The Paris Caper (2 page)

Damn
. She
struggled to remind herself of the reason she was here at the nightclub. She
could
not
lose focus.

Taking a long steadying
breath, she glanced around again. Okay, change of plan. If she played her cards
right, this could work out even better than being on her own. She could use him
as a decoy. Not to mention an alibi... She just had to be careful.

The only question was
what she would do with him when she had to make her speedy exit. She knew what
she’d
like
to do. But that might not be possible. And definitely not
smart.

All at once she spotted
the princess, dancing a few meters away. Wearing a Dries van Noten cocktail
dress and Balenciaga heels, she made Ciara in her borrowed black Ungaro look
positively boring. Distinctive Cartier diamonds bounced around the woman’s
ears, jumped at her throat and jingled around her wrist as she danced. Diamonds
worth a fortune.

Just one of those
bracelets would pay most people’s bills for a couple of months. Certainly
Ciara’s, even with the Orphans.

She felt the heavy kick
of nerves she always got just before the lay-down.

Easy does it
, she
told herself. Best not to rush things. The most important part of any job was
setting it up. Moving ever closer. Picking her moment.

So she kept the haughty
princess in her line of sight, maneuvering her own dance partner into optimum
position. Ready to strike when the time was right.

Except he didn’t want to
be led. Naturally. It figured a man like him wouldn’t dance to her tune.
Instead he pulled her body closer still, and spun her away.

She should have been
annoyed, but it was impossible to concentrate on anything but how amazing it
felt to be in his arms. Her breasts pressed against his chest and her knees
tangled with his, lacing their thighs together like lovers. Slowly, he stroked
up and down her back with his fingers, skimming the bare skin above the low cut
of her dress, sending shivers along her spine. His arousal grew thick and hard
between them. He did nothing to hide it, but didn’t force attention to it
either. So like a Frenchman. Comfortable with his sexuality, but not making a
big deal about it. She liked that. Damn, she liked
him
.

“You smell nice,” he
murmured, burying his nose in her hair as the music slowed to a soft, romantic
ballad. His warm breath tickled her ear. By now they’d danced about six or
seven songs straight through, and he showed no signs of relinquishing his hold
on her. Which was fine. She was enjoying him too much to want to let him go
just yet. The princess would wait.

“So do you,” she
whispered back, and slid her arms under his jacket and around his waist. She
hummed out a sigh of pleasure as she brushed her hands over his lean hips and
slim waist. Damn, the man’s body was fine.

Suddenly, her fingers hit
something hard at the back of his waistband. Square and made of leather, it was
threaded onto his belt.

She froze in disbelief.

“My handcuffs,” the man
said, pulling back to gaze down at her. His lips curved into an enigmatic
smile. “Does that worry you?”

She snapped her gaping
mouth shut, her mind in a whirl. “That depends on what you intend to do with
them.”

His smile twitched. “I am
open to suggestion, but...the official answer is that I’m a cop.”

Her eyes widened. “A—
A
cop
?”
Ohgod
. The man was a cop.
Un flic, un poulet
. In other
words,
un désastre
—a disaster.

“Is that a problem?”

From the corner of her
eye, Ciara saw the princess dance closer. She swallowed down a powerful urge to
laugh hysterically.
Hell
. The only man in living memory she’d been this
attracted to, and now—
Double hell
.

“You planning on
arresting me or something?” she asked, only half-joking. Her pulse hammered.

His brow rose. “For
dancing? Or...is there something else about you that I am unaware of? Your
tourist visa has expired, perhaps?”

This time she did laugh.
She couldn’t help it. But at the last minute she tried really hard not to sound
desperate. “Student visa. Good indefinitely,” she lied.

“Well, then,” he said,
and drew her into his arms again, replacing hers around his neck. “I guess there’s
nothing to worry about.”

If only he knew.

Or, maybe he
did
....

“So,” she asked, hoping
he couldn’t feel her heart beating like a jungle drum against his chest, “Are
you here at the nightclub for business, or pleasure?”

