Hunt Me (Love Thieves #3) (6 page)

“I’m perfectly comfortable where I am, Mr. Parker.”

“Don’t hang up.” The words fell somewhere between an order and a request.

“And why shouldn’t I?” Unfortunately a second yawn ruined the dare in her words.

“Because I like talking to you.” The stark honesty in those six words startled and pleased her. Her lips still tingled at the memory of his kiss, and the lazy stroke of heat licking at her insides left her warm once more. Putting the event out of her mind for the second time would likely be harder than the first.

“Kit Kat?”

“I despise your use of that name.” She combed her fingers through her tousled hair. He couldn’t see her—her appearance didn’t matter—but the effort soothed her.

“No, you don’t.” He laughed, the low chuckle rubbing against her senses.

“You do realize it’s not polite to contradict a lady to her face.” Her nose wrinkled, but her cheeks ached from grinning. Yes, her father sent him to flirt with her. Yes, he was off-limits. But, then, she’d never enjoyed being told what she could or couldn’t touch. A passionate little affair might get her father off her back.

“If the lady in question wanted to join me up here, I promise not to do so to her face.”

She snorted, a wholly inelegant and unladylike noise. “The lady in question is fine right where she is, and I don’t believe you.”

The connection ended with a click, and she barely had time to process the abrupt hang-up before a knock sounded on the door. She shook her head. Incorrigible. Pursing her lips, she was tempted to leave him waiting, but a flutter of eagerness waffled her decision in his favor.

“Come in.” She hung up the phone and leaned back in her seat. She smoothed away the traces of her ridiculous smile and gathered up the mantle of composure—pajamas and rumpled bed aside. The door slid open, and he stepped inside, looking even more rakishly handsome with a faint growth of stubble and his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal the corded muscle in his arms.

If all bankers looked like him, she would never complain about those meetings.

“I’m surprised it isn’t locked.” He studied her as he leaned in the doorway. The low light in the room deepened the amber appearance of his eyes.

She lifted one shoulder in a mild shrug. “I don’t usually have a reason.”

He glanced at the rumpled blankets then skated the same hot stare over her. Her face warmed. The impulsive need to flirt with danger left her open to reckless mistakes. One would think she had learned her lesson.

“Are you sure I can’t lure you out here to join me?”

The emphasis on
lure
and
join me
teased her. She opened her mouth to tell him no but, instead, pointed to the folded-up seat across from her. “Why don’t you join me?”

And there goes some of my willpower.
The force of his smile devastated her need to keep him at arm’s length. It should be a crime to be so damn handsome. In that moment, she hated her father—particularly because this man defied her attempts to categorize him into the look-but-don’t-touch column.

“Thank you.” The genuine gratitude fizzled her self-recriminations. He walked over, lowered the seat, and slid onto it. His knee brushed hers as he sat, the close confines forcing him to set one foot on either side of her legs. The warmth of him bracketed her.

“You’re welcome.” Her pulse took another rapid uptick.

“I’m sorry we got off to a rocky start.” The apology surprised her. He leaned forward and held out a long, strong-fingered hand toward her. She considered the offer and reached over to take his hand. Screw caution. It took the fun out of living.

“I don’t think our start was rocky. You boarding my plane, however….”

“Might have been pushing it. I’d plead temporary insanity, but I’d rather not discourage you any further than I have.” He stroked his thumb against the back of her hand. The lightest of touches and yet it sent little sizzles of awareness up her arm with each gentle glide of his skin on hers.

“So you think you still have a chance?”

His grin appeared, and her stomach flip-flopped. “I’m almost 99 percent positive I do.”

“How almost?” she asked, amused at his temerity.

“Fifty-fifty.” He winked.

She laughed. “I would say you seriously rounded up, then.”

“A numbers game is about perception and where you put your value.”

She really should take her hand away from him, but she didn’t. “So, from your perspective, your value in the positive fifty is higher than in the negative fifty?”

“No, but a snapshot isn’t the full report. And I have access to the full report.” The awareness zinging through her stirred up the lethargic heat from earlier. Whatever the hell else Jarod Parker might be, he was fun.

“Well, maybe I need the full report so I can make a better assessment.”

