The Taming of the Thief (31 page)

 
   
 
Walter chuckled. “Sophie. I plan to make you
earn every
pence
.” His phone rang and he glanced down
at the display. “If you'll excuse me, I'll take this and let you settle in. If
you're up for it later, we can sit down over tea and discuss any questions you
might have.” He flicked the phone open and strode towards the door, his amused
tone washing over her. “I rather thought you'd be calling…”

 
Three weeks later…

 
   
S
ophie
stared at the stick uncomprendingly. The blue lines weren't hard to interpret.
The packaging was extremely clear on the definition of the results, but she
still couldn't wrap her mind around it. She let it fall from her nerveless
fingers into the trashcan. She'd taken the test after realizing that she
couldn't recall her last monthly and Walter hadn't let her slow down since
arriving at the IAAR. Late Friday afternoon he'd whisked her away to Scotland
for a meeting with a board of advisors and to review a recently reacquired
statue from the Iraq Museum of Antiquities. It was the first lead on a
collection that had gone missing during the second Iraq Offensive.

 
   
 
She'd
spent the next week in Spain and then days on
trains
criss-crossing France to Belgium and Germany. Four days ago, Walter had sent
her a plane ticket for a flight from Berlin to Cardiff and now she was
occupying a homey little cottage in the Welsh countryside combing through
several questionable items reported in an estate sale. The barristers were
arguing it out in a local court, but Sophie had been granted special
dispensation to review it.

 
   
 
She'd
attributed her fading appetite to travel and too many strange foods, but this
morning she'd picked up the test at a local chemist. Even from the trashcan,
the twin blue lines taunted her. Sophie wandered from the bathroom to the small
kitchen and set the kettle on the stove.

 
   
 
Despite her penchant for chocolate, she'd
developed affection for tea, particularly the chamomile that did wonders for
her uneasy stomach. Sophie pressed a hand to her still flat tummy and forced
herself to gulp in air.

 
   
 
A
hammering pound on her front door jerked her back to the present. She glanced
at her watch and sighed. It was likely another item to be catalogued, so far
more than a dozen in the estate had tainted provenance that suggested they were
stolen property or at least illegally obtained.

 
   
 
“Come
in,” she yelled, turning up the flame on the kettle and reaching for a tin of
herbal tea. Right now, her stomach really needed settling and her mind needed
soothing so she could figure out what to do. “Just add it to the stack there at
the door,” she called over her shoulder when she heard the door opening. Rain
spattered the kitchen windows.

 
   
 
Filling the tea ball, she set it in the cup
and glanced towards the living room. Tommy, the barrister's local deliveryman
hadn't called out a greeting.
Unusual.
Maybe it was a
larger than usual box.

 
   
 
“Tommy,” she called heading out to the door.
“Do you need me to…
Pietr.
” Sophie paused, everything
inside of her seemed to still, frozen in the moment. Rain dripped off his dark
hair and splattered against the dark suit coat.

 
   
 
He
stepped inside and shut the door with his foot. “
Bonjour
, Sophie.” A flicker of a familiar smile quirked the corners
of his mouth and she forgot how to breathe.

 
   
 
“You're not Tommy.”

 
   
 
“No,”
he shook his head slowly, setting his closed umbrella into the pot that sat by
the door next to hers. “I am not Tommy.” He prowled closer, carrying the scent
of rain, grapes and the distinctly masculine scent that permeated her dreams.

 
   
 
Sophie opened her mouth and then closed it
again. She couldn't believe he was here.
Really here.
Had she finally taken that last twist around the bend, driving right off the
two blue lines into a personal kind of crazy? Stretching out her fingers she
brushed the soft, damp cashmere of his suit coat.

 
   
 
Pietr's gaze dropped to her hand and then back
to her face. She thought she saw hunger in his eyes, but surely not. He'd left
her. He'd left New York. He hadn't returned her calls.

 
   
 
She
pressed her hand flat against his chest. His heart thumped under her fingers and
she exhaled the breath she held.

 
   
 
Dear God, he really is here.

 
   
 
“You're in Wales.” The weak words barely
conveyed the shock of his appearance.

 
   
 
“So
are you.” The corner of his mouth quirked upwards and he leaned in, close
enough that Sophie could fill her lungs with the scent of him. He caressed her
cheek lightly, just the barest of touches, with the knuckles of his left hand.
The gesture's intimate familiarity squeezed her heart.

 
   
 
“What
are you doing here?” She blurted the words out, jerking away from the touch
before she did something foolish like burst into the tears clawing up her
throat. Pietr was here.

 
   
 
In Wales.

 
   
 
Two
months of absolute silence.

 
   
 
And
here he was.

 
   
 
She
retreated across the room, but Pietr was hot on her heels, closing the gap even
as she tried to escape.

 
   
 
“You're here.”

