The Lady Is a Thief (5 page)

 
   
The scent of salmon and fresh coffee greeted
her when she opened the door.

 
   
The
man sitting
at
the table—set for two coincidentally enough—sent her pulse rabbiting.

 
   
“Mr. Parker.”
What the hell is he doing here?
Little startled her and even less
surprised her. Jarod Parker did both.

 
   
Twice in the same day.

 
   
First when he flirted with her in the limo
and she found it so difficult to maintain her distance and now here, on her
plane—at altitude.

 
   
“Good evening, Kit Kat. Enjoy your shower?”
He rose and circled the table to turn out the chair he obviously meant for her
to sit in. He'd abandoned his jacket and the tie. The deep amber of his dress
shirt matched his warm brown eyes to perfection. The shirt opened three buttons
at the collar and revealed a hint of the chest beneath.

 
   
“Why are you on my plane?” She didn't bother
to try and retrieve the game right now. He had her at a complete disadvantage.
She stood there without cosmetics, suit, or hairstyle. Her pajamas felt almost
too sheer under the heat of his gaze. She suspected the shrewdness she glimpsed
in him earlier was but the tip of a very deep iceberg.

 
   
“Well, I'm about to have dinner with a very
lovely lady. Or at least, I hope I am.” The corner of his far too-kissable
mouth turned up in a hint of a smile. “Of course, you probably mean why
am I on board
to begin with?”

 
   
She folded her arms and waited. Her insides
jittered like a roadrunner on caffeine buzz, but she kept her outward calm and
focused. It didn't matter about standing there barefoot in a tank top that
didn't disguise her nipples tingling reaction to his presence. It sure as hell
didn't matter that the first thought she had on seeing him was what he would
look like without the shirt.

 
   
Warning bells clanged in her head. Their
first encounter on the curb, no matter how he tried to play it, smelled of
contrivance.

 
   
His presence on her plane—conspiracy
theories bloomed from fewer facts.

 
   
Jarod held up both hands, palm outward and
circled around the dining table to the forward facing chairs. He retrieved his
briefcase from beneath the seats and clicked it open. He glanced at her twice,
making sure she could see his hands at all times and pulled out a folder.

 
   
The standard manila folder with no names or
labels to distinguish from any other was also thick—nearly an inch thick.

 
   
“You left the Costa Rica project notes in
your limo. I tried to catch up with you, but you were already aboard. I
explained to the Captain and showed him my credentials. He called Fitzhugh and
he vouched for me. Since I also have business in Los Angeles, I didn't think
you'd mind the company—or the additional challenge.”

 
   
The plausible explanation threatened to take
the wind out of her outrage, but it didn't budge her suspicions or silence the
clang of alarm in her mind. She didn't like too many coincidences.

 
   
She held out her hand and said nothing. He
smiled again, but not as easily nor with as much humor. He looked worried.

 
   
Good.

 
   
She carried the folder and retreated to the
side to pick up a phone. “Captain, please ring me through to Miles Fitzhugh.”

 
   
The Captain completed the call and she kept
her gaze on Jarod. The folder contained exactly what he said it did. The facts
and figures of the Costa Rican deal—a folder she put into her bag in the
conference room. She didn't make mistakes like that and she hadn't opened her
things during the limo ride.

 
   
He would have to be pretty slick to have
filched it right under her nose.

 
   
Miles answered the phone on the third ring.
“Fitzhugh.”

 
   
“Miles,
it's
Katherine.” She assumed her smooth, mildly flirtatious tone that she often used
with her father's older business executives—it placated and tempted at the same
time.

 
   
“Good evening.” He sounded worried.

 
   
He should be.

 
   
“Yes, could you please explain to me why
Jarod Parker is aboard my plane?”

 
   
The awkward silence followed by Miles'
pained cough told her he hadn't wanted to agree to this, or was, at the very
least, mildly embarrassed. She waited, allowing him a moment to gather his
composure. Jarod leaned against the table, hands resting against it in relaxed
fashion. But despite his body posture, his eyes narrowed and the corners of his
mouth tightened.

 
   
“I'm sorry, Katherine. I should have warned
you. Your father…” He hesitated.

 
   
Her father.

 
   
Dammit!

 
   
“I see. He put you up to this?”

 
   
Miles went silent, probably out of a
thirty-year relationship personally and professionally with Lord Hardwicke. “In
a manner of speaking…”

 
   
“It's all right, Miles,” she soothed him,
repeating his name. That always seemed to do the trick in the past and this was
no exception. “I'm sure Mr. Parker will be perfectly respectable company for
the flight and I appreciate your honesty.”

 
   
At the next stretch of silence, she let the
old man off the hook. Her father's interest in her marriage prospects over the
last year took a deplorable rise. He'd teased her with a dozen potential
matches at various parties across Europe. When she started avoiding him at
parties, he'd thrown two at her via professional engagements.

 
   
She stared across the cabin to sexy
candidate number three.

 
   
At least her father's taste seemed to be
improving.

