The Art of Stealing Forever (13 page)

“Getting
arrested is turning out to be hell on my waistline,”
I
quip, sitting up a little.

St.
Clair looks surprised. “I’m
surprised you can joke, after what you’ve
been through.”

“I’ve
been through worse,”
I
say simply. “A
night in a jail cell is nothing compared to those nights I spent at
the hospital with my mom.”
I
shrug. “Besides,
I knew you would come get me in the end.”

“I
nearly caused a diplomatic incident,”
St.
Clair admits with a wry grin. “I
called everyone I could think of, dragged the ambassador out of bed
at three in the morning.”

I
smile. “So
I’m
guessing we won’t
be invited to their next party then.”

“I
can’t
believe you’re
so calm.”

“Tired,”
I
correct him. “But
I’m
okay. I’m
not saying I wasn’t
scared, but I knew Lennox was bluffing.”

“I
can’t
believe he’s
punishing you just to get back at me.”
St.
Clair’s
jaw sets in a grim line and he kneels beside the tub to take my hand
in his firm, reassuring grip. “The
thought of you in there, in jail, without me…”
He
shakes his head. “There’s
no excuse. I never should have let you do anything illegal.”

“Hey,”
I
interrupt. “I
wanted to do this. It was my idea to begin with. Don’t
blame yourself. This was my choice. Mine. And I don’t
regret it.”

St.
Clair looks like he wants to say something, but he stops. “What
did he say?”
he
asks. “In
the interrogation?”

I
shrug. “Just
that they had my fingerprints at the scene, that he wanted to cut a
deal with me, to sell you out. He said you were already confessing,”
I
add with a smile.
“That
you were implicating me in the next room.”

St.
Clair laughs harshly. “I
would never sell you out. Never.”

“I
know,” I
reassure him. “That’s
when I knew he had nothing. After that, I was just waiting for you. I
half-expected you to come sneaking in, disable all the alarms, and
break me out,”
I
smile.

He
softens. “I
thought about it. But that would have made you a fugitive, and I
couldn’t
do that. We’ll
find a way to get Lennox off our case, I promise.”

“I
know. For now, I’m
just happy to be back with my creature comforts again. Like hot
water, and you.”
I
reach out and hook my finger over the top of his collar, pulling him
closer.

“I
missed you.”
St.
Clair lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my fingers.

I
spread my hand and he kisses my palm. My skin starts to tingle. “Even
a single night without you in my bed is too long.”

We
lock eyes.

“I
missed you too,”
I say, pulling his mouth against mine with a soft moan.

Our
kiss deepens, and a feeling of safety washes over me. In his arms,
nothing bad can touch us. I part my lips and reach up to lace my
fingers through his soft hair. He moans and I pull his mouth to mine
harder, letting him know that I want him. Our breaths come fast and
hot, and my hands reach to tug at his shirt and the waistband of his
pants.

St.
Clair helps me undress him as he kisses the underside of my wrist. He
nips at the sensitive skin there and then moves his mouth up to the
inside of my elbow and kisses all the way up to my wet, naked
collarbone, biting and sucking just a tiny bit. My body starts to hum
and I tip my head back against the tile, closing my eyes until he
suddenly stops. When I look at him, he’s
stepping back with a slow smile, reaching down to slide off his
briefs.

I
grin back at him and follow the lines of his muscles with my eyes,
from the smooth planes of his chest to his tight abs, and then lower,
to his perfect cock, already hard and magnificent. I sit up, bubbles
sliding down my breasts as I reach out to stroke him, pulling St.
Clair close so I can guide the tip of him into my mouth. I close my
lips around his length, sliding my tongue up and down, moving my
hands along his shaft. St. Clair groans and I feel heat spread
between my legs.

“That’s
right, God, yes.”
His
hands tug my hair, directing me in a slow, deep rhythm. I gorge on
him, loving the taste, the scent of him, until finally St. Clair
pulls back.

“Not
so fast,”
he
teases, his breath coming ragged. “I
plan on taking my time with you.”

My
stomach twists with lust.

“Make
some room in that tub,”
he
grins.

