ItTakesaThief (32 page)

He caught her wrist. His grip firm, he dragged her hand over
her head. Through the lust buzzing in her ears, she heard the unmistakable
click of locking handcuffs.

“Damian!” she protested, a nervous laugh escaping her lips
before she could hold it back.

“I knew these would serve a noble purpose,” he said,
fastening her other hand to the headboard. Resting on his haunches, he raked
her body with predatory eyes.

Tiffany pulled against the restraints, only now realizing
they were padded with something soft. So, he didn’t intend to hurt her.

“Is this payback for what I did to you in Bogotá?”

“Dios, no.” Standing, he stripped off his jeans. His cock
waved at her before standing at attention against his belly. “I knew you would
be difficult, Tiffany. As I said before, I refuse to rush.”

She glared at him. He laughed as if he knew the secret
thrill being helpless gave her. As if her swollen breasts and turgid nipples
hadn’t already betrayed her need!

He knelt on the bed, then straddled her thighs. As if
sensing its goal was near, his cock twitched. She licked her lips, taunting
him. Reminding him how his cock felt when she took it in her mouth and licked
and sucked him to ecstasy.

He grinned. “Next time,” he said, making her wonder if he
talked to her or to his cock. Unfastening her shorts, he pulled them and her
thong off. Throwing them over his shoulder, he said, “Perfect.”

That predatory gaze swept over her again. Embarrassment made
her fight the cuffs so she could cover her breasts and mons. Need made her
spread her legs, an open invitation for him to take her. Now!

Ignoring the blatant lure, he clamped his hands around her
left foot. His thumbs dug gently into her arch. “Do you know that your feet
connect to every erogenous zone in your body?”

“N-no.” But wherever his fingers massaged her foot, heat
built in her body. She felt as if she would explode if he didn’t bury himself
in her. “Dear God,” she moaned, feeling tingles of pleasure and need
everywhere.

He kissed her toes, laved between them, then licked his way
up her legs to the apex of her thighs. Her pussy throbbed. She felt her clit
swell like his cock, begging him to kiss it. Rub it. Lick and suck it.

He nuzzled it with his nose. “Sweet. You smell so sweet. So
ready,” he murmured.

Groaning, Tiffany arched her hips. She craved his mouth on
her clit, his tongue in her pussy.

He spread her curls, but only blew on her needy clit.
Touched it with the tip of his tongue. Her fingers clutched at empty air. Her
toes curled into the bedding before she drew her feet up and down his legs. Her
hips surged against his face. At last…dear God, at last he sucked the nub into
his mouth and eased his finger inside her. And found that little button that
drove her to the edge.

“Come for me, querida. Let me taste your sweet juices.”

Her climax tore through her. He drove his tongue deep into
her pulsing core, making her scream his name. Over and over, until—replete—she
looked down her body and found him grinning up at her. Were she less euphoric,
she’d scold him for that male smugness shining in his dark eyes. Instead, she
pulled against the cuffs and said, “If you free me, I’ll return the favor.”

He slid up her body to kiss her thoroughly. She tasted her
cum on his tongue and marveled at it. Unembarrassed, she mated her tongue with
his, sucking her own elusive essence from it.

“I do not have to free you to fuck your luscious mouth,” he
said at last.

Acknowledging that truth, she nodded. But when he slid to
his side, she looked down at his fully erect cock and swallowed a gulp of fear.
If she couldn’t use her hands to control his thrusts, she could choke on his
enormous cock.

A gentle tug on her nipple brought her gaze to his face.

“I would miss having your hands on my balls when I come.”

“Hmmm.” His fingers wandering over her breasts distracted
her. The familiar ache, the need, the craving built once more. “Damian,” she
moaned.

“I have often wondered if I could make you come just by
touching your nipples.”

“S-sometimes I think I can come when you just look at me,”
she admitted, feeling heat renew need. “I want you in me.”

“Soon,” he promised, continuing to caress her breasts. He
cupped them one at a time. His fingers circled her areolas, then gently pinched
the rigid points he’d made of her nipples. Longing for those clever fingers
deep inside it, her pussy wept.

