Stolen Lust Page 10

  I tighten my fingers around my beer. “We?”

  “You need a double cylinder deadbolt and a peephole, plus an alarm and security gate,” he says, grabbing two pans from the hooks above the stove.

  “I know that.”

  He turns on two plates. Something dark slips into his tone, something angry. “Then why do you risk your safety?”

  “I’ll do it when I can afford to,” I say scathingly, not liking to flaunt my shortcomings, at least not in front of him.

  “Consider it done,” he says without as much as a blink.

  “What?” I stare at the the long hair that brushes one side of his jaw and the way his bicep flexes when he places the pans on the stove. “Why?”

  Leaning his palms on the counter, he gives me a sidelong look. “You shouldn’t fuck with your safety.”

  Ironic, coming from him. “Shouldn’t you be on the run instead of worrying about the non-existing deadbolt on my door?”

  He smiles. “Soon enough.”

  The gesture is beguiling. I blow out a breath when he busies himself with dicing onions.

  “Why do you do it?” I ask to his back.

  He adds olive oil to the pan. “Do what?” The onions he throws into the pan sizzle.

  “The heists.”

  He glances over his shoulder at me. “You Googled me.”

  I pick at the label on my bottle. “I read the news.”

  His cocky grin says he doesn’t believe me. “Admit it,” he says as he takes a bag of frozen potatoes from the freezer compartment. “You researched me.”

  Obstinately, I keep quiet.

  “It’s no big deal.” He tears the bag open and dumps the contents into the second pan. “I did the same.”

  My heart beats faster and not just because of surprise or shock. There’s also a spark of excitement, which I try hard to ignore.

  “Your high school photos are cute,” he says, turning the potatoes. “Why aren’t you on social media?”

  A smell of garlic fills the air. Despite the situation, my stomach grumbles, reminding me I only had a small salad and an apple for lunch. Even so, I don’t have an appetite. “I prefer to keep my personal life private.”

  The look he pins me with is so heated, I almost falter under his stare. “As I said before, my kind of girl.”

  The nuance of his words is disconcerting, or maybe I’m making too much of it. Still, I have to fight for composure. “You haven’t answered my question about the heists.”

  “Money.” He shrugs. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “There are other ways of getting money.”

  “Not this much money.”

  Curious, I can’t stop myself from asking, “Why do you need that much money? Don’t you have enough by now?” From what I’ve read in the news, he should be one of the wealthiest men in the world with the amount his gang has stolen.

  A bite of hardness sets into his tone. “One can never have enough.”

  “There are three of you.”

  His friendliness evaporates. “Your point is?”

  “Are they hanging around here too?” Are they waiting somewhere for him while he’s cooking me dinner?

  “Don’t worry, baby doll. It’s just us.” He starts scraping the carrots. “How do you like your curry?”

  “Medium, please.”

  He’s not adding chicken or meat. How does he know I’m vegetarian? Did he go through my food cupboards when he broke into my apartment? Where else did he snoop? My underwear drawers? The notion that he’s been in my private space shakes me anew.

  “The food should be done in twenty. Why don’t you set the table? There’s wine in the cupboard.”

  I hop from the stool to do as I’ve been told, watching him from under my lashes as he slices carrots and celery. When he adds the spices, the rich fragrance of curry fills the air. He stirs in a can of chickpeas and coconut milk that he thickens with flour. While he cooks, he cleans, so by the time the food is ready, the kitchen is as spotless as when he started.

  He dishes up two plates and carries them to the table. With a dishcloth thrown over his shoulder, he looks strangely domesticated.

  “Sit,” he says.

  I take a seat, and he puts a plate of vegetable curry and garlic potatoes in front of me. The sun won’t set for another hour still, but he lights a red candle and places it in the center of the table before opening the wine. It’s one of my favorite reds, a fact that shakes me as much as the ambience he’s creating.

  “How did you know?” I ask, motioning at the wine he pours into my glass.

