Thieves Like Us (23 page)

“Uh . . . your place?” She looked at the sky as some nasty storm clouds threatened to turn into a downpour. “Any place with a roof.”

“Gotta love your enthusiasm,” he laughed, keeping her close as they went down the long flight of steps. “My place eventually, but not yet.”

There was that bad boy smile again, stirring up all sorts of desires. “Why not?”

“Because you’re not the sort of woman a man rushes into bed.”

She was pretty sure she wanted to be that sort of woman, at least today. “What sort of woman am I?”

“The sort who deserves to be romanced.”

That devilish look was hard to argue with, but she tried. “I’m easy. Really.”

“Since when?” He opened the passenger door for her. “I dropped hints for six months without results. It’s too late to call yourself easy, lady. You get the full-on date treatment or nada.”

She let him get behind the wheel before voicing her other concern. “What about whoever’s after the Pellinni Jewels? And those two guys you beat up? Won’t they follow us?”

His smile turned grim. “I didn’t see our Colombian friends when I cruised the neighborhood before pulling in, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t simply hiding well. And whoever wants the Pellinni Jewels doesn’t want
you,
he wants you to lead him to
them.
We know that’s not gonna happen. I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner, but we’ll be safe if we stick to public areas.”

She focused on the part that concerned her most. “Public areas? I thought you said this was going to be romantic.”

“Janet, Janet, Janet.” He shook his head with feigned disappointment. “I’m seriously hurt that you underestimate me so. I can be romantic anywhere.” In demonstration, he moved his finger in a tingly trail around her ear and down her neck, ending behind her head where he spread his fingers through her hair and leaned close. Her lips parted in anticipation as he rubbed his nose against hers before placing a soft kiss on her mouth.

He was off to a good start right here in the car. But it wouldn’t do to feed his overinflated ego. “Whatever you say. I’m just surprised you insist on going through the motions. I thought every man wanted a sure thing,” she mused.

His brows furrowed, his mood shifting. “I don’t believe you were ever anyone’s sure thing.”

“No, but I’m trying to be,” she muttered.

The gaze that scraped over her was hot and possessive. “Sweetheart,” he said, his voice as low as the thunder starting outside. “We both know where this is going. But you were right when you said you didn’t really know me, and I imagine there’s a lot I don’t know about you. So we’re going on a date because that’s how couples get to know each other. Okay?” He turned away to start the car, switching the wipers on against the quickening rain.

“Okay. Except we’re not a couple.”

“Yes, we are.”

She felt a slight unease at how permanent that sounded. “We’re just having sex.”

“Sex is called coupling. I win.” He smiled as he started down the drive.

She could get annoyed, but what would be the point? He was going to make sure that she was entertained and fed—at least she hoped there was food involved—plus shower her with great sex. If he wanted to play semantics with the event, why should she care?

She settled back, content to let him deal with the sheeting rain and the congested Friday afternoon traffic. The car was quiet, save for the slapping of the wipers and the hiss of tires on wet pavement.

“So talk. Tell me how you became a jewel thief.”

He smiled, keeping his eyes on the road but obviously happy that she’d finally asked. “Short or long version?”

“Short.” She didn’t need the dirty details of his life of crime, just the reasons behind it. “Mostly, why did you do it? Misspent youth? Rebellious years and bad influences? A fascination with shiny, sparkly things?”

At least he looked amused. “I guess you could say I was righting a wrong.”

“What was the wrong?”

“My grandparents had lost some heirloom jewelry pieces and gold coins in a burglary. The police said they’d never get them back. So, I dropped out of college, learned a few new skills, and tracked down every piece. Of course, the new owners weren’t interested in giving them back, so I stole them. I got careless at the end and spent a year in jail. End of story.”

Okay, maybe his reasons were a slight deviation from the norm. “Like Robin Hood?”

“I prefer the Zorro analogy myself. It’s more appropriate with my Spanish roots.”