He
steps over the edge and settles in behind me, water sloshing, so I’m
cradled between his muscular thighs. He leans me back against his
chest, his hands roaming lazily over my wet, naked body, out of sight
under the bubbles. I can feel his hard cock pressing into my back,
and I shift experimentally, feeling him hiss with breath.

“Easy
there, tiger,”
St.
Clair murmurs in my ear. His fingers stroke over my belly, down
between my thighs, then back up, teasing me. “I
want to make sure every inch of you is squeaky clean…”

After
everything I’ve
been through, this is exactly what I need: to be reassured, touched,
cared for. He takes the bottle of shower gel soaps up his palms. Then
he begins to slide his hands over me with a new, sure purpose.
Soothing. Caressing. The suds slide over my skin like silk, and I
sink back, lost in bliss.

“Your
body is incredible,”
he
whispers.

I
open my eyes in time to see him slowly stroke my breasts, taking one
in each hand. He runs his fingers over my nipples, circling them over
and over, making me inhale sharply at the surge of energy pulsing
downwards.

I
moan, writhing in his arms, but St. Clair moves one arm against my
chest, pinning me against his body.

“Look,”
he
commands me, and I do. I watch his strong, capable hands stroking
lower, down between my thighs. The bubbles are dissipating now, and I
watch his hands touch me at the same time I feel the pleasure they
provide. My pulse pounds in my ears, and I gasp for air.

“Shh,”
he
soothes. But he doesn’t
let up. He slides his thick finger up over my clit, over and around,
faster and harder until I’m
moaning. Then he curls two fingers, and sinks them low, deep inside
me.

“Yes…”

I
arch up, coiled tight with want, needing him deeper. Needing more.

St.
Clair fucks me with his fingers, slow and deliberate, until my blood
is boiling, and I can’t
take anymore. I break free from his embrace, and turn, sliding my wet
body against his torso until I’m
straddling his legs, facing him.

I
hold his gaze as I press my pussy against his rock hard cock.

St.
Clair’s
jaw clenches, he lets out a groan.
“We’re
done playing,”
he
growls.

I
gasp as he grips my hips and lifts all of me up, sliding my wet clit
against the whole length of him slowly, slowly until I feel just the
tip of him about to break contact, and then he pulls me down onto him
in a rush of slick pressure.
Oh,
God.

I
force myself to relax onto him, taking every inch inside me until I’m
filled completely. God, he feels so good, and with me on top, I can
feel the thick length of him rubbing my walls, the friction rising as
I slowly rock against him, finding my pace, letting out a whimper.

God,
yes.

St.
Clair’s
fingers dig into my ass as he grips me to him, urging me on. I rock
faster, loving the heat between us, the slick glide of the water on
our skin. I can feel my climax building, and I arch up, slamming down
on him over and again, not caring that we’re
splashing all over the tile. St. Clair matches me, thrusting up,
reaching to cup my breasts and murmur my name, over and over.

“Fuck,
yes, Grace.” His
words drive me on, and I feel incredible, unleashed, like nothing can
hold me back. I take my pleasure from him and give it too, grinding
my hips with every thrust to satisfy the ache. Again and again he
lifts and plunges, his face in my breasts, our fast breaths and soft
grunts urging each other on, until I can feel the hum building in my
clit, a rising symphony of pleasure intensifying with each second
until I’m
sure it can’t
get any better.

“Yes,”
I
groan in his ear. “Yes.”
And
then it does get even better, and I scream St. Clair’s
name as the crescendo of a lifetime blows my mind, my orgasm ripping
through me as St. Clair thrusts up one last time and lets out an
animal groan.

We
come together, and I collapse into his arms.

“I
love you, Grace.”
He kisses my shoulder and I shiver.
“More
than I’ve
loved anyone, ever.”

Later,
we’re
wrapped in luxurious fluffy robes, relaxing in front of a roaring
fire. “Do
you have a stash of these at each house?”
I
ask, fingering the soft fabric. “Are
you their biggest customer?”

“Hardly,”
he
says. “I
know for a fact Prince William has a different one for each day of
the week.”
He
pulls me in for a kiss and our lips are still not tired of each
other, our tongues melting into each other yet again…I
lean back too far and bump into the side table. My purse topples to
the floor, spilling its contents like confetti.