  He doesn’t miss a beat. “I saw you at the restaurant.”

  My heart jerks in my chest. That he noticed me is bad enough. Much worse is that he paid attention to what I was eating and drinking—a beer on arrival, the same brand he just served me, and a veggie burger with a glass of red wine. What am I supposed to make of that? The restaurant was busy. It took a long time for the main meal to arrive after our beers had been served.

  “How long were you watching me?” I ask with my heart in my throat.

  He throws the dishcloth over one of the chairs and takes the seat opposite me. “Long enough.”

  The revelation is huge. The shock rattles me. My brain clings to the possibility that I’m misunderstanding.

  “Why did you take Mint’s car, Ian?” When he only continues to look at me with a shuttered expression, I say, “The tank of your truck was full. The police told me.”

  Silence.

  He didn’t need me to nurse him. His friends could’ve taken care of him. That only leaves one explanation. I don’t want to think of it, not now when I’m here—trapped—and I can’t get away.

  The heat of his palm as he cups my hand on the tabletop startles me.

  “Eat,” he says. “Your food is getting cold.”

  I pull away, freeing my hand from underneath his. He doesn’t immediately draw back. He lets his hand rest there for a moment, in my space, before slowly retracting to pick up his knife. It’s a message. All the space is his, even—no, especially—my personal space.

  He regards me from under thick, dark lashes as he scoops vegetables onto his fork and lifts it to his mouth. He chews and swallows, all the while watching my face. “It’s good. You should try it.”

  It’s not the promise of tastiness that compels me to obey, but the warning that tightens his eyes and darkens his tone.

  Swallowing, I pick up my cutlery.

  “Told you,” he says, spearing a wedge of potato, “I don’t bite.”

  To prevent myself from having to answer, I stuff potatoes into my mouth. If I ignore the tightness of my stomach and the nauseating rawness of my nerves, the food will probably be good. I swallow down the bite I’d taken with a gulp of wine and, under his unwavering attention, try the curry. The spices and sweetness of the coconut register on my tastebuds, but it’s mechanical. I don’t appreciate the taste of the food. I’m too focused on the question that runs on repeat through my mind.

  “Why did you bring me here, Ian?”

  Lowering his eating utensils, he looks me straight in the eye. “Because I want to fuck you again.”

  Chapter 10

  Ian

  Because I want to fuck you again.

  There. I’ve said it.

  I’ve given her the truth she’s been grappling with since I confessed to having noticed her at Sun City. Notice is too light a term. Stalking is more like it.

  We’d been hanging around the poker area close to the cashiers where people cash in their chips when I saw her. Long, platinum-blond hair, baby-blue eyes, a face like an angel, and a body combined to make a man commit unimaginable sins. Dressed in leather and jeans, she was all sex and sass. She was everything I’ve ever considered beautiful, too good to be true.

  I wanted her, all of her, to touch and smell and taste every inch of her skin. A goddamn goddess. The prick with her was talking about himself, waving his money in her face as if someone like her could be
bought.

  When they’d gotten up, I’d followed. The twat had made her pay for her own meal, and worse, made her contribute to fuel money. I was ready to pop him right there. If not for our plan, I probably would’ve dragged him outside by his ear and slapped him around first. Things had already started going south for Leon’s plan when she walked out in her fuck-me heels, but when she put the asshole who insulted her in his place, our carefully crafted plan was screwed.

  I was a goner.

  I wasn’t going to let her get away.

  Not even a bullet could keep me away from her. I moved too early and everything went haywire. Leon and Ruben left with the money, and I went after the woman I wanted more than the money. The rest was better than any wet dream. She’d been everything and more. I’ll never get enough. The fact that I’m back here says as much.