 
   
 
The
two simple words sent hope surging through her veins and she clamped down on
the response.

 
   
 
“You
left me.”

 
   
 
“I
was a fool.”

 
   
 
“I
called you.”

 
   
 
“I
know.”

 
   
 
Hurt
rippled under the hope. “Why didn't you call me back?”
 
The kettle's shrilly scream cut off his
response. Sophie jumped and hurried to the kitchen, awareness flaring across
her spine that Pietr followed. She turned the knob off, killing the flames and
Pietr knocked her hand aside gently, nudging her away with his hip as he picked
up the hot kettle and poured it into the waiting mug.

 
   
 
“I
don't suppose you have any coffee?” He asked. His nearness left her damp and
not just from the rain on his clothes soaking into hers.

 
   
 
“In the cupboard.”
She pointed to it and Pietr nipped a kiss
to her finger before plucking the canister of instant out. He gave it a brief
look before glancing around the tiny kitchen, which seemed to shrink around
him.
“Another mug perhaps?”

 
   
 
Sophie turned, reaching into the cupboard
nearest her to pull down a mug and hand it to him. He gave her another kiss,
this time on her upturned nose and Sophie's heart did a little fist pump dance
in her chest.

 
   
 
“
Merci
.”

 
   
 
She
watched as he borrowed her sugar spoon to add coffee to his mug and then poured
the boiling water over it. He tested the flavor with a grimace before adding a
teaspoon of sugar. Sophie reached out a finger to touch his shoulder.

 
   
 
“Sugar and cream in your tea?”
He asked her.

 
   
 
“Just sugar.”
Sophie murmured, feathering her fingers over
his shoulder and down his arm. He didn't pull away from the touch, but Sophie
did, wrapping her arms around herself.

 
   
 
“Just sugar.”
He repeated and added a teaspoon to the mug,
carefully stirring the tea after removing the ball and setting it in the sink.
He lifted the mug and offered it to her, but Sophie couldn't look away from his
face.

 
   
 
“Why
are you here?”

 
   
 
“I
told you, because you are.”

 
   
 
“I
don't understand. I thought you didn't want to see
me, that
you were done after the Buddha went missing again.” She couldn't hold back the
tears thickening her voice and slipping out the corners of her eyes. It hurt so
damn much.

 
   
 
Too much.

 
   
 
“
Bien-aimee
, do not cry.” His voice broke
on that and he set the mug aside to pull her resistant body against his. She
stiffened her shoulders, certain she needed to stay angry with him, but he
tightened his arms, tucking her firmly against him. The scent of him filled her
lungs, the heat of him scalded her flesh and she burrowed her face against him.

 
   
 
The
dam inside her broke, hiccupping sobs shaking her. She was barely aware of
Pietr lifting her or carrying her out of the kitchen. Her nose was red and
running, her eyes swollen and puffy and her throat raw by the time she looked
up from soaking his shirt to meet the kindest, gentlest expression she'd ever
seen.

 
   
 
Pietr
stroked the hair away from face, picking at the damp tendrils carefully. “I am
so sorry,
bien-aimee
. I was an idiot.
I thought you wanted me away and by the time I came to my senses, you'd left
New York. I called Walter, but when I got to London, you were in Edinborough
and then Madrid, Brussels, Paris, Berlin…I was always one step behind.”

 
   
 
“You
called Walter?” She was sitting in his lap, snuggled securely against his
chest. The first day in London, Walter had taken a call as he left her office.
A call he'd been expecting. “Why didn't he tell me?”

 
   
 
“Do
not take it personally,
bien-aimee
. I
think he was intent on torturing me.” Pietr's rueful confession sent a lance of
anger through her. He traced the path of his fingers with a shower of gentle
kisses along her cheeks. “I deserved it. The bastard refused my calls. Max and
Anya decided to jet off for a pre-wedding honeymoon…even my Aunt told me that if
I really loved you, I would have to do the legwork on my own.”

 
   
 
She
gaped at him.

 
   
 
“Yes,
Sophie. I did all my own work. No bribes. No payoffs. Just long hours on a lot
of flights and then a drive all the way here to this farmer's puddle of a
town.”

 
   
 
Her
cell phone chose that moment to ring. Pietr's hand supported her back as she
twisted to retrieve it from the small table and they both looked at Walter's
name on the caller I.D.

 
   
 
“May
I?” He asked, his thumb stroking a delicious circle in the small of her back.

 
   
 
“Um, sure.”
She hit answer and held the phone up to his ear.

 
   
 
“Too late, Walter.
I win. Sophie is taking the next few
weeks off.”

 
   
 
Walter's laughter rippled over the phone.
“About time you got it together. Tell her to leave the boxes for Jones. He'll
finish it.”

 
   
 
“I'll
do that.” Pietr's voice was dry. “And Walter, don't call her. She'll call you.”