The Lady Is a Thief (7 page)

 
   
The phone next to her buzzed, “I am buckled
in, Captain,” she answered in lieu of a greeting.

 
   
“Good.
Plenty of room out
here if you want to join me.”
Positively incorrigible
man.
Incorrigible, irritating, impertinent and
presumptuous.

 
   
So why the hell was she smiling?

 
   
“I'm perfectly comfortable where I am, Mr.
Parker.”

 
   
“Don't hang up.” The words fell somewhere
between an order and a request.

 
   
“And why shouldn't I?” Unfortunately a
second yawn ruined the dare in her words.

 
   
“Because I like talking to
you.”
The stark honesty in those six words startled and pleased her. Her
lips still tingled at the memory of his kiss and the lazy stroke of heat
licking at her insides left her warm once more. Putting the event out of her
mind for the second time would likely be harder than the first.

 
   
“Kit Kat?”

 
   
“I despise that name.” She combed her
fingers through her tousled hair. He couldn’t see her—her appearance didn't
matter—but the effort soothed her.

 
   
“No, you don't.” He laughed, the low chuckle
rubbing against her senses.

 
   
“You do realize it's not polite to
contradict a lady to her face.” Her nose wrinkled, but her cheeks ached from
the grin. Yes, her father sent him to flirt with her. Yes, he was off limits.
But then she'd never enjoyed being told what she could or couldn't touch. A
passionate little affair might get her father off her back.

 
   
“If the lady in question wanted to join me
up here, I promise not to do so to her face.”

 
   
She
snorted,
a
wholly inelegant and unladylike noise. “The lady in question is fine right where
she is and I don't believe you.”

 
   
The connection ended with a click and she
barely had time to process that before a knock sounded on the door. Her grin
drew her mouth wider and she shook her head.
Incorrigible.
Pursing her lips, and tempted to leave him waiting, but a flutter of eagerness
waffled
her decision in his favor.

 
   
“Come in.” She hung up the phone and leaned
back in her seat. She smoothed away the traces of her ridiculous smile and
gathered up the mantle of composure—pajamas and rumpled bed aside. The door
slid open and he stepped inside, looking even more rakishly handsome with a
faint growth of stubble and his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal the corded
muscle in his arms.

 
   
If all bankers looked like him, she would
never complain about those meetings.

 
   
“I'm surprised it isn't locked.” He studied
her as he leaned in the doorway. The low light in the room deepened the amber
appearance of his eyes.

 
   
She lifted one shoulder in a mild shrug. “I
don't usually have a reason.”

 
   
He glanced at the rumpled blankets and then
skated
that same hot stare over her. Her face warmed. The
impulsive need to flirt with danger left her open to reckless mistakes. One
would think she had learned her lesson.

 
   
“Are you sure I can't lure you out here to
join me?”

 
   
The emphasis on
lure
and
join me
teased
her. She opened her mouth to tell him no and instead pointed to the folded up
seat across from her. “Why don't you join me?”

 
   
And
there goes some of my willpower.
He smiled and the force of it devastated
her need to keep him at
arms length
. It should be a
crime to be that damn handsome. In that moment, she hated her
father—particularly because this man defied her attempts to categorize him into
the look, but don't touch column.

 
   
“Thank you.” The genuine gratitude
fizzled
her self-recriminations. He walked over, lowered the
seat and slid onto it. His knee brushed hers as he sat, the close confines
forcing him to set one foot on either side of her legs. The warmth of him
bracketed her.

 
   
“You're welcome.” Her pulse took another
rapid uptick.

 
   
“I'm sorry we got off to a rocky start.” The
apology surprised her. He leaned forward and held out a long, strong-fingered
hand toward her. She considered the offer and reached over to take his hand.
Screw caution. It took the fun out of living.

 
   
“I don't think our start was rocky.
You boarding
my plane, however…”

 
   
“…might have been pushing it. I'd plead
temporary insanity, but I'd rather not discourage you any further than I have.”
He stroked his thumb against the back of her hand. The lightest of touches and
yet it sent little sizzles of awareness up her arm with each gentle glide of
his skin on hers.

 
   
“So you think you still have a chance?”

 
   
His grin appeared and her stomach
flip-flopped. “I'm almost ninety-nine percent positive I do.”

 
   
“How almost?”
She
asked, amused at his temerity.

 
   
“Fifty-fifty.” He winked.

 
   
She laughed. “I would say you seriously
rounded up on that one, then.”

 
   
“A numbers game is about perception and
where you put your value.”

 
   
She really should take her hand away from
him, but she didn't. “So, from your perspective, your value in the positive
fifty is higher than in the negative fifty?”

