The Lady Is a Thief (4 page)

 
   
“That didn't answer my question.” He should
probably let it go, move them onto more relevant topics—like where she planned
to fly to today and whether she stole the Buddha.

 
   
“Hmm.”
She reached
into her purse and pulled out a small compact.
“Apparently not.”

 
   
He enjoyed the front row seat to her next
performance. That it
was
a
performance he had no doubt. She flipped open a compact, checked her makeup and
then applied a sheer gloss to her already red lips. Her tongue even came out to
swipe at her lower lip, just the barest hint of a caress. His cock swelled
uncomfortably at the gesture. She snapped the compact closed and took her time
before looking at him again.

 
   
“Are you playing with me?” He asked before
she could say anything.

 
   
Her mouth curved and her chin lifted.
“Maybe.”

 
   
“Care to share the rules or do you prefer I
guess?”

 
   
She stroked a finger against the seat next
to her. Just that, a nail gliding over the soft fabric and the need in him
turned up another notch. Despite the comfort of the suit he wore, heat burned
him up from the inside. If her plan involved driving him wild—she succeeded.

 
   
Lady Katherine Hardwicke was a far more
dangerous opponent than he anticipated.

 
   
 
Her
white teeth threatened to graze the fresh gloss on her lips and he couldn't
tear his gaze away. “Rules are for children.”

 
   
“And fair play.” He countered. “If you break
a rule, you serve a penalty. If you break a rule, you deserve the
consequences.”

 
   
“How can there be consequences if there are
no rules?” Her nails clicked together as she rubbed her thumb against her fore
and middle fingers. “Money buys a lot of latitude—but even the wealthy have to
follow certain rules—protocols if you will.”

 
   
“So this is about privilege?” He couldn't
pinpoint where she headed with this discourse, but tension corded his body. He
wanted to know.

 
   
He really wanted to know.

 
   
“Why does it have to be about anything, Mr.
Parker?”

 
   
He could really learn to loathe the way his
name sounded on her lips—too formal, too stilted, too at a distance.

 
   
“Because, Kit Kat, it's absolutely about
something. You think I want something. You in turn have something to conceal—or
maybe you want something, too. You ask me if I want to have sex with you—” He
broke off and Kit threw her head back and laughed.

 
   
God what a gorgeous laugh;
rich, throaty, and filled to the brim with utter delight.
It captivated
him more swiftly than her decadent curves or provocative actions. Her green
eyes sparkled in the light filtering through the tinted windows. Her wonderful
lips spread into a true smile—not the pasted on polite facsimile she affected
during the meeting—but an honest, cheek cramping grin.

 
   
Holy
shit, I do want to have sex with her.
He wanted it and it distracted him.
He'd asked her, not the other way around. Her unfiltered joy at his
discomfiture and mistake made it hard to regret though.

 
   
“Point to you.”
He
inclined his head.

 
   
“Just a point.”
She
folded her arms beneath her breasts. “So, the answer to your question, Mr.
Parker—will have to wait until you earn the right to ask it again.”

 
   
Again.

 
   
He could work with the promise of further
opportunities.

 
   
“And when would that be, Kit Kat?” He didn't
miss the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth each time he called her by
the new nickname. Her mouth may have declared that she didn't like it—but her
actions said otherwise.

 
   
“That would be telling, wouldn't it?'

 
   
And so, they played this game on multiple
levels. He glanced out the window. They were in Queens, with a destination of
La Guardia.

 
   
“You're flying somewhere.”

 
   
“Yes. But that's too easy, Jarod. I already
told you I had a flight…” her turn to trail off.

 
   
He grinned. “Point to me.”

 
   
“So it would seem.”

 
   
Her accent embraced his name, rolling it
around her tongue to make it sound almost exotic.
Intoxication—Lady
Katherine Hardwicke—pure intoxication and the intoxicated made foolish
mistakes.
He would do well to remember that and forgo imbibing.

 
   
But damn, he couldn't imagine anything
smoother or sweeter than the woman sitting across from him.

 
   
“Well, at least I'm still in the game.” He
opened the water bottle and sat forward, elbows braced lightly on his knees.

 
   
“Did you have some doubts that you could
keep up?”

 
   
“With you Kit Kat?” his
turn for a real smile.
“None whatsoever.”

 
   
Traffic thinned as they rolled into the
airport. He glanced out the window, considering.

 
   
“Are you a determined man, Jarod?” She
exhaled the question.

 
   
“Very.”

 
   
“Good.”

 
   
They weren't talking about sex anymore.

 
   
“Good?” He watched her from the corner of
his eye, keeping his head turned toward the window.

 
   
The warmth in her smile dimmed and sadness
flickered through her expression. “Yes. Determined men don't give up. They
fight for what they want. They challenge those around them to be better—go
farther.”

 
   
Was
that it?
“Do you need to be challenged, Kit Kat?”