  I couldn’t make myself leave after I dropped her off at her apartment. Instead, I drove into town and bought a new phone. After that, I did the only thing I could. I drove to a hardware store and bought a key for her door. I’d checked her key number, C31, when I went through her bag. I own that number. I could’ve simply picked the lock, but having a key feels more intimate. Picking a lock is for thieves. The objective is valuables or money. Exchanging a key is for lovers. It’s a free pass to sex.

  It’s fucked-up. That I got hard when I fisted my fingers around that key says a lot about the man I am. That I risked it back inside Cas’s building says a lot about how badly I want her.

  At the store exit, I grabbed a stack of promotional brochures and waited behind the trees across the road from her building. Soon after, an old lady entered the building. I sneaked up behind her under the pretense of doing a brochure mailbox drop and got a look at the code she entered to open the door.

  When the old lady was gone, I let myself in. A termination of lease contract notice due to failure of payment was stuck on Cas’s door. I almost ripped it off, but she was going to find out one way or another, so I ignored the paper and invaded her privacy.

  I’m not going to lie. I went through her clothes and underwear. I know the color and smell of every piece of lace she owns. I know she eats a lot of vegetables and fruit, and that she has yoghurt and fruit for breakfast. I know the only perfume she wears is the Jo Malone orange blossoms I smelled on her and that she keeps a pink vibrator in her nightstand drawer.

  She knows things too, and I guess that makes us even. She knows why I pulled them over—her and that fucker who treated her like shit—instead of some other random person. She knows why I got shot. I see it in her pretty, baby doll eyes as her gaze flickers for the briefest moment to my injured shoulder. I took that bullet for her, for the white-hot pleasure of sinking my cock inside her tight, perfect body.

  My brother calls it crazy. Ruben says it’s pussy fever because I haven’t gotten laid for so long, but it’s a lot worse than either of them can imagine. It’s obsession. Plain and stark.

  She knows, and she’s not handling the facts very well. Her porcelain skin is paler than usual. If not for the berry-red lipstick on her lips, I’d find them a pale pink like on her high school photos. Are her nipples the same peachy shade of blush? My cock hardens at the thought. I’ve yet to unwrap her tits. I refrained the last time I had her pinned to a table underneath me because I’m a masochist like that. I believe in always leaving a little something for later.

  I gauge her wide eyes and parted lips. “Eat up. It’s almost time for your medication. You need to line your stomach.”

  “I want to go home,” she whispers.

  I give her the truth. “You will.”

  The column of her throat moves as she swallows. “When?”

  When I’ve fucked her six ways from Sunday. “When I’m ready.” Dragging her plate closer, I cut her potatoes into bite-sized pieces. “There,” I say when I’m done. “Tell me about your day.”

  She stares at her plate as if she can’t figure out what to do with the food. “What?”

  “Did you take a couple of days off?” After what I did, her employer most probably gave her the whole week.

  “Why are you asking?” She regards me with mistrust as she spears a piece of potato. “Are you interested?”

  She can’t begin to imagine. I want to know everything about her, every little detail I can get my hands on.

  I lean back in my chair and take a sip of wine. More truth spills from my mouth. “Yes.”

  She drags the fork around her plate and finally takes a bite. I cease the questions to let her eat. Having wine with her medication isn’t recommended, but I pour her another glass. She needs to relax. It’s not as if she’s driving. Let’s face it. She’s not going anywhere. Not for a whole, long night. The knowledge makes me lightheaded. Having her here with me is worth every risk I’m taking. Fuck, I’ll happily go to jail for one more night with her.

  After the heist, Cas and I only had a few hours, and there are so many things I’d like to do with her. I want to take my time with her body, getting to know what turns her on and the sounds she makes when she comes.

  The moans and gasps of a woman are an aphrodisiac for me. I like my bed partners loud. Cas was quiet during our first time, but she had good reason for swallowing her sounds. She was frightened.

  However, her enthusiasm and small perverse acts, like the way she didn’t close her legs when we were done, had floored me. A woman right after my heart. She’d bowled me over, unknowingly only strengthening my intention to have her again.

