The Taming of the Thief (16 page)

 
   
 
“My name.
You will gasp in pleasure, my name on your lips,
your nails scoring my shoulders and your body screaming.” His body ached, but
he forced patience.

 
   
 
“Oh my God.”
Her quivering oath sent his blood surging.

 
   
 
“Change your mind?” He teased, his thumb
stroking over her wrist's pulse point. It thumped madly, echoing the fierceness
of
his own
heartbeat.

 
   
 
“We
just met!”

 
   
 
“So?”

 
   
 
Her
flummoxed expression was adorable.

 
   
 
“So
you shouldn't talk like that.”

 
   
 
“Why not?
We're healthy adults. I want you. You want me.
What's the problem?” Pietr grinned, turning her silky hands over and lifting
them both to his lips. He caressed each knuckle, watching her gaze turn dreamy.

 
   
 
“The
problem…Pietr we just met!” She struggled with her words now. He could press
that advantage, turn her mind to mush and let them indulge their senses.

 
   
 
“You
said that. I'm still not seeing a problem.” Her cramped little office was not
the place for this, though. He wanted luxury and time.
Luxury
to explore her.
Time to enjoy exploiting the passion
that quickened in her gaze.

 
   
 
“What
if I were seeing someone?”

 
   
 
He
stilled.

 
   
 
A
growl of possession tore from his throat. He didn't know who was more taken
aback.

 
   
 
“I'm
not!” Sophie's words backpeddaled.

 
   
 
“Good.” Ferocious jealousy left a bitter taste
in his throat and he gave her another hard kiss, his hands cupping her face as
his mouth devoured hers. He didn't want her thinking about any other man, not
the shadow man threatening her and certainly not some fictitious lover.

 
   
 
Acid
ate at his belly, but her hands digging into his shoulders, holding on as
though grasping for life, gentled the storm threatening his senses.

 
   
 
He
explored her mouth, tongues tangling as he nudged her head to the side, angling
for a deeper taste. She clutched at him, boneless as he dragged her upwards,
lifting her out of the chair and pressing her length against him. His arousal
was a hard presence between them, leaping in excitement at the soft contours of
her hips pressing to his.

 
   
 
A
sharp rap on the door jerked his head upwards. The damn interruptions were
getting on his last nerve. Pietr swallowed another growl and looked at her
dazed, slack expression.

 
   
 
“Stay
there.” He ordered her, setting her back on her feet and steadying her when her
knees buckled. A fierce satisfaction swept through him.

 
   
 
Seeing someone else.

 
   
 
Not
hardly.

 
   
 
A
second imperious knock rattled the door and Pietr opened it, blocking it with
his foot and glaring at the officious little man standing on the other side.

 
   
 
“Excuse
me,
I am
looking for Ms. Kingston.”

 
   
 
“And
you are?” Pietr asked dryly, snapping a hand out to keep Sophie back when she
surged forward. Everything about the man's too stiff posture and ill-fitting
tweed screamed beauracrat, but he wasn't taking chances with his Sophie.

 
   
 
His
dammit!

 
   
 
And
she would damn well know it.

 
   
 
“That's Doctor Jamisen, he's the Docent.”

 
   
 
“I'm
Doctor Jamisen, her employer and you are?” The man's haughty tone skated over
Pietr's spine.

 
   
 
“Pietr Sauvage.” Pietr slid his hand down to
give Sophie's rump a gentle slap, sending her skittering away from her attempts
to get around him.

 
   
 
“Sauvage Industries?”
The man's vacuous
tone edged up a notch.

 
   
 
“Yes.” Pietr kept his tone bored and his
irritation at a low simmer. Only dismissive authority tamed Syncophants like
Doctor Jamisen.

 
   
 
“My
apologies for interrupting your meeting, if you would just let Ms. Kingston…”
The man's jittery little voice trailed off at Pietr’s lifted eyebrows. “No.
Of course not.
You needn't pass along any message. I'll
reach out to Ms. Kingston later, please take your time.”

 
   
 
“I
planned to.” Pietr nodded once, shut the door and leaned back against it,
bracing for Hurricane Sophie.

 
   
 
T
he unmitigated gall of the man floored
her. He kissed her like he wanted to draw out her soul. He left her overheated,
weak and trembling with need and then imperiously sent away her boss without so
much as a
by your leave
.

 
   
 
“Go
ahead,” he nodded to her, ams folded acoss his chest, body blocking the door.
“Get it off your chest.”