She felt him smile
against her temple. “So far it’s been all pleasure.” And just like that he
lifted her chin and kissed her.

She let out a tiny gasp.
He took advantage, flicking his tongue over hers. Then he pulled back.

Her mind reeled out of
balance as the erotic taste of him washed through her mouth. At the same time
the princess danced back into her line of sight, arms draped over the shoulders
of her escort. Sparkling diamond bracelets dangled within a hair’s breadth of
Ciara’s fingers.

Oh, God, this was it
!
There would never be a better time.
Or a worse one
. But she had to do
it. Now.
And possibly end up in handcuffs...
Or wait for another day.
And
possibly end up in this cop’s bed.

Oh, God
.

No choice.

Working by touch and pure
instinct, she shifted her fingers a fraction of an inch, singled out the
bracelet with the biggest diamonds and deftly unclasped it from the princess’s
wrist. It slithered into Ciara’s palm, cold and sharp and glittering like a row
of icy snake-eyes.

She closed her hand
around it, tilted her head and pressed her mouth to the cop’s...as she
deliberately dropped the bracelet into his jacket pocket.

♥♥♥

Commissaire de Police
Judiciaire
Jean-Marc Lacroix
was not expecting the woman in his arms to kiss him back.

But when her lips met and
pressed into his, criminal detective superintendent Lacroix couldn’t resist the
temptation to quickly take it to the next level. He grasped her chin and tugged
it down, sweeping his tongue inside her mouth, tasting her, plumbing her depths
until she moaned long and low, responding with equal fervor. Just how he liked
it.

Merde
, he
shouldn’t be doing this.
Mais, bon Dieu
, the lady could kiss.

Jean-Marc hadn’t meant to
kiss her at all. He had just meant to use her as a way to get onto the dance
floor, to be less conspicuous in his surveillance of the flashy Dutch princess
and her damned jewelry-dripping entourage.

But he should have known
it would come to this. The moment he’d spotted the young woman out there on the
floor in that low-backed, clingy little black number, dancing all by herself
and enjoying the hell out of it, he’d been a walking hard-on. Now he was a
dancing hard-on. And if he had anything to say about it, very soon he’d be a
fucking hard-on.

He might be a cop, but
off-duty he was only a man—and no better than he had to be. He was here at
Club
LeCoeur
strictly on his own initiative, not on the clock. Working a hunch
that the guy rapidly stealing his way up the French National Police’s
O
ffice Central de Lutte Contre le Trafic des Biens
Culturels
—or
OCBC’s—most-wanted list might show up for such easy pickings as the
high-profile princess. As lucky as he was clever, the slippery jewel thief
known as
le Revenant
—the Ghost—had been on the OCBC’s radar for two
years. Now the guy was starting to make media headlines, and they wanted the
fils
de pute
behind bars. The officer in charge of the case,
Commissaire
Saville, was good, but somewhat unimaginative. As a
commissaire
,
normally Jean-Marc didn’t work investigations himself, he delegated and ran
things from behind a desk. But he thought he might score some much-needed
brownie points with his and Saville’s boss,
Commissaire Divisionnaire
Belfort, if he managed to bring down the thief himself. Besides, he missed
field work.

Jean-Marc had been to a
half-dozen clubs over the past week following the princess and her ostentatious
jewels along with the tabloid paparazzi, but
le Revenant
had yet to put
in an appearance. Maybe he wouldn’t turn up tonight, either.

Which would leave
Jean-Marc free for other pursuits. Such as the pretty blonde in his arms.

Donc
, he was smart
enough to recognize a rationalization when he heard it, but at the moment he
didn’t give a shit. They had stopped pretending to dance and were now kissing
in earnest in the middle of the crowd like a couple of teenagers.

“
Viens
,” he
murmured, lifting his mouth from hers when people started to stare. He grabbed
her hand. “Come on.”

Before he even knew where
he was going, he trotted down the stairs to the basement level where the
restrooms were located, towing her by the wrist. Bypassing the
hommes
and
femmes
, he spotted a door marked “no admittance” and jerked it open.
A startled waiter glanced up from unpacking a box of wine and started to
protest.

