The Taming of the Thief (10 page)

 
   
“
Mon
Dieu, mon ami.
Vous êtes le plus délicieux femme que j'ai
jamais goûté
.”
His lips
closed over her earlobe, nibbling at the soft flesh. Sophie shuddered against
him, slowly becoming aware that his leg inserted between her thighs, his foot
braced on the landing beneath her.

 
   
“I don't speak French,” she laughed
breathlessly aware of plastering herself to him.

 
   
“You are the most delicious woman I have
ever tasted.” His translation sent her pulse rabbiting. His tongue traced the
line of her ear, sending a cascade of goosebumps across her flesh. Her fingers
were buried in his hair and her ragged breathing sounded loud in her ears.

 
   
“I knew it had to be beautiful.”

 
   
“No more than the woman who earned them.”
That line would have sounded ridiculous coming from any other man. She would
even have groaned had she heard it in a theater, but wrapped around him, his
leg pressed so intimately against her, Sophie's resistance puddled.

 
   
“Who are you Pietr Sauvage?”

 
   
He lifted his head, pulling away from her,
leaving her bereft at the loss. He kissed the corners of her mouth, gentle,
breeze-like whispers of touch and taste.

 
   
“A man who very much wants
to make love to you.”

 
   
 
Pietr
reined in his response as Sophie's pupils dilated. Her soft expression and
parted lips begged for another kiss. He wanted to make love to her, but not
here in the stairwell. But his kiss and declaration eased the stiffness from
her shoulders, relaxed the lines of worry around her mouth and had given her
something else to think about just feet away from her violated apartment.

 
   
 
“Wow.” The soft exhalation of air around the
word tugged a grin from his lips. She blinked rapidly, gathering her composure.
To his immense delight, her skin darkened with a red flush that increased the
sparkle of her eyes.

 
   
 
“You
did ask.”

 
   
 
“I
did.” She laughed. Her hands pulled out of his hair, slowly, sliding down to
his shoulders and then to his chest. He eased back, but kept his leg between
her thighs, his hand roaming over her bottom to her hip. She retreated and he
allowed it.

 
   
 
“Better?”
He asked, aware of the way her small palms cupped against the front of his
shirt, her fingers pressing into his chest. Need to feel her touch on bare
flesh scratched under his skin.

 
   
 
“Yes.” Shyness stole over her expression and
she eased the pressure away from his leg, pulling back and smoothing a hand
over her rumpled shirt. Pietr hid a grin when he saw her puzzlement at the
untucked shirttails and three buttons undone, giving him a great view of the
satiny lace of her silk bra and the gentle swell of breast threatening to
escape.

 
   
 
“Excellent. Shall we continue with our
inspection?”
Before I strip you bare
right here?
He didn't give voice to the last thought. Sophie wasn't the
type to enjoy a raw, blunt approach. She needed a softer, gentler hand, a hand
Pietr was more than willing to extend.

 
   
 
Shadows chased the desire from her eyes and
she glanced up the remaining steps to the floor housing the remaining three
apartments in the building. One hers, one her neighbor Mrs. Delp and the other
empty while it underwent repairs.

 
   
 
White
teeth pulled at her lower lip. Pietr drew her hand into his and climbed the
last two steps to join her on the landing. “I'm right here, nothing will happen
to you.”

 
   
 
“I
just hate the idea that anyone was in my apartment. That they were touching my
things.” The wary expression returned, but it lacked the earlier brittleness
that enhanced her fragility.

 
   
 
“
Oui,
I am sorry for that.”

 
   
 
“Oh
no,” Sophie jerked her gaze away from the stairs to look at him. “I meant the
others, not you.”

 
   
 
“I
meant the others as well, but I am glad that my presence there doesn't disturb
you.” Pietr gave into temptation and brushed a lock of hair away from her face
and tucked it behind her slender, perfect ears. He'd never thought of ears as
particularly attractive, but then everything about Sophie attracted him from
the quick little gasps she made when he kissed her to the sharp way her eyes
narrowed when questioned to the heat that flared in her chocolate-colored eyes
when she was annoyed.

 
   
 
Her
cheeks reddened further and her gaze ducked away. The curious mixture of
shyness and boldness beckoned for further exploration, but Pietr tamped down
the desire. They would make time for it later.

 
   
 
He
promised himself that.

 
   
 
Reluctance echoing in each step, Sophie
climbed the stairs, Pietr shifted to walk next to her rather than behind. She
leaned on him for strength and support.

 
   
 
The
sight of yellow crime scene tape across the door stiffened her shoulders. Pietr
swept it away with one quick jerk. Sophie's fingers trembled as she fumbled the
lock. Pietr fought the urge to take the keys and open the door himself. He told
himself it was better for her to confront her fears, but if he were being
completely honest with himself, if he hadn’t believed her capable, he would
have taken them.

