Hunt Me (Love Thieves #3) (11 page)

“Who do you work for?”

He’d debated how to answer since deciding on the direct approach. Perhaps one thing to infiltrate her business meeting and even hitch a ride on her plane, but coming to her hotel room and attaching himself to her hip meant the same rope he would use to control her kept him tied to her.

How much truth did he give her? How much did he dare?

“Do you have the Buddha?” He turned the question back on her in a calculated gamble.

“What does it have to do with who you work for?” She called his bluff.

“Everything. But let’s set the issue aside for the moment.” They needed to change tactics, and he needed her to trust him.

“Why?” She wasn’t as willing as he to let it go.

“Because the immediate threat is to you personally. Let’s say you have the Buddha.” He held up a hand, stifling her objection. “For the moment, let’s allege you have
The
Fortunate Buddha
in your possession. Louis duMonde has a vested interest in the item. Stolen from him in Geneva, he wants it returned to him, and he thinks you have it.”

“And did you have anything to do with why he thinks I do?”

He shook his head. He wasn’t even entirely sure Louis did think Kit had the Buddha, but it was the only plausible reason the man would be bringing in reinforcements and why he’d followed her to California. None of their research turned up a romantic or personal connection between Lady Hardwicke and the viscount, so his interest had to be business.

The Fortunate Buddha
business.

“I only have your word for it.”

“True, and I only have your word you don’t have the Buddha in your duffel in the room right now.”

Her nostrils flared with the swift intake of breath, and her mouth tightened. He’d poked her temper and her honor in one coordinated verbal attack. She spun on a heel and marched into the hotel room. Putting her coffee cup on the dresser, she bent down, and every thought in his head bled down to his groin.

A pair of sheer lace panties hugged her very round bottom. The nude color blended with her skin tone and, if not for the delicate pattern, he’d have thought her nude from the waist down. A hint of red hidden behind the scrap of lace, answering an internal question he’d been trying not to think about.

The flame-haired vixen was a very natural redhead.

Very.

She stood up abruptly and flung the duffel bag at him. It bounced off his chest, but he caught it before it fell to floor. All the moisture left his mouth because the heat in her eyes and the flush warming her cheeks gave him more ideas.

Ideas he didn’t need her bag for.

“Well, look.” She motioned to the bag, one hand on her hip and the other reaching up to shove through the curls falling into her face. Rumpled, warm, and adorable. He’d kill duMonde before he let him get his hands on her again.

“What?” she demanded when he continued to stare at her.

“You’re beautiful.” He breathed out on the compliment. “Really beautiful.”

Her mouth opened and then snapped shut again, as though she wasn’t sure what to say. She moistened her lips. “Thank you. But what does my appearance have to do with searching the bag?”

“Not a damn thing.” He set the bag on the chair and the coffee cup on the table.

“You’re not going to search it? You have my permission.” Her chin came up, but the challenge in her expression turned wary.

He shook his head and walked toward her. The light glimmered off the dampness on her lower—exceptionally kissable—lip. “No.”

She retreated, but he pressed forward, undeterred. Her perfume reminded him of marzipan, sweet and decadent. When she backed up against the dresser, he reached out and brushed one finger down the curve of her cheek to trace the outline of her lips.

“What are you doing?” Her breath whispered across his fingertip.

“Would you prefer an explanation?” He lifted his brows. “Or an invitation?”

Her throat tightened with a swallow, and her breath came in faster, shallow puffs. It warmed his skin. “You said you didn’t want to kiss me.”

“No, I didn’t.” Leaning closer, he traced the line of her face to the curl insisting on falling into her eyes. He wound it around his finger then tugged it back to tuck behind her ear. “I said, if you kissed me again, I’d spank you.”

The corners of her mouth quirked. “That’s almost the same thing.”

He shook his head slowly. “It’s not the same thing at all.”

She pressed a hand to his chest. “I don’t know you.”

“I know.” He closed the gap until his lips were mere millimeters from hers. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

“If I say no?” The tip of her nose brushed his, the breathy little words adding a wave of fresh torment to his already hypersensitive libido.