Jean-Marc whipped out his
carte de requisition
, which identified him as a police officer, and
ordered, “Out.
Vite
.” The waiter scrambled to his feet and scrammed. The
door jerked closed.

The light in the room
flickered dimly and the place smelled musty, like old cardboard. But the scent
of the woman’s perfume clung to him, and she was all Jean-Marc needed to see.

He turned to his captive
and pushed her up against the door, setting the lock with a swift flick of his
thumb.
He was so ready for this
. He desperately needed to lose his
frustrations in the hot passion of a willing woman, to thrust away his anger
and annoyance in the blissful forgetfulness of her sweet body.
Bon dieu
,
he needed this. With every fiber of his being he wanted to be inside her.

“
Je veux te baiser,
”
he growled, and took her mouth in a savage kiss.

She moaned, undulating
her body beneath his as he kissed her over and over, touching her, learning
her, urging her on with the blatant language of sex. She reached for his belt
buckle.

“
Attends
,” he
said, grabbing both her wrists. “Wait.”

He eased out a harsh
breath, grappling for control. Of the situation. Of himself. He held her there
as she panted, watching her breasts rise and fall beneath her silky dress.

He wanted to see them. He
wanted to taste them.

He let her go and scraped
her dress straps off her slim shoulders, peeling  her bodice to her waist. Her
bra was black, made of the sheerest lace, and did nothing to hide her breasts.
They weren’t large, but full and round, tipped with pretty nipples of rose,
peaked and eager for his attention.

“
Mon Dieu
,” he
murmured. “You are beautiful.”

He popped the front clasp
and they fell into his hands, warm and silky-soft. With a groan of pleasure he
bent and took one in his mouth, sucking in the firm nipple. He licked and
suckled her, feeling the tension slowly seep from his shoulders and down to
fill his heavy groin.
Bon Dieu
. This time he didn’t stop her when she groped
for his belt.

He almost detonated when
she touched him, taking him boldly in her hand.

“
Non
,” he gasped,
pulling her away. With one hand he raised her wrists above her head, with the
other fumbled in his inside pocket for his wallet and the protection he always
carried. All the while kissing her, deep and hard.

He found the packet and
placed it on a nearby shelf. Then snagged the hem of her dress and dragged it
up, twisting it into a knot at her waist. How he wished he could just rip the
whole damned thing off! He wanted her completely bare. He wanted her naked and
open, trembling for his touch.

Suddenly, he noticed she
was
trembling. He jerked back and met her gaze. “
C’est bien
?”

Her long blond hair was
artfully mussed, her eyes slumberous and half-lidded; she was a sensuous fallen
angel gazing up at him like she would do anything he asked. Anything at all.

“Mmm-hmm,” she hummed,
“wonderful,” and his arousal thickened.

“Do you want me to stop?”
he asked hoarsely, just to make sure lust wasn’t coloring his perception.

“No. Don’t stop,” she
whispered.

Filled with an
inexplicable sense of power, he ran his free hand lingeringly down the curve of
her hip, pausing at the lacy edge of her barely-there black panties. Trailing
his fingers over the small triangle of fabric, he watched her eyes darken. They
were green, the color of a forest at midnight, and pooled with desire.

He slipped his hand under
her panties. “Spread your legs,” he said, licking at her mouth, his pulse
pounding with excitement.

She obeyed and he slid
his fingers into her wet heat, seeking her center. She quivered at his
exploration, and gasped as he sent them deep inside then out again. He found
her bud and worked it, sliding his thumb back and forth, round and round, until
she shook with need.

“That’s right,” he urged
roughly. “Come for me, then I’ll make you come again,
à ma queue
.”

She moaned, closed her
eyes and shattered.

He let her wrists go and
sheathed himself one-handed as he coaxed every last shiver and whimper from
her. When at last her face was a portrait of bliss and her eyes fluttered open,
he took hold of her panties and ripped them off.

She gave a yelp of
surprise, her eyes widening as he stuck the ruined panties in his jacket
pocket.