 
   
“No, but a snapshot isn't the full report.
And I have access to the full report.” The awareness zinging through her
stirred up that lethargic heat, whatever the hell else Jarod Parker might be,
he was fun.

 
   
“Well maybe I need that full report so I can
make a better assessment.”

 
   
“You don't read reports.” He turned her hand
over, continuing his sensuous little caresses against her palm. “You read
people.”

 
   
Surprise bit through her fascination and she
stared, an uncannily accurate observation.

 
   
Too accurate.

 
   
“I read people too, Kit Kat. I watch those
nuances of behavior, the flicker of an eyelid, the tightening of the mouth—”
His voice lowered and her pulse hammered. “The sudden intake of breath or a
sharp increase in heart rate...they reveal a great deal about a person.” He
rubbed his thumb against her wrist. Blood pounded through her system, as if it
raced down to enjoy the caress and away again.

 
   
She bit down on her lower lip and studied
him. She wanted to squirm in her seat, the conflicting emotions battering her
system. “And what do mine tell you?”

 
   
He leaned forward and lifted her hand to his
lips. His breath whispered against her palm and sent a cascade of shivers down
her spine. “You like me.” Her chuckle strangled as he kissed the heel of her
hand and glanced up at her, mouth poised against her flesh. “And if you can't
tell, I like you.”

 
   
The phone rang next to her and he picked it
up with his free hand and held it out to her. She accepted it, never looking
away from his gaze. Her body shimmered with a fresh wave of need, desire
shredding her reservations like confetti. “Yes, Captain?”

 
   
“We'll be landing in ten minutes, Lady
Hardwicke.”

 
   
“Thank you, Captain.” She handed the phone
back. He hung it up without a word. “You said last night my father didn't send
you.
Truth?”

 
   
“Yes.” He nodded, no prevarication, no
ducking the question, no excuses. He added another kiss to her palm and as
distractions went, it worked beautifully to scramble her thoughts.

 
   
The sensation of a controlled fall swept
through her, the plane's descent. Or at least it better be. “Then why are you
on my plane, Jarod?”

 
   
He smiled when she said his name and her
heart squeezed. She liked his smile.

 
   
Too much.

 
   
“I have business in Los Angeles—important
business.”

 
   
“So I'm just a means to an end?”
Disappointment curdled in her enjoyment.

 
   
“Yes and no.”

 
   
“Wow.” She blinked. “At least you're
honest.”

 
   
“No, not really.”
He gave her a small smile and rubbed her hand against his cheek. The stubble
rasped her skin, but the sensation wasn't unpleasant. She should probably take
issue with his casual possession, but each minute she spent with him left her
curious to see where the next would take them.

 
   
She could ask him what he wasn't being
honest about, but she found that she would rather not know.
At
least not yet.
“What business?”

 
   
“Arrogant French bastard.”
The unfiltered reply surprised her.

 
   
“I'm sorry?”

 
   
“Just need to see a man about a
horse—well—in this case a project, but he's in Los Angeles. So that's where I'm
going.”

 
   
“Aboard my plane.”

 
   
“Yeah.”
He squeezed
her hand as the wheels bumped against the tarmac. “That's the best part. It
gave me an excuse to spend more time with you.”

 
   
“Uh huh.”
She
nibbled her lower lip. “And who is this arrogant French bastard that I have to
thank for your company?”

 
   
Regret seemed to shine in his eyes. So brief
she might have imagined it.
“Louis
duMonde
.”

 
   
The pilot applied the brakes and the plane
slowed, but her stomach continued to plummet.

 
   
Louis
is in Los Angeles…No. No. No.

 
   
She tried to control her physical reaction,
but he couldn't have missed her jerk at the name or the fact that she closed
her eyes.

 
   
Dammit…he
knows. Louis knows I have the Buddha.

 
   
“Kit Kat?” Worry coated Jarod's voice.

 
   
“Just tired.”
She
dismissed the concern before he could voice it and withdrew her hand. She
missed his touch almost immediately, but packed it away to be examined later.
Picking up the phone, she rang the Captain.
“Captain, change
of plans.
Please have my car brought to the hanger immediately and let's
skip going to the gate.”

 
   
“Yes, ma'am.”

 
   
If Louis was in Los Angeles, she needed to
move and move quickly. She glanced at Jarod with real regret. Cutting him off
would hurt, but it would hurt a hell of a lot less than having him suffer the
fate of collateral damage.

 
   
T
hirty
minutes later, she walked out of the airplane to find Jarod standing at the
bottom of the steps waiting for her. He gave her another one of those disarming
smiles and she shook her head.
Don't
force me to be cruel.

 
   
Headlights cut through the darkness and
paused, one hand on the railing to watch the vehicle pull into the hanger and
park next to her car. Her heart sank.