 
   
 
The
locks went one at a time and the door slid open. The faint hint of scratch
marks around the keyholes could have come from years of key insertion. When the
last tumbler slipped free, he released Sophie to take the door handle and open
it. His gaze slipped along the door's edge. Neither the frame nor the locks
were broken.

 
   
 
However the invaders got inside, it was smooth
and controlled. The lack of violence on the door, however, was not reflected in
the living area's destruction.

 
   
 
Sophie exhaled a weak whimper of a noise that
strangled on a secondary sound. Pietr cut his gaze down to her face, pleased at
the quiet rage that surfaced.

 
   
 
Confident she could handle
it,
he pushed the door wide and took the lead. Her apartment or not, the police or
not, he still wanted a good look before her.

 
   
 
The
quaint, warm tones of the apartment were scattered haphazardly. The closet next
to the small kitchenette was open and boxes ripped to reveal jumbled contents,
clothes mingling with broken picture frames. The thieves had been swift.

 
   
 
Sophie followed him inside, horror and rage
rolling off her in equal waves. Her gaze traveled over the living room where
the cozy two-person sofa had been overturned, the pillows scattered about the
room. The magazines and books were in a careless pile next to the table, which
had been overturned as well.

 
   
 
Everywhere Pietr looked he saw the pattern of
the search. Whoever had been in her apartment had been looking for something, a
specific something. Her television and electronics were untouched, but the
cabinets housing them had been opened and the contents pulled out and dumped on
the floor.

 
   
 
“What
were they looking for?” Sophie's words echoed his thoughts. She stepped around
him to venture into the living room, the violation of her home written plainly
on her features.

 
   
 
“That
would be the question.” Pietr scouted the living area and then to the colorful
beaded curtain separating the living area from her bedroom. He closed the front
door and locked it before crossing into the room. He spread the curtains with
one hand and looked at the double bed pressed into one corner.

 
   
 
He'd
enjoyed the exotic layout yesterday when he'd prowled around the room; the
sweet scents of vanilla and spicy musk that seemed inherent to Sophie flavored
the air. The bed lacked a frame, but was covered with a cheerful, multi-toned
handmade quilt and throw pillows. Framed pictures of her family decorated a
dresser and a pair of white pumps sat, half-forgotten next to the open closet
door.

 
   
 
The
clothes she'd worn home from the museum were in a pile next to the bed. As
though she'd stripped quickly and changed before rushing out to meet him.

 
   
 
“I
thought Detective Bryant said they didn't get this far.” Sophie ducked under
his upraised arm and prowled into her bedroom. She moved from surface to
surface, inspecting the windows, their drawstring curtains with heavy ties,
which could be released to block the sunlight. Even the stack of well-read
novels next to the bed seemed more orderly than the methodical destruction of
the front room.

 
   
 
The
room's quiet retreat was both provocative and soothing.

 
   
 
“It
never hurts to double-check.” Pietr nodded to himself. Whoever the thieves had
been, they'd not violated her bedroom. Cold comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.
“Is anything missing?”

 
   
 
“No.”
Sophie murmured as they retreated to her living room. “But it's hard to tell. I
mean the obvious stuff isn't gone.” She gestured to the television and DVD
player.

 
   
 
“There's no cable or satellite box.” Pietr
observed, but then there hadn't been one the night before.

 
   
 
“I don't watch television, not live anyway.”

 
   
 
“What
about a computer or a laptop?” He'd not seen either the day before, but it
didn't hurt to ask.

 
   
 
Sophie shook her head in a quick negative.
“The laptop is probably still in my office at the museum. I didn't go back
there before the officer dropped me at home last night. It's small enough that
I can carry it back and forth.”

 
   
 
“Anything valuable on it?”
Had the thieves been hunting the
laptop? His phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket to check the text
message while Sophie reached down to pick up a picture frame. She was in the
image with two older people, presumably her parents and a younger man whose arm
wrapped around her shoulders.

 
   
 
Pietr
didn't like the familiarity of the intimate pose.

 
   
 
“Emails, research, my dissertation.”
Sophie shrugged. “I
don't know why anyone but me would find that valuable.”

 
   
 
“What
about museum information?” A message from Jacques informed him that Viktor had
arrived. He tapped out a quick response, sending Viktor to the museum to locate
Sophie's laptop in her office and to watch it, if the thieves hadn't made it
there yet, should they make a play for it.

 
   
 
He
pocketed the cell phone and brushed a caress across her cheek. She held tight
to the photograph and he held his expression calm as he glanced at it again.

 
   
 
“My
family,” Sophie murmured, catching his second glance. “Mom, Dad and that's my
brother Rhet.”

 
   
 
“Rhett?”
The southern style name seemed out of place in New
York, but Sophie had been born in Louisiana.

 
   
 
“You
probably think it's odd that he has such a southern, iconic name.” Sophie's
words echoed the line of his thoughts, but he kept his own counsel. It was
hardly going to be a comfort that he knew as much as he did about her
background.