 
   
 
“Do
you have any idea who that was?” It was the first thought she could give voice
to.

 
   
 
“Your boss.”

 
   
 
“Yes,
my boss. I don't have tenure. I don't even have my doctorate yet. I can't
afford to alienate him.”

 
   
 
Pietr
shrugged. “He'll get over it. Trust me. Museum docents and curators enjoy
Sauvage attention, so it's not even going to be a footnote in his day beyond
complimienting you for the generous donation.”

 
   
 
“What
donation?”

 
   
 
“The
one I will write to the museum.”

 
   
 
It
was hard to believe that just minutes ago, she'd been ready to bare everything
to this man and now she was torn between crying and screaming. “Do you honestly
think money just fixes everything?”

 
   
 
“No.
But it makes life a lot easier when you have it. I have it and I don't mind
using it.”

 
   
 
Sophie combed her fingers through her hair and
sucked in a deep gulp of air. “Pietr, this is my job.”

 
   
 
“No,
this is your life. That man is not going to fire you and even if he did, fine,
I'd find you a better one. Hell, we've donated enough money that you could take
your pick of the top museums in the world.”

 
   
 
He
really didn't get it. It wasn't about the money.

 
   
 
“Sophie, your life is worth a hundred jobs. I
don't know what he wanted and I don't care. Unless you tell me he has something
to do with Hinkley's shooting yesterday, Doctor Jamisen is a non-entity that I
don't want you to waste your energy on worrying about.”

 
   
 
Resolute
conviction thrummed in every word that Pietr spoke.

 
   
 
“You're impossible to argue with.” Her anger
left her in a rush. Despite his heavihandness, he was right. Her job was
something she loved, but it wasn't vital to her existence. That thought turned
on itself and twisted around, reminding her that her laptop was gone and all
her research with it.

 
   
 
“Pietr, it doesn't make sense.” Puzzlement
filtered through the thick lens of irritation. It was Pietr's turn to be wary.
He stayed at the door, but he watched her, as though waiting for her to bolt.

 
   
 
“What
doesn't,
mon ami
?”

 
   
 
“This whole thing.
What does my research have to do with
Doctor Hinkley? Why toss my apartment if they wanted to shoot me? Why call and
threaten me if they want to shoot me?” As puzzles went, the jumbled pieces
didn't fit.

 
   
 
“Crazy doesn't have to have a plan.” Despite
the glib words, Pietr's tone and expression showed that he shared her
puzzlement.

 
   
 
“So
what is it?
My research?
Or the
shooting?”

 
   
 
“Does
it have to be one or the other?”

 
   
 
“After the last day, yes, yes it does. It
needs to make sense. I need to put this in a filing system under a heading I
can understand.” Sophie babbled. The words bubbled out like water over spring
rocks. Her heart jackhammered in her chest. “And you just need to stop it.”

 
   
 
“Stop
what,
bien-aimee
?” Pietr unfolded his
arms and the room shrunk around her as he stepped away from the door.

 
   
 
“That!”

 
   
 
He
cocked his head to the side. “Standing in front of you? No.”

 
   
 
“No.
The kissing me and saying all those beautiful things like you care. We don't
know each other well enough.”

 
   
 
He
chuckled.

 
   
He actually chuckled.

 
   
The tension in his face relaxed. Her jab
about seeing someone had scored deeper than she'd meant to and the rage that
boiled up in his eyes startled her.

 
   
 
“Sophie, when you see a work of art, how long
must you
study
it before you understand its value?”

 
   
 
The
question came from left field, confusion clouding all her bases. “It depends on
the art, some you know is just valuable and others you know should be, but it's
not the value of the art that appeals – it's the symmetry, the beauty and how
it communicates to the soul.”

 
   
 
“Precisely.”
Her heart summersaulted at his smile. “I don't
need to know you better to know I want you. Nor do I need to know you better to
know that getting to know you will be a treat.”

 
   
 
“But
relationships don't work that way.”

 
   
 
“Ours
does.”

 
   
 
“We
don't have a relationship.”

 
   
 
“Oh,
bien-aimee
, we do.” He caught a loose
strand of her hair and combed it back behind her ear.

 
   
 
“You
are impossible.” But again, a smile pulled at her mouth. She couldn't find her
emotional footing in this storm of insanity.

 
   
 
“Thank you.”

 
   
 
“It
wasn't a compliment.”