His eyes never leaving hers, he continued his sweet assault
on her breasts. She fought the rising need inside her, but her body conspired
with his gently marauding fingers.

“No,” she moaned as she shook her head in denial of what was
happening to her body. Her hips ground against his leg. Powerless even to close
her eyes so he wouldn’t see her climax overtake her, she felt it sweep through
her—a tsunami drowning her in pleasure. “Wanton. You’ve made me a wanton.”

Chuckling, he produced a key from under the pillows, then
freed her hands. Intending to cuff him to the bed, she grabbed his wrist.

“Next time,” he murmured against her lips. “Right now I
intend to fuck you senseless. Later, I’ll love you to satiation.”

She made a purring sound low in her throat. It drove him
wild. Panting, they stared into each other’s eyes as he positioned his cock
between the swollen lips of her pussy, then plunged. She bucked. Their hands
moved over each other in frenzied patterns. His cupped her buttocks to bring
him into her. Deeper, deeper. Her hands swept down his back, her nails leaving
shallow furrows on his skin. Together they rode the madness until they reached
the crest. Crying his name, she jumped into ecstasy. Shouting “Tiffany” he
followed.

* * * * *

“Damian,” Tiffany said the next day as they settled in their
first-class seats and buckled in for takeoff to Madrid. They would meet her
father and Damian’s family there. Margreta and Mark had arranged for them to be
married at the British embassy. “What do you do when you’re not consulting with
Interpol?”

“I want you to know, Tiffany darling, that I have tendered
my resignation. Although it was not needed, since I never worked for the
organization.”

“But you did…resign?”

“We will not starve, love,” he said. He took her hand and
entwined their fingers.

Her breath caught. Enraptured as always by his touch, her
heart fluttered. “I never thought we would.” Distracted momentarily, she
wondered if they could somehow sneak into the bathroom and join the mile-high
lovers’ club. “You can work with me in the shop.”

“I know nothing about designing jewelry, sweet.”

Waggling her left hand, now sporting an emerald and diamond
engagement ring, she demurred. “You have exquisite taste in jewelry. That’s
what matters. Besides, I can teach you everything you need to know.”

“I…um…shall not have time.” He smiled, a bit sheepishly to
her mind. Turning his attention to the hovering flight attendant, he ordered
mimosas for two.

“All right, Damian, out with it.” Before he could answer,
however, she rushed on. “I suppose you’re going to tell me you’re a policeman,
probably a detective. Homicide. Grisly murders and mayhem and—”

“Something like that,” he muttered, looking relieved when
the stewardess appeared with dewy flutes of champagne and orange juice.

“Well, you’ll have to quit that, too, no matter how much you
love it. I can’t bear it, Damian. The thought of some crazed murderer coming at
you with an axe is more than I can stand.”

“Perhaps,” he said when she stopped to breathe, “you can
work with me.”

“Pardon?”

“With your imagination and my—ahem—way with words, we shall
make a perfect team.” Leaning across her legs, he ransacked her tote bag. He
pulled out the paperback novel she’d bought in the El Dorado bookstore.

“‘José Luis Soria,’” Tiffany read aloud from the back cover,
“‘scores yet another bull’s-eye. Fast-paced, taut, this latest tale of
international intrigue is Soria’s best.’” Opening the inside back cover, she
found herself looking at a picture of Damian Hunter. Solemn, professorial,
bespectacled.

“Good Lord, how many names do you have?”

“You know them all, now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Cross my heart,” he said and did.

Chapter Twenty

In the silver glow of a full moon, Damian could see his wife
bobbing on the gentle waves of the Mediterranean. He had thought to take her to
Cartagena, Spain and love away the memory of that other city with the same
name. But now he was glad he had not.

Here, on the Costa del Sol, they could finish the healing
process they had begun in the mountains of Colombia. In a few days, or weeks,
or months, they would trek from the sea at Málaga into the Sierra mountains of
Andalusia. He would renew his bride’s acquaintance with the Moorish grandeur of
Granada, reveal to her the craggy mountains and fertile valleys that had called
Andalusian explorers to the Sierra Nevada of her own California. Then he would
take her home, to Barcelona.