“Then we can talk about the item you didn’t steal some more and why you need two—”

Her mouth fused to his, silencing him. The rational portion of his mind struggled to hang onto the logical result of this kiss, but he shut it off and enjoyed the feel of satin and heat where their breath mingled and her tongue stroked along his. Her arms twined around his neck, and he gave into the indulgent desire to cup her lace-covered bottom. All soft curves and dizzying sensation, he drank from the kiss like a man dying of thirst.

He had a hundred reasons to end the kiss immediately. His cock strained against his pants, as hard and stiff as a high school senior on his first date. She was the prime suspect in a globe-spanning criminal endeavor. She possessed a priceless artifact he needed to return. So many reasons to stop, and he needed only one to scoop her up in his arms and devour the sweet, tart flavor of her mouth. He wanted her.

Her nails dug into his shirt, and she pulled him closer. The soft hum of her moan vibrated through him, and he lifted her up until her thighs locked on his hips and her ankles crossed behind his legs. The T-shirt rode up, and he followed the line of her spine. Exactly as soft as he imagined it would be.

Twisting away from the dresser, he carried her to the bed and followed her down onto the rumpled sheets. Weight braced on one hand, he let his fingers explore the soft skin around her belly button before tracing a path up to cup one breast. She gasped and pulled away from the kiss, panting. He massaged her breast gently, all too aware of the burgeoning stiffness in her nipple.

He nuzzled the corner of her mouth. Her eyes darkened as he rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “Truce?”

“So we can have sex?” She laughed. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Dipping his head down, he caught the other nipple through her T-shirt and drew it against his teeth, and she arched her back. Her hands latched onto his hair, and he drummed the turgid peak with his tongue until the shirt shaped it perfectly, clinging to the pebbled bud.

He shifted to his side and traced his fingers over her belly, abandoning the breast he very much wanted to continue tormenting. “This is a bad idea.”

Kit sighed and closed her eyes. “Yes, it is.”

Running his hand up and down the hourglass line from her ribs to her hips, he struggled to bring his mind back to the task. Every time his fingers brushed over the waistband of her panties, he wanted to go further. He slid one fingertip beneath the hem and stroked the skin beneath it.

“You’re not stopping.” She trailed one hand against his scalp, tingles radiating out from every stroke of her nails.

“I know. I’m considering the possible ways this ends.” He flattened his palm against her abdomen and glided the heel of his hand down to the soft curls between her legs. Her sharp inhale pushed her breasts up, and he caught the damp tip through the fabric. Her foot slid up the bed, her legs parting farther, and the internal war slid further in favor of the one reason to say the hell with it. He hadn’t found a woman this responsive or this enticing in years.

He could keep the two separate.

“Maybe we should….”

“I think we can….”

Their words ran over each other, and his phone buzzed in his back pocket. Annoyed, he had to slip his hand free and pull the damn device out. The message splashed icy reality over his desire. “Get dressed.”

He stood, grabbed her bag from where he’d dropped it, and walked to the sliding glass door, shutting it and pulling the drapes.

“What’s wrong?” But she scooted forward, pulling her T-shirt down and dragging on a pair of shorts. Standing, she tugged her hair up into a ponytail and looked all of sixteen. It didn’t help he knew she was in her late twenties—he suddenly felt very much like a letch.

“duMonde’s on his way here.”

She froze and stared at him. “Impossible.”

“No, my guy is right behind him and said duMonde left his Beverly Hills hotel with three cars. duMonde is on his way to Pasadena.” He cursed his own libido, searching the room and throwing all of their stuff together in one collection. He left the waiter’s jacket hanging in the closet. Using a towel from the bathroom, he started wiping down all the surfaces he’d touched—including the coffee mugs.

“Okay, you wiping all traces of us away isn’t disturbing at all.”

He glanced over and found her staring at him with a frown. “I’ll explain later.”

“You know…if you didn’t want to have sex, you could have said so.”

He finished wiping the table and walked over to her. Sliding his fingers into the waistband of her shorts, he pulled her close and pressed her right against the stiffness of his dick trying to escape his pants. “I want to have sex. I want to have a lot of sex—hot, wet, naked sex. But, right now, the priority is keeping you out of duMonde’s reach.”

