
fact, he preferred it. The lengthy meeting detailing every financial dollar of
Hardwicke's extensive investments provided him with the perfect opportunity to
observe Katherine—Kit.

 
   
“Mr. Parker?” She held out a bottle of water
to him. If his request for water surprised her, she didn't show it. She too
chose one of the small bottles. The limo glided through New York traffic,
muffling the noise beyond and leaving them cocooned in privacy.

 
   
“Jarod,” He reminded her, brushing her hand
with his as he took the bottle. Her skin felt like satin and he wondered if it
was as silky everywhere. “We covered this already.”

 
   
“We did—but before I knew you wanted
something from me.” She twisted off the bottle cap and tipped it up for a long
drink. He stared a moment too long at the way her lips pressed against the
opening and longer still at her throat when she swallowed.

 
   
Business first.
He
opened his own bottle. “And you are presuming that I want something from you.”

 
   
“Yes, I am.” She leaned back against the
plush seat, uncrossing and re-crossing her legs. She screwed the cap back on
slowly. “But, then, you sought me out.”

 
   
Amusement curled through him. “You're basing
that on?”

 
   
“I rode the executive express elevator down
to the lobby. You were still in the room when Miles and I left. So you had to
have taken the second express elevator to the third floor and jogged down the
stairs.” She waved lightly with one manicured hand. “Not that I'm not
flattered, but you also didn't have any business proposals or finances for me
to approve or review during the meeting. So what is it you want from me,
Mr. Parker
?”

 
   
Desire flooded through humor, but he
refrained from uttering the first provocative words that came to mind.
Business always.
Too long a player in this game, one elegant lady with her sweet curves and
seductive smile, would not distract him from his goal.

 
   
“Maybe I just wanted to spend time with a
beautiful, intelligent woman.” He took a drink of the water as though still mulling
the possibilities. “Maybe I wanted a chance to ask you what you wanted so that
I could dazzle you at the next investors meeting.”

 
   
“Or maybe you wanted to find out if I am as
loose as the gossip columnists like to report…” She shifted, leaning forward.
The white jacket she wore over the deeper green silk shirt parted, giving him a
lovely view of creamy white breasts pushing up against the plunging neckline of
her blouse. “After all, you're exactly my type.
Dark.
Handsome.
Brooding.
Maybe a touch of mystery.”

 
   
The words stroked his cock and he forced
himself to stay relaxed against the seat. She sat an arm-length away and her
calf length skirt possessed the
most wicked
of slits
all the way up to her thigh. It wouldn't take much to push it up and…

 
   
He choked that thought off. Maybe he had
been out of the game too long. “Do you want to have sex with me?” Not the
question Jarod intended to ask, but the surprise and delight flaring beneath
the suspicion in her gaze rewarded the impulse.

 
   
“Are you married?” The counter question
surprised him. He didn't wear a ring, didn't even have a tan line.

 
   
“No.” He shook his head once.

 
   
“Ever been married?”

 
   
His mouth curved into another smile, humor
tying with desire on the mad dash through his system. “No.”

 
   
“Excellent.”

 
   
She set her water bottle down and leaned
back against the seat. He regretted the lack of visible cleavage, but not even
its lack could quiet the almost inaudible hunger rousing inside.
Pay attention.
He needed his wits
active, not his libido.