  One last time.

  It has to be. This is my farewell. The time I’m stealing from her is a gift to myself. I may not mind paying the price for another night with her, but I can’t let Leon down. He’s not level-headed enough to execute the heist stunts without me, and we’re too far down the road for him to change careers.

  I give her enough time to eat half of the food on her plate before I press the issue again. “What did you do today, Cas?”

  The emphasis on her name is soft but demanding, telling her I’m not letting her off the hook.

  She swallows, takes another sip of wine, and leaves her cutlery in her plate. Her shrug is nonchalant. “Nothing special.”

  I narrow my eyes.

  The silent threat works. She utters an endearing little sound of frustration and parts those luscious, bee-stung lips. “I went job hunting.”

  I’ve pulled every record on her I could. She’s been working at a bank as a teller for the past three years. “You resigned?”

  She shifts in her chair. Something is off. With the cost of her medication, she can hardly pay her bills. The termination of lease contract notice is proof of that. She wouldn’t have left her job before securing another.

  I watch her carefully. “Didn’t you like your job?”

  She shrugs again. “My boss fired me.”

  “Fired you?” I hardly keep the surprise from my voice. “Why?” The bank website has an employee of the month section, and she’s been nominated several times.

  Toying with her napkin, she says, “He said I was a security risk.”

  The light bulb goes on. Son of a bitch. I grip the glass so hard I have to make a conscious effort to relax my fingers lest I shatter the stem. “He thinks I held you hostage for information.”

  She must be sensing the fury that runs shallow under my control, because she addresses me in a placating tone. “It’s standard procedure.”

  I slam the glass down on the table, making a few drops of wine spill over the rim. “Do not defend that motherfucker.”

  She flinches. “He just followed protocol.” Her voice is a little softer, as if she thinks my anger is directed at her. “I had a lawyer friend go over the contract.”

  Right. She didn’t deserve that. No matter. I’ll fix it. Using years of practiced skill, I suppress the urge to go find that fucker right now and make him pay for being an asshole. I get a handle on the violence flowing through my veins and control my anger. I own it, until I’m able to speak again.


  My tone is calm, my voice soft as I ask, “Any luck?”

  “Not yet,” she says, regarding me like someone would watch an oil drill on the verge of exploding.

  She won’t have much luck around here. It’s a small town. With the current economic situation, not many businesses are hiring. “What are your plans?”

  “Maybe I’ll try in Johannesburg.”

  I don’t like the sound of that. I don’t like not knowing where she lives or where she works. “Finish your dinner,” I say, keeping the order kind.

  Obediently, she takes her fork and continues to pick at her food. While she’s eating, I enjoy the view. I take the time to study her eyes like I couldn’t at the hideout. I memorized the lines of her face and the perfect shape of her eyebrows while she’d been sleeping.

  Like a creep, I’d sat on the bed and took in the shape of those lips and the lashes that brushed her cheeks. I’d imagined those lips on my body and most of all around my cock. I’m still hungry for her eyes, so I take in the color as the daylight fades and candlelight plays over her face.

  Her eyes are large and slightly slanted. A soft hint of violet reflects from the depth of the blue, making her irises shine like tanzanite, the rarest gemstone on the planet. Framed by those platinum waves, she looks like my sister Zoe’s doll before Zoe cut off the hair believing it was going to grow back.

  Cas’s skin is spotless and pale like bone china with a peachy hue that colors her cheeks. I already know that skin is soft like chamois under my fingers. A skin like that had to bruise easily. If she were mine, I’d make damn sure there was never a bruise on her. The fading red lines around her wrists from the handcuffs I’d used still bothers me as much as the persistent pain in my shoulder, but I don’t look away from the sight. I made those marks. I own them, just like I own my regret. I can’t fix those temporary imperfections, but they’ll fade. I can’t get her back her job, but the offshore account I had set up for her will make up for her losses.