 
   
The limo rolled to a stop and she set her
water bottle down. The driver opened the door and let the noise of arriving and
departing planes into the cool, dark interior.

 
   
“Yes, Jarod.”
She
brushed her hand against his leg as she scooted to the door and stepped out,
purse around her arm. The driver reached in and claimed her other bag. For the
barest of moments, the mask slipped and a vulnerable woman gazed down at him.
“I very much need a challenge.”

 
   
As quickly as the glimpse appeared, it
vanished and she covered her gorgeous eyes with a pair of sunglasses.
“Until next time.
My driver will take you wherever you need
to go.” She pivoted and walked away, her expensive heels clicking against the
concrete.

 
   
The driver glanced down at him. “Give me a
minute.” He told the man. The driver nodded and closed the door. Jarod thumbed
on his phone and checked the report.

 
   
He'd cloned her phone while they rode. He
chose calendar and looked at her flight plans. Shutting the phone off, he
tapped the window. The door opened.

 
   
“Destination, sir?”

 
   
Jarod climbed out, his bottle of water still
in hand. No sense in leaving it behind for fingerprints. He didn't expect she'd
do that—but his training didn't allow for anything less. “I'm here. Turns out I
need to fly to Los Angeles.”

 
   
The driver's
flashfire
grin told him he got it right. That was exactly where Lady Hardwicke headed.

 
   
“Good luck, sir. You're going to need it.”

 
   
He waved to the man and strode inside.

 
   
C
redentials
and a private plane waiting sped Kit through security. Her bag included a
laptop, a digital tablet, and her current book. Everything she needed was
either on the plane or at her hotel in Los Angeles. She sent her luggage ahead
that morning before leaving for her meeting. She met her pilot and co-pilot at
the gangway to her jet. They would file their flight plan and request a
departure time. Stripping off her jacket, she walked on board the flying fortress
her father invested fifteen million to re-outfit as a luxury apartment for the
skies. Dismissing her crew to their workstations, she closed the door between
the working cabin and the bedroom.

 
   
Stripping off her jacket, she hung it up in
the closet with the collection of outfits that ranged from the needs-to-go-to
and the freshly returned and still in its plastic from the cleaners.
Unbuttoning her blouse, she strolled into the bathroom and started up the
shower. Fifteen minutes later, she stood under the warm spray of the shower,
rinsing off the day of meetings, and the growing restlessness. Finally, she
could leave New York and finish the job that had taken her nearly two years to
complete.

 
   
If she could have managed it, she would have
bolted New York months ago—but her father's business commitments tied her to
the city. The nervous knots in her stomach twisted tighter. She'd been running
down the clock for months. What began as a simple effort to fulfill a dying
wish turned into an obsession—and cluster fuck—of epic
proportions.

 
   
Anger rasped over her nerves and she
clenched her fists. The violent urge to pound them on the wall took time to
drain away. Tears soaked her cheeks, but she turned her face into the spray and
washed them off even as they fell.
Tears of frustration.
Tears of anger.

 
   
Tears of grief.

 
   
It didn't matter. Lady Katherine Hardwicke
didn't cry—at least not in public—and she certainly didn't bang her fists
against the wall or rail against God. She chose this path, and if she were at
all honest with herself, even knowing where it would take her—she wouldn't have
chosen differently.

 
   
“Just hang on until I get there,” she
whispered, half in prayer and half in plea. It was too late to shake off the
melancholy, so she settled for scrubbing her face until her skin felt pink and
her hair until it squeaked.

 
   
She let the excess of emotion sluice away
with the soap and stood under the spray until the gentle chime of the captain
ringing through to the apartment sounded. Shaking herself out of the reverie,
she twisted the water off and slid the tiny door open. Towel wrapped around
her, she flipped the intercom button.

 
   
“Yes, Captain?”

 
   
“We have clearance to depart in ten minutes.
Are you ready for us to pull away from the gate?”

 
   
“Yes, thank you, Captain. I'll be in my seat
directly.”

 
   
“Yes, ma'am—we're set to arrive in Los
Angeles at two a.m. local time. Would you like to stay on the plane until
morning?”

 
   
“We'll see.” It depended on whether she
could sleep. She would prefer deplaning immediately, picking up her car and
driving north. But it was better to make her decisions on the fly for the time
being.

 
   
The pilot murmured an acknowledgement and
the intercom went silent. She toweled off and changed into a pair of plaid
cotton pajama bottoms and a dark green tank top. Carrying the brush with her,
she chose a chair in the bedroom and strapped on her seat belt. When the pilot
announced they would be taking off, she leaned back and brushed her damp hair.

 
   
Fifteen minutes later, they reached their
cruising altitude and the seat belt sign blinked off. It was after 7:00 local
time and hunger assaulted her. Her red curls were still damp, but she pulled
them back into a ponytail. She would have to style her hair in the morning, but
she didn't need to bother on a flight where both attendants had known her since
she was a pimply faced teenager flying back and forth to boarding school.