The Lady Is a Thief (9 page)

 
   
“No, I'm telling you I want to go out with
you because I want to get to know you better.” Lies couched in truth worked.
Truth by itself is also useful.

 
   
She sighed, impatience in that little huff
of breath. “I can't commit to anything right now. I can tell you I'll call,
but…life is complicated.”

 
   
Complicated.

 
   
A sad, provocative word that spoke volumes
to whatever held back the playful woman he engaged on the curb in New York.

 
   
“It doesn't have to be.” He faced a fork in
the path, but trust took time.

 
   
“And most of the time, it probably wouldn't
be, but as much as I have enjoyed this and appreciated your assistance, it’s
time to say goodbye, Jarod.” Like a lock turning, she shut him out.

 
   
“Okay.” Strategic retreat and regroup time.
He took the next exit and pulled into the first hotel lot he saw. “But you need
sleep. You're exhausted.” He put the car in park and turned in the seat to face
her. “Humor me. Get a room. Get some sleep. Leave in the morning.”

 
   
She arched both brows and sat forward in her
seat, studying the hotel. It wasn't anything fancy, a mid-level hotel that
offered clean rooms, soft beds, and convenience. It was also a far cry from the
five star options she usually selected.

 
   
“Well, Louis would never look for me here.”
But a trace of uncertainty wavered under the words.

 
   
“No and we'll put it on my business
card—that way if he's looking for you to use yours, we can buy you a little
more time.” It wasn't ideal, but if he could get her to sleep, he could move
some assets around. He wanted eyes on
duMonde
at all
times.

 
   
“You're being a little too nice to me, Mr.
Parker.” And she pushed him away again. The quiet determination to keep him at
arm's length aggravated and enticed him.

 
   
“Nice wouldn't have an ulterior motive.” He
shut the car off and pocketed the keys as he stepped out. He let her chew on
that while he walked around and opened her door. She'd only put on a trace of
cosmetics before leaving the plane, her tousled curls curved around her face
and the pantsuit she wore did nothing to disguise her figure. But he missed the
pajamas and ponytail.

 
   
“So you admit to having one?” She
challenged, stepping out of the car, purse in hand.

 
   
“Never denied it in the
first place.
Getting to know you is just a perk.” He locked the car,
leaving their bags in the backseat. “I'll bring your things to you as soon as
you're tucked away in the room.”

 
   
“You do realize this is my car?”

 
   
“I do.” He stared back at her, unmoved by
the coy twist to her smile.

 
   
“Very well.”
She
conceded and motioned to the hotel. “I am tired.”

 
   
He didn't gloat or buy that she'd given up
trying to shed him like a bad winter coat, but led the way inside. Booking two
side-by-side rooms took less than fifteen minutes. He walked her to their
rooms, checked the locks and prowled it once before leaving her to fetch the
bags. Five minutes later, he handed her the room key and her briefcase from the
plane.

 
   
“Try to rest. I'll see you in,” he glanced
at his watch. “
a
few hours.”

 
   
“Jarod?”
She
stopped him with a hand on his back before he could leave the room. He twisted
to find her leaning up, standing on her tiptoes and then her mouth brushed his.
The hesitant little caress caught him off guard, ripping the cap off his desire
and dropping in a match. He slid a hand up to catch the back of her neck,
massaging her lips until her mouth opened.

 
   
Her tongue darted against his, quick, firm
strokes. Her palms flattened against his chest, rubbing his shirt. Pressed
against the wall, he enjoyed the teasing dance of her tongue until he caught it
in a slow, lingering suck that drew out a
moan
from
her throat.

 
   
Yeah,
this is professional.
The cold, practical side of him intruded on the lazy
heat consuming his good intentions. It would be so easy to pick her up, shut
the door and carry her over to the bed. If nothing else, he'd know exactly
where she was while he took his time exploring the sensuous curves tormenting
him.

 
   
But he couldn't afford the distraction. Not
with
duMonde
on her scent and the Buddha close to
being in his grasp. His whole body protested his mind's rationality and he
broke the kiss with far more reluctance than he imagined. The elusive scent of
her perfume couldn't disguise the wholly feminine feel and smell of her; hot
coffee and glazed donuts on a rainy morning.
Decadently
tempting.

 
   
“No?” She teased.

 
   
I
wish.
“No.” He shook his head slowly, caressing the slender column of her
neck with his thumb. The blouse she wore was as thin and silky as the green one
from the night before. It hugged her breasts and revealed the twin peaks
stabbing at the fabric. She shifted against him, sliding a hand down to his
hip, teasing the erection straining against his zipper.

 
   
“Sure? We have several hours before we have
to say goodbye. It’s not dinner, but…”

 
   
He should be nominated for sainthood. Only
years of discipline and training kept him from pinning her to the wall and
stripping her naked—cause really, they didn't need the bed.