I
pick up my phone and notice that the case has come dislodged. There’s
a tiny chip attached, just inside by the speaker. I freeze, then hold
out my phone to show it to St. Clair.

“What
is it?” I
whisper. “A
bug?”

He
looks it over, then nods his head. He draws me across the room. “It’s
a tracking device too, so it’ll
record all your phone conversations and transmit your location. They
must have planted it back at the station, while you were in custody.”

My
heart falls, my earlier insecurities come rushing back. “He’ll
never give up,”
I say.
“Lennox
is coming after us, no matter what. He wants to catch his master
thief.”

“We’ll
think of something.”
St.
Clair squeezes my shoulder. “I
promise, he’ll
come up empty-handed.”

“Maybe
he doesn’t
have to.”

A
glimmer of an idea tugs at my brain.

St.
Clair frowns. “What
do you mean?”

I
smile as my plan starts to take shape. “If
Lennox’s
plan is to trail me in order to catch the mastermind behind all these
heists, why don’t
we give him exactly what he wants: a thief in handcuffs, the collar
he’s
been after all this time?”

St.
Clair catches the sly glint in my eyes; I know because I see it in
his eyes too. He’s
catching on. “I
like the way you think.”

I
grin. “You
ain’t
seen nothin’
yet.”

The
next day, I pack the last of my things, and head down to the street
to wait for the cab. My phone rings. It’s
St. Clair –
he’s
already gone ahead, like we planned.

“Are
you ready?”
he
asks.

“Yes,
the cab is on its way.”
I
make sure to speak clearly.

“Grace?
Don’t
get scared, okay? What’s
the number one rule?”

“Stay
calm,” I
say, watching the street. I notice a dark car parked down the
block…is
there someone in there watching me? This time, I really hope so.

“Good
girl,” St.
Clair says. “Now
what’s
the plan again?”

I
take a deep breath, remembering my lines. “I’ll
pick up the painting and come meet you where we agreed.”

“Perfect,”
he
says, just like we rehearsed. “The
buyer is coming this afternoon, and as soon as he’s
paid us, we’ll
be on a plane to sandy beaches and sunny skies for the rest of our
lives.”

“Can’t
wait.” A
dark blue taxi pulls up in front of St. Clair’s
apartment and honks. “My
ride is here,”
I
tell him, hoping that gives Lennox enough time to start his car and
get ready to move. “I
have to go.”

“Grace,
be careful,”
St.
Clair says, and I know he actually means it.
“I
thought someone was following me this morning. You might have a tail,
too. Watch your back.”

“I
will,” I
say, hoping that Lennox is taking the bait. “You
be careful, too.”

I
hang up and whisper a little prayer that nothing goes wrong before
getting into the cab, forcing myself not to turn around to check the
tail car. Everything counts on us carrying out this risky plan. My
plan. If we fail, it’s
all on me—Crawford’s
bragging rights reinstated, my romance with St. Clair ruined, not to
mention my freedom and ability to live like a normal citizen
permanently revoked.

One
night behind bars was more than enough for me, yet here I am, risking
it all again. I take a deep breath.
Focus,
Grace.
One step, one brushstroke at a time. You can make a whole painting
that way, but first you have to start.

And
if we can pull this off…Lennox
will leave us alone, once and for all. We’ll
be free.

It’s
worth the risk.

I
take the taxi to St. Clair’s
storage space, and make sure to exit the building with a
not-so-subtly concealed brown painting tube under my arm, just like
the one St. Clair emerged from the alley with that night in London
when I found out the truth. It seems like a lifetime ago, and the
irony doesn’t
escape me that I’m
in his exact position now.

Only
I
want
to get caught.

I
get back into the cab and direct the driver to the Gare du Nord train
station. When I check behind us, I see that same dark car from back
at the apartment still trailing behind.

They’re
taking the bait.

“Merci,”
I
say to the cab driver as I pay him and roll my suitcase behind me.
The old train station is bustling with people under the stone
archways, everyone carrying bags and hurrying from one place to
another. I look around nervously as I tuck the painting tube under my
jacket, making sure to leave the end in plain sight. I want to look
anxious and scared, but this part isn’t
faked. I really am worried now. So much of the plan could go wrong,
and there are so many details we can’t
predict.