But first, he intended to love his lady in the light of a
goddess moon.

As he made his way from the house to the beach, he blessed
his parents for lending him this piece of paradise. They had bought the property
years before the Costa del Sol became the favorite playground of the
international set, years before the influx of foreign investors and high-rise
construction. They also had had the foresight and fortitude to resist all
offers for the secluded property with its mile of private beach.

Which was why he was not surprised to find Tiffany’s bikini
discarded on her towel. He quickly toed off his sandals, shed his swim trunks
and raised his head to watch his wife emerge from the sea.

Her hair streamed over her breasts, but her nipples peeked
between the ebony strands. Her eyes glowed silver-green, matching the colors of
the emerald cabochon, surrounded by diamonds, gold and smaller emeralds, that
rested just below her navel.

“Isabella’s Belt,” he murmured, knowing he was seeing it as
it was meant to be seen—worn by the most beautiful woman in the world, in the
loveliest place on Earth.

“Dios, Tiffany, you did not steal it, did you?”

“Of course not, darling,” she said, her sinuous walk
stealing his breath. Reaching him, she wreathed her arms around his neck.
Pressing her breasts to his chest, she added, “Nick sent it to me.”

“We are all going to prison,” Damian groaned.

“Relax, darling,” she whispered against his lips while she
rubbed her entire body against his. “It’s only a very good copy.”

“Tiffany,” he warned, feeling his brain short-circuit while
the rest of his body went on four-alarm alert.

“It’s the fake one Emilio made,” she confessed, her fingers
adding to the conflagration that threatened to consume him.

“And still worth a fortune. You have to give it back.”

“I know. And I will.” She unfastened the belt. Placing it in
his hands, her eyes blazed with impish glee. “Damn, this is fun.”

“It is?”

“I’ve wanted to say this for years.”

“You have?” An affirmative nod made her curls bounce.

“Hmmm.”

“Well?” he demanded, wishing she would get to the point so
he could begin to make love with her.

“You’re under arrest, Damian Hunter y Soria.”

“I am? For what?”

“Possession of stolen property.”

Damian flung the belt away. Scooping Tiffany into his arms,
he waded into the warm sea. “Isabella’s Belt?” he asked.

“No, my dearest darling. For stealing my heart.”

“That, Tiffany darling, I will not give back. Not now. Not
ever.”

“Oh, good. That means I can keep yours too.”

“Forever and always.”

“Perfect,” she said.

Then neither of them said anything, but let their bodies
sing.

In the silvery moonlit sand Isabella’s Belt glowed.

About the Author

Dee believes she was born with a pen in one hand and a
writing pad in the other. Determined not to work in an office, this wannabe
actress never learned to type well. She still composes with pen and pad, then
transcribes her manuscripts onto her computer. Sometimes Dee and her dictation
program are best friends; more often they are mortal enemies.

Dee lives in northern California with her inspiration, best
friend and husband. She loves to read and, of course, write.
Passion’s Four
Towers
, her first published novel, was nominated for a Psyche Award in
2008.
His Virtual Assassin
finaled in Passionate Ink’s 2008 Passionate
Plume contest.

Dee welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website
and email addresses on her
author bio page
at
www.ellorascave.com
.

Tell Us What You Think

We appreciate hearing reader opinions about our books. You
can email us at
[email protected]
.

Also by
Dee Brice

Courting
Kel

His
Virtual Assassin

His
Virtual Virgin

Passion’s
Treasures 1: Kerrie’s Quest for Passion

Passion’s
Treasures 2: Passion’s Four Towers

Passion’s
Treasures 3: Passion’s Twins

Print books by Dee Brice

Courting
Kel

Passion’s
Treasures 1: Kerrie’s Quest for Passion

Passion’s Treasures
2: Passion’s Four Towers

Passion’s
Treasures 3: Passion’s Twins

Virtually His
anthology

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica
Publication

www.ellorascave.com

It Takes a Thief

ISBN 9781419935794

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

It Takes a Thief Copyright © 2012 Dee Brice

Edited by April Chapman

Cover art by Syneca

Photography: romancenovelcovers.com

Electronic book publication June 2012

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