“You don’t read reports.” He turned her hand over, continuing his sensuous little caresses against her palm. “You read people.”

Surprise bit through her fascination, and she stared. An uncannily accurate observation.

Too accurate.

“I read people, too, Kit Kat. I watch those nuances of behavior, the flicker of an eyelid, the tightening of the mouth….” His voice lowered, and her pulse hammered. “The sudden intake of breath or a sharp increase in heart rate...they reveal a great deal about a person.” He rubbed his thumb against her wrist. Blood pounded through her system, as if it raced down to enjoy the caress and away again.

She bit down on her lower lip and studied him. She wanted to squirm in her seat, the conflicting emotions battering her system. “And what do mine tell you?”

He leaned forward and lifted her hand to his lips. His breath whispered against her palm and sent a cascade of shivers down her spine. “You like me.” Her chuckle strangled as he kissed the heel of her hand and glanced up at her, mouth poised against her flesh. “And, in case you can’t tell, I like you.”

The phone rang next to her, and he picked it up with his free hand and held it out to her. She accepted it, never looking away from his gaze. Her body shimmered with a fresh wave of need, desire shredding her reservations like confetti. “Yes, Captain?”

“We’ll be landing in ten minutes, Lady Hardwicke.”

“Thank you, Captain.” She handed the phone back. He hung it up without a word. “You said last night my father didn’t send you. Truth?”

“Yes.” He nodded, no prevarication, no ducking the question, no excuses. He added another kiss to her palm, and, as distractions went, it worked beautifully to scramble her thoughts.

The sensation of a controlled fall swept through her—the plane’s descent. Or at least it better be. “Then, why are you on my plane, Jarod?”

His expression relaxed when she said his name, and her heart squeezed. She liked his smile.

Too much.

“I have business in Los Angeles. Important business.”

“So I’m simply a means to an end?” Disappointment curdled her enjoyment.

“Yes and no.”

“Wow.” She blinked. “At least you’re honest.”

“No, not really.” He rubbed her hand against his cheek. The stubble rasped her skin, but the sensation wasn’t unpleasant. She should probably take issue with his casual possession, but each minute she spent with him left her curious to see where the next would take them.

She could ask him what he wasn’t being honest about, but she found she would rather not know. At least not yet. “What business?”

“Arrogant French bastard.” The unfiltered reply surprised her.

“I’m sorry?”

“I need to see a man about a horse. Well, in this case, a project, but he’s in Los Angeles. So it’s where I’m going.”

“Aboard my plane.”

“Yeah.” He squeezed her hand as the wheels bumped against the tarmac. “Joining you was the best part. It gave me an excuse to spend more time with you.”

“Uh-huh.” She nibbled her lower lip. “And who is this arrogant French bastard I have to thank for your company?”

Regret seemed to shine in his eyes. So brief she might have imagined it. “Louis duMonde.”

The pilot applied the brakes and the plane slowed, but her stomach continued to plummet.

Louis is in Los Angeles…. No. No. No.

She tried to control her physical reaction, but he couldn’t have missed her jerk at the name or the fact she closed her eyes.

Dammit…he knows. Louis knows I have the Buddha.

“Kit Kat?” Worry coated Jarod’s voice.

“Tired.” She dismissed the concern before he could voice it and withdrew her hand. She missed his touch almost immediately but packed it away to be examined later. Picking up the phone, she rang the captain. “Captain, change of plans. Please have my car brought to the hanger immediately, and let’s skip going to the gate.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

If Louis was in Los Angeles, she needed to move and move quickly. She glanced at Jarod with real regret. Cutting him off would hurt, but it would hurt a hell of a lot less than having him suffer the fate of collateral damage.

Thirty minutes later, she walked out of the airplane to find Jarod standing at the bottom of the steps, waiting for her. He gave her another one of those disarming smiles, and she shook her head.
Don’t force me to be cruel.

Headlights cut through the darkness, and she paused, one hand on the railing, to watch the vehicle pull into the hanger and park next to her car. Her heart sank.

Louis duMonde stepped out of the back of the car. In addition to Louis were his driver and a third man who remained in shadow on the passenger side of the car.