She had to agree. He was dark and charming, and far more dangerous than he looked on the surface. Like now—from his placid expression, he might have just admitted to a typical youth spent selling popcorn for the Boy Scouts. Nothing about Rocky was typical or expected, and she berated herself for not having known better. But family heirloom jewelry? Quitting college to track down stolen pieces? The short version of this story wasn’t going to do.

“I’d like the long version,” she decided. “Please.”

“Anything you want.” He favored her with a sexy smile that made it obvious he was referring to more than stories of his past. Despite her determination to keep the upper hand, fireworks exploded in her pelvis.

“Just your criminal history for now.” She tried to sound cool and collected, but knew she’d been a little too breathless to pull it off.

He winked at her. “I love it when you find me irresistible.”

She said, “I’m resisting just fine, Zorro. Go on.”

One more of those smiles and she’d make him pull over so she could have her way with him. Fortunately, he returned his attention to his driving and began.

“Think of a Spanish version of the
Mayflower.
My father’s family history goes back to the early Spanish settlers in California.”

“I thought that was mainly monks or priests or something—setting up missions and converting the so-called heathens.”

“And some wealthy land owners who stole their land. The important part here is that there was some rather good jewelry that came from Spain, along with some gold doubloons, and it all got passed down in the family. When a California museum did an exhibit on their early settlers, my grandmother loaned them the coins and three pieces of jewelry to put on display. When the exhibit was robbed, all of my grandparents’ pieces were taken. They were valuable, but the sentimental value was even higher. It was irreplaceable family history. The police had their suspicions but no solid evidence. My grandmother was devastated.”

“So you dropped out of school, confident you could solve the case.”

“Of course.”

“Very macho. Why not hire a private detective?”

“They did. No luck.”

“What made you think you could do any better?” He laughed. “That’s pretty much what my grandparents said. And my parents. But I had a roommate who knew security systems, and I had a plan to work with the fences. I’d bring them what they wanted in return for information on my family’s jewelry.” He shrugged. “It worked.”

“Somehow I doubt it was that easy.”

“Actually, it was, but I had to work with some scary people to do it. They got the leads I needed in return for me picking up a few items on their shopping lists. The last two pieces led me to Detroit.”

“So you really were a thief.”

He conceded with a nod. “I like to think I was a thief with principles. I had one rule: I’d only take previously stolen items. Anyone who bought from legitimate dealers or artists was safe. I’d only steal from other thieves.”

She supposed it was an important moral distinction, but not a safe one. “You must have made enemies.”

“I would have if they’d known who I was. There’s a member of the Russian Mafia in Detroit who taught me a lot of stuff I shouldn’t know, and who keeps my secret. In turn, I don’t tell anyone about the jewelry that ended up in his hands as a result of the tips he gave me. I stole for him, and he helped me find my family’s possessions.”

Something clicked in her memory. “Is that how you knew about the Pellinni Jewels? Because you were tracking down other valuable old jewelry?” He nodded. “So what did your grandmother lose? The Hernandez Jewels?”

He laughed. “Nothing exalted enough to have a name, but valuable enough to be attractive to their collectors. Being knowledgeable let me pose as a buyer and they gave me access to their collections. I found one of my grandmother’s necklaces that way. The guy actually invited me in and showed it to me. I robbed him later.”

She wondered if his family knew how much he’d gone through to find their jewelry. “Sounds like a dangerous life.”

“It was.” He gave her a hard look. “That’s why I want to keep you out of it. Exposing you to Sleazy was bad enough, and he was just the scum on the surface of a very deep, very dirty pond. There’s only one good thing I got out of those years—an appreciation for art and culture. Which is why I like coming to this place.” He tilted his head toward the window.

She peered through the slackening rain at the creamy stone facade of the Detroit Institute of Arts just before the car dipped into the underground parking structure. “The DIA?” She smiled. “Not a bad date, Hernandez. Plus they have a good cafeteria.”

He nodded sagely. “Eat now, work it off later.”

“Wow, such a smooth talker. You’re sweeping me right off my feet.” The embarrassing part was, it was true. It had been easier to pretend she didn’t like him when she avoided him. These past few days had been more about pretending she wasn’t constantly thinking about what it would be like to get naked with him.