“He won’t find me here.” She seemed adamant.

“You’re right. He won’t because we’re going to your house in Malibu.”

The heat in her gaze turned to frost. “No, we’re not.”

“Yes, we are. You may not like it and you may not want to be there, but, since you never stay on the property, no one will think to look for you there.” He took her arm and did a visual double check of the room. “Get your purse.”

“Stop giving me orders.” She pulled out of his grasp and glared at him. “We are not going to Malibu.”

He sighed. “We can argue about this in the car. But you wanted a couple of days….”

She bit her lip and turned away, stuffing a travel pack of tissues into her purse. “I need to be in Pasadena tomorrow.”

“You don’t have it yet.” He swore internally.

“No. I told you I don’t.”

“But it will be here tomorrow.”

“I didn’t say that either.”

Jarod scowled. “Do you have to be in
this
hotel?”

She said nothing, and he glanced up at the ceiling, calming the rapid beat of his heart with a series of deep breaths.

“You need to trust me.” Demand underscored his plea.

“I don’t know you.”

They’d arrived at an impasse.

“If you don’t need to be at this hotel, then we can switch and it won’t matter.”

“Why switch if he’s searching every hotel? We increase the chances of running into him.” She wasn’t wrong, except she checked herself into this one.

“The night clerk saw you, and, even in those baggy clothes and hat, you’re worth remembering.” He didn’t think too hard about what noticing her meant or why he felt the need to say it. “Trust me for five minutes to get you out of here and somewhere safe then you can go right back to keeping me at arm’s length.”

She slanted a look at the bed.

“Okay, so you can keep me at panty’s length.” He grinned despite the tension coiling through his gut. Whether it was greed or competition driving duMonde, he’d fixated on Kit, and the last place she needed to be was in his direct line of fire.

“And this could all be a ruse to lure me out into the open where he can grab me.” She folded her arms and retreated another step. “If you want me to go, you let me go. You back off, you run interference—whatever it is you want to do—but you give me the space to do the same.”

He could knock her out and carry her out of here in less time than this argument took. Or he could tell her the truth.

The phone buzzed with another update. duMonde was roughly three miles away at a hotel closer to the freeway. She didn’t flinch from his stare or back off on her stance. Her poker face probably netted her millions in business meetings.
No wonder her father wants her to take on more of the mantle of control.

“What if we call a cease fire? It’s not a truce, and it’s not an admission of trust. We move the board from one location to another and we play again.”

“You don’t get it, do you? You manage to infiltrate a meeting of high level bankers and executives involved in Hardwicke Industries. You board my plane without my consent or my knowledge. You track me when I purposefully disposed of any possible electronic surveillance device and invite yourself into my hotel room and start giving me orders. I have no idea if Jarod Parker is even your name. I may be impulsive and reckless at times, but I am not stupid. So, no, Mr. Parker. I may have entertained your seduction, but I am not walking a foot outside the door without more assurance than some bogus cease-fire offer from a professional imposter.” Every sentence chipped away at his ego, but he gave her credit—she nailed him on the last accusation.

“Fine.” He flipped his phone to the keypad and dialed an international number by heart, not bothering to disguise the identity of the name appearing on the screen. It rang twice.

“
Bonjour, Monsieur
Curry!” Sophie’s exuberant greeting dragged another smile out of him. The art history specialist never seemed put off by his Walter persona’s gruff attitude or controlled manner. If anything, it made her warmer and friendlier.

“
Bonjour
, Sophie. How is Paris treating you?” He stared right at Kit as he spoke, his voice changing, adopting Walter’s more formal tones. Shock rippled through the distrust on her face, and her eyes narrowed.

“I am in love with Louvre. I could live there.” A masculine voice in the background grumbled, and Jarod listened to the stream of French curses.

“Is Pietr well?”

“Oh, he’s fine. He’s insisted on building a crib at every apartment or house we stay in. I think this one is getting the better of him, though.” She laughed as Pietr cursed again. “But, yes, I’m sure it will be wonderful when the baby gets here and we
never
stop traveling from city to city.” The roll of her eyes echoed in her voice.