 
   
“Have a good evening, Miles.”

 
   
“Absolutely,” relief swamped the man's
voice.
“You as well, Katherine.
Until
next time.”

 
   
They rang off and she carried the folder
over to the table. Jarod straightened and held her chair out for her again. She
gave him a long, studying look.

 
   
Setting the file down, she leaned back in
the chair. The stewardesses joined them, opening the serving seals and pouring
the wine. They were efficient and quiet, although Cindy, the older of the two
women, gave her a wink and
a thumbs
up behind Jarod's
back. The staff approved of her father's efforts.

 
   
Too bad she couldn't really enjoy them at
the moment.

 
   
When they were alone, she picked up her
wine. “You should understand, Mr. Parker, this isn't going to end well for
you.”

 
   
“Oh?” He lifted his brows.

 
   
“Absolutely not.”
She sipped the wine and smiled. It didn't matter that he was sexy as hell, if
her father thought that sending every potentially advantageous businessman in
her direction a good idea—then it would be better not to get his hopes up.

 
   
Or hers.

 
   
He ignored his wine glass and prodded the
salmon with his fork. It flaked perfectly. But then it would. The staff didn't
know how to serve an ill cooked meal. “I'm going to suppose that is another
facet of our game.” He lifted the forkful to his mouth and nodded slightly as
he tasted it.

 
   
“You may suppose whatever you like. I am not
in the habit of letting others choose who shares my bed.” She swirled the wine
in her glass. She hadn't eaten since the boxed lunches during the meeting and
even then she only picked at her food.

 
   
He choked and coughed, actually reaching for
the wine to wash down the bite. “I beg your pardon?”

 
   
“Mr. Parker, in all games there is a time to
drop the charade. Miles
ratted
you out.” She took a
second, longer swallow of the wine and put it aside. The warmth spreading
through her belly had less to do with the alcohol than her company, but she had
better eat if she wanted to drink anymore.

 
   
“And exactly what did he say?” The caution
in Jarod's voice brought her head up and she stared at him.

 
   
The tension in his face returned. A muscle
ticked in his jaw. The better tell were his hands though. They went completely
still, even as the knuckles whitened.
I
wonder what debt or favor Daddy is holding over his head. I'll have to find
out. Or, if he proves a nuisance, maybe I'll just let Daddy hang him out to dry
with it.

 
   
“He told me why he gave you the
authorization to be on the plane.” She cut into her own fish.
“So enough with the games.
It's a long flight. You can take
the sofa over there and when we land at LAX, you can be on your way.”

 
   
He sat silently. She forced herself to eat
three bites of the salmon in quick succession followed by a forkful of the
steamed spinach and grilled zucchini. Her lack of appetite did not do the meal
justice, but her audience forced her to play the part. The air of civility wore
on her. She'd rather be curled up, snacking on her dinner in bed and watching the
latest movies she'd missed thanks to the whirlwind schedule she'd been
maintaining.

 
   
But, no.
She sat at
a table with a perfectly
respectable—smoking-hot-should-be-licked-often—stranger. Damn her father.

 
   
Hell, if her father hadn't sent him, she
could indulge in one of those carnal impulses that landed her in the scandal
rags in her university years. When the heat in her body continued to spread,
warming her cheeks and her breasts, she reached for the wine. Maybe a glass or
three would knock the temperature off her libido.

 
   
“You seem very relaxed considering our
present circumstances.” He sounded almost curious.

 
   
“I’m used to it.” She sighed and ran her
tongue along her teeth, hoping no bits of veggie were embarrassing her.
“Unfortunately.”

 
   
“Well, if you're used to it, maybe you
should consider a change in careers.” The odd comment coupled with his pursed
lips dragged her attention away from her raging hormones to stare at him again.
He watched her with no attempt to disguise the shrewd predator in his eyes. A
fresh wave of awareness rolled over her.

 
   
He wasn't just any businessman and his
attempts at vanilla engagement from his relaxed dress to his mannerisms
couldn't disguise that anymore. Something far more dangerous than an unwanted
matchmaking attempt lurked in his gaze.

 
   
Intrigue and wariness clashed inside.

 
   
“Why would I change careers? I'm destined to
inherit the entire organization. I have to know how it works from top to
bottom—or are you one of those men who
thinks
marrying
me will be your key to the executive office and I'll be at home hosting tea
while popping out the requisite heirs?”

 
   
Jarod tugged his ear and set his utensils
down. “Kit Kat, what the hell are you talking about?”

 
   
“My father,
Mr. Parker.
And stop calling me
that.” Irritation rose to the top of her desire and flamed. “I asked you to
call me Katherine.”

 
   
“No. You told me to. I prefer Kit Kat. It
suits your mercurial moods. What does your father have to do with me being on
this plane?”

 
   
“Everything.”
She
leaned forward. “Miles told me Daddy sent you to the meeting and here. I am
used to my father's matchmaking—although he's generally a great deal subtler
than this. I suppose my birthday last month and the engagements of several of
his associate's children has him thinking.”