He made sure she didn’t stop thinking about it, too. He held her hand as they walked through the museum, occasionally stroking it with his thumb while pointing out the bright colors in a Van Gogh or the sense of movement in a Degas, as if he had no idea what he was doing to her. He didn’t fool her, though. It was hours of foreplay, keeping her mind on physical sensations, and it worked. By the time they carried their trays to a table, she was so focused on him she barely noticed the people around them. She thought he was just as focused on her, so she was surprised to see him scanning the crowded tables in the cafeteria.

“Looking for someone you know?”

His gaze darted back to her. “No one important, just a couple old friends I noticed earlier.”

“Really? Do you want to go say hello? I don’t mind.”

He smiled. “Perhaps friend is the wrong term. I recognized them, that’s all. How’s your lunch?”

His eyes searched the room again, settling on a table behind her. She lowered her sandwich, watching as something hard crept into his gaze. She didn’t want to be obvious by turning to follow his stare, but something was up. She considered it: two people he knew but didn’t want to talk to. And obviously didn’t trust. In an art museum.

She inhaled sharply, nearly choking on her chicken salad. His brow creased with concern. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, and leaned across the table so he’d hear her whisper. “Are they art thieves?”

His long, dark lashes blinked in surprise. “Who?”

“The guys you’re watching. Do you think they’re planning a robbery?”

His lips curved upward. “You’re talking about the big leagues, honey. I don’t even know those kinds of people.”

“Then why do you keep looking at them?”

His expression was nonchalant as he made a dismissive gesture. “It’s nothing, just your self-appointed Colombian groupies. Guess they got that flat tire fixed.”

Her throat tightened again and all that carefully constructed sexual tension drained away. “They followed us here?”

“Apparently. I couldn’t be sure in the rain, but don’t worry, I’ll lose them once we leave.” He stroked her cheek. “Hey, you can trust me. They won’t be a problem.”

It had to be a sign of how far they’d come, because something made her believe him. “Okay.”

He beamed at her confidence, a sexy, riveting smile which pretty much restored most of her naughty thoughts.

Except for a few casual glances to keep track of their tail, she had his undivided attention as they toured the rest of the museum. Who knew a man’s hand lightly rubbing the back of her neck could be erotic? The old woman who stood next to her as Janet stared at a contemporary painting and moaned softly must have wondered what she was missing in the splatters of paint.

By the time they left the museum she was ready to suggest the nearest hotel, but he was still following some master plan of his own as he pulled back into the early evening traffic.

“We can have dessert at the house, as soon as I lose those goons behind us.” He drove with half his attention on the rearview mirror.

She decided he could handle the Colombians, and tried to concentrate on the rest of their evening. “I don’t need dessert.”

“I think you’ll want this dessert.”

If he’d planned it, this had to be something more than cake and ice cream. “What kind of dessert?”

“Whipped cream.”

A fluffy pile of calories she usually preferred to skip. “On what?”

“You.” He gave her a sly grin. “And me.”

“Oh.” She had to admit, it was intriguing. “I’ve never had that kind of dessert before.”

“I’m not surprised. That husband of yours looked a bit stiff—and I don’t mean where it counted.”

She held back a laugh, choosing to sound indignant instead. “Banner wasn’t the first man in my life. I have had some experience, you know.”

“I see. With whipped cream?”

“Well, no—”

“What? Handcuffs and whips?”

“No! I just meant I’m not, you know, naïve.” She thought about what he’d said and bit her cheek. Maybe she
was
naïve. “You aren’t into stuff like bondage, are you?”

He leered, making her heart skid in her chest. “Scared?”

“No.” She shifted in the bucket seat, considering how far she should trust him in this. According to Ellie, he’d dated a lot of women and was undoubtedly more experienced than she was. “Maybe.”

He reached over to squeeze her hand. “Just whipped cream, sweetheart. Nothing kinky. Unless you call licking it off your breasts kinky. Or following a line up your thigh, licking slowly until I get to the top. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure I get every last bit of cream— everywhere.” He turned his hot gaze on her.