“
Bonjour, ma petite
.” Louis spread his arms wide as he strolled over to the steps.

Jarod shifted and effectively blocked Louis’ access.

“Viscount. What an unexpected….” She would not say pleasure, definitely never a pleasure to see him. “Surprise.”

“But shouldn’t a surprise be unexpected?” Louis’ gentility didn’t quite touch his eyes, and the pleasant expression faltered when Jarod didn’t move. “
Pardon, Monsieur
.
Mademoiselle
and I have much to discuss.”

Her gut twisted, but Jarod didn’t move. “The lady has other plans.”

Louis paused, and his pleasant demeanor evaporated completely. “Oh?” His cool gaze swept up the stairs and draped her in its chill assessment. “I believe our business won’t take very long,
Monsieur
. You can wait.”

Unpredictable, volatile, and dangerous. Those words didn’t do Louis justice. Shifting the bag against her shoulder, Kit finished her descent and slid her arm through Jarod’s. If surprised by her choice, the man gave a brilliant performance because it didn’t show. “Yes, Viscount duMonde, I am busy. You know better than to try and ambush me.” She tsked. “And at an airport of all places. Where are your manners?”

Jarod tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and led her toward her car, putting himself firmly between her and Louis. She appreciated the gesture, but the adrenaline flooding her system kept her wary and watchful. The two men at the car didn’t move, but she could almost feel the weight of their gazes.

Louis cut around to block their path and reached out, catching her face in his cold hands, and pressed a pair of even cooler kisses to her cheeks. At her right cheek, he murmured, “Lose the boyfriend, or I’ll remove him for you.”

Before she could respond, Jarod hauled Louis off her and had his hand in a thumb lock. The Frenchman staggered, his face a twisted mask of pain. “Allow me to remind you, Viscount duMonde, one doesn’t touch a lady unless she’s invited it.”

The two men at the car started in their direction.

“Jarod.” Kit put a hand to his shoulder, but a glint of light bounced off metal in one of the goons’ hands, and she swallowed her next words.

“You stay right there, gentlemen. I’ve already contacted airport security.” The rasp of metal being locked and loaded echoed through the hanger accompanied the co-pilot’s verbal warning. She didn’t dare take her eyes off Louis’ men.

Jarod glanced from the men to the co-pilot to Louis. Fury simmered in the viscount’s face. “You have this?”

“Yes, sir. If you would like to go ahead and escort Lady Hardwicke, we’ll take care of this,” the captain answered. He’d exited on the other side of the plane and walked around her, a handgun in his hand, now trained on Louis.

“Excellent.” Jarod gave Louis a little shove as he released him. The Frenchman didn’t fall, but he did stumble back a few feet. He held out a hand to Kit, and she took it. Relief swamped her but didn’t take the edge off her worry. “Shall we?”

“Absolutely.” She found the word, surprised it didn’t tremble. He led her to the car, giving the others a wide berth. So focused on them, she barely noticed when Jarod tucked her into the passenger seat, set their bags in the backseat, and circled around to slide behind the wheel. Kit never looked away from Louis.

This wasn’t the first time she’d crossed him.

But the hatred on his face promised her it would be the last.

Jarod backed the car up and pulled out of the hanger ahead of the flashing security lights driving up. He reached over and put his hand on her leg. “You okay?”

She shuddered, fumbling for a way to fill the silence. “I think I messed up your meeting.”

“Eh.” He shrugged, and she caught a brief glimpse of his teeth flashing in the illumination from the dashboard. “I don’t like to do business with assholes anyway.”

She laughed.

“And now I think we’re three and one, don’t you?” At his smug tone, she laughed harder.

“Touché.”

Chapter Four

She fell asleep, head tipped back and turned toward the window. Jarod sighed and rested his wrist against the steering wheel. They headed north and west, away from Los Angeles County. She’d said Malibu, initially, but the barest of hitch in her words after their encounter suggested to him Malibu was the first place to come to mind.

Like a cat, she didn’t let little tumbles upset her. Landing on her proverbial feet, she rallied to his invasion of her plane, to the misguided belief her father sent him, and their flirtation. But duMonde?