 
   
“Tempting.
Very tempting.”
He allowed himself the smallest possible
pleasure and kissed the corner of her mouth and a gentle nip to her lower lip.
“But I'm an old fashioned kind of guy. I'll see you in the morning.”

 
   
Her throaty chuckle went straight to his
cock and it stiffened hard enough that he supposed sleep would be impossible.
“You're a rare man, Jarod.”

 
   
“I'll take that as a compliment. Now,” he
peeled her away from him much to his own regret, turned her around and gave her
sweet little ass a pinch.
“Bed.”

 
   
“And pushy.”
She
tossed the last over her shoulder, hips swaying invitingly as she walked toward
the bed. “Do turn off the lights on your way out.”

 
   
The little vixen was already unbuttoning her
blouse. He overrode the primal need to follow and forced himself to leave. He
stood outside the door, his determination wavering, but he managed the two
steps to his own room and let himself in.

 
   
An icy shower.

 
   
Then phone calls.

 
   
He glanced at the wall separating their
room. Thankfully they didn't have an adjoining door or he might have glanced in
to see her tucked into bed.

 
   
Yeah,
that's what I would be doing.
He walked into the bathroom and turned on the
water. Emptying his pockets, he froze and checked all four again. “Son of a
bitch…” Admiration and exasperation burst out. Grabbing the pair of room keys,
he slid back out, but a quick look in her room found Kit Kat gone.

 
   
He ignored the elevators and jogged down the
stairs. He expected it, but he still had to check.

 
   
No car.

 
   
She played him.

 
   
Upstairs, he went back into her room and he
flipped on the light in the bathroom. A lipstick kiss decorated the center of
the mirror and written below it.

 
   
Make
that three to two.

 
   
He laughed. She tempted him and took the
keys.
Smart woman.

 
   
His ego accepted the blow better than his
cock. He left her room and returned to his own. The tracking device he'd
planted in her purse would go active in another few hours. The chip's passive
design helped it to bypass general sweeps, but if she made it more than fifty
miles away it would turn on automatically. He had assets he could activate and
he sent a message to one now, sending them to track
duMonde
.
He couldn't go after her, yet, but he could still watch her back.

 
   
Stripping his clothes off, he ducked into
the icy spray and considered his options.

 
   
B
anker, my ass.
Kit used her phone to GPS a route from the
hotel to Hollywood. The backtracking made her teeth ache, but Jarod's
persistence set off one too many warning bells. He dropped Louis with almost no
difficulty. Granted, she froze up when Louis had his hands on her, but not
Jarod. His reactions, the shrewd assessment in his gaze, the way he moved—they
all spoke of a physical confidence few men possessed.

 
   
Those that did had some kind of training.

 
   
Then there was his presence on her plane.
The private jet parked at gates behind several layers of airport security. He
needed passkeys and clearance to travel from the public access in the airport
to the private terminals. Based on the time she left the limo and when she
walked out to find him aboard her plane, he had to have followed almost
immediately.

 
   
Traffic thickened in the city's central
areas, but she didn't experience any slowdowns. Miles intimated her father had
something to do…

 
   
Wait,
I assumed Daddy did it. Miles stammered and hesitated and just agreed with me.
Which correlates to Jarod's assertion that Daddy didn't send him.

 
   
Tapping her phone, she dialed a number and
checked for her exit as it rang.

 
   
“
Buenas
dias
,
Senorita
Hardwicke.
Como
estas
?”

 
   
“
Bien,
Enrique.
Bien.
Y
tu
?”

 
   
“
Asi
asi
.
I cannot complain. What do
you need?” Enrique
Tomavar
worked at the British
Embassy to Spain during her father's brief tenure as Ambassador. He was the
first man to teach her how to hide in plain sight. The British Ambassador's
abysmally low popularity rating meant constant threats to the family. Enrique
created her first fake I.D. and taught her how to blend in when she didn't want
to be seen. A former military and government attaché, she often suspected he
worked as a spy—but his affection for her remained constant.

 
   
As did his ability to fetch her in difficult
times. If not for Enrique, she wouldn't have been able to get out of Morocco
last year.

 
   
“I can't just call to say hello?”

 
   
“At 3:00 a.m. in Los Angeles? I doubt that.”
He always knew her location, too. Useful when she had to send him a
911—frustrating every other time.

 
   
“Fair point.
I need
some information about a man named Jarod Parker.”

 
   
“Basic rundown or are you looking for
something more specific?” Bless him, he never asked her why.

 
   
“I want to know if he is who he says he is.”

 
   
“And who does he say he
is,
querida
?”

 
   
“A banker.”
She saw
her exit and slowed to follow it.

 
   
“And you think not?”