A Burning Obsession Page 12

  “That’s when they caught you?”

  “No, I always have another bolt-hole, duplicate getaway transportation and a spare passport.”

  “So what happened?”

  “I jumped from the roof of the villa to the garage apartment next door. One of the Shey Group’s men tried to follow me. He slipped.”

  “How high were you?”

  “Forty-five feet.”

  “The other man fell?” she guessed.

  “Almost. He was swinging by one hand, but it was obvious he’d broken the other hand in the leap. He couldn’t pull himself up.”

  “What happened to his partner?”

  “He tried to throw him a line but with only one working arm—”

  “He couldn’t let go of the roof to catch the line?”

  “Exactly. I couldn’t just leave him there to fall to his death. I helped him up.”

  “And that’s when you got caught?”

  “Yeah. Police carted me off, but Logan Kincaid pulled some strings. He told the police that it was a training exercise for his men, that’s why I’d turned back to help and hadn’t kept running because I was one of them. And since the jewel was returned to its rightful owner, I was free to leave. But I made Kincaid a promise that if he needed a favor…so that’s why I’m here.”

  “How come you turned back and helped that man on the roof? Did you know you’d get caught?”

  “I’m a thief. Until then, no one had ever suffered so much as a scratch during my heists. And don’t make me out to be any hero. If I’d known I’d be caught, I might not have turned back. And then I wouldn’t have made Kincaid that promise and we wouldn’t have met.”

  “Why did you tell me all of this?”

  “Because I’m hoping you’ll trust me.”

  DID SHE trust him? Kimberly didn’t know. He’d lied to her from the start and she couldn’t suppress her anger at his duplicity. On the other hand, she wanted to fling herself into his arms and make him promise not ever to take such foolish risks again. She shuddered every time she thought of him dropping down the outside of the building onto her balcony as easily as most men walked through the front door.

  “Tell me something, Jason.”

  “If I can.”

  In his black shirt, pants and dark boots, he’d dressed for secrecy, but it was his burning blue eyes that signaled his middle name should have been Danger. Sitting as still as a caged tiger, there was an electrical tension in the snap of his expression, in the set of his chin, in the angle of his jaw that spoke to her on a level she didn’t even want to admit to, never mind analyze.

  But she must.

  “Tell me how and why you became a thief.”

  “The how is easy. Like many wealthy Bostonian parents, my folks thought children should be seen and not heard—and the less I was seen, the better.” He shot her a mocking expression, almost as if daring her to challenge his statement and she couldn’t imagine what kind of deviltry he’d gotten into as a child. Or how any parents could ignore the charming rascal. “So I took to hanging out with the gardener, the chauffeur and the chef,” he continued. “One night during a celebration party to announce my father’s latest coup in the financial world, I caught the chauffeur rifling through my mother’s jewelry.”

  “Did you feel betrayed?”

  “He was only doing what I wanted to do. My mother had magnificent jewelry—maybe not museum quality, but heirlooms passed down from European nobility.”

  “Your mother never let you look at her jewelry?” Kimberly recalled playing dress-up, using her mother’s cosmetics, prancing around in her high heels, wearing her father’s shirt that came down to her ankles, him teaching her to knot his ties.

  “I wasn’t so much as allowed in the master wing.”

  “But you were there to catch the chauffeur?”

  He grinned that charming grin that shot straight to her heart. She could hear between his words, the ones he didn’t speak. A child banned from the master wing? A kid whose parents didn’t want to see him around the house?

  Jason chuckled, reached over for a cookie, and popped it into his mouth. “He taught me a string of curse words I’d never heard before.”

  “And then?”

  “I agreed not to turn him in—if he would teach me the trade. For a long time, we made a great team. As a child, no one suspected me of being a pick-pocket. I had the freedom to scout out upstairs bedrooms of the homes we visited. It didn’t take long to learn how and where to look at security systems and if I couldn’t find one, I simply asked the household help.”

  “And they told you?”

  “No one suspects children of wealthy parents.” He frowned at her. “Don’t look like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like I was abused. I had the most marvelous childhood. It was challenging, exciting. Fun.”

  “What happened to the chauffeur?”

  His face turned expressionless and his eyes darkened with regret. “Charles died of cancer when I was fourteen. He left me his picks and extensive library, a who-owns-what in the world of stones and the best electronic books money could buy. Except for a stint in the military, I’ve been on my own ever since.”

  “You worked for the military?” She couldn’t imagine him taking orders.

  He tilted his jaw at a cocky angle. “Every organization can use a good thief. You think only the Russians steal classified information?”

  She sighed. “I suppose not.”

  No wonder the man had unbuttoned her shirt without her realizing it. Hell, he could probably remove her underwear and hang it from a flagpole before she’d notice.

  She’d made love with a thief. A man who made his living stealing.

  “What? What are you thinking?”

  “I don’t suppose you’ve ever thought of working for the other side of the law?”

  He raised an eyebrow, his gaze twinkling. “Kincaid’s hinted that he could use a man with my unique talents.”

  “But?”

  “Until now, I haven’t had a reason to change my ways.”

  “Until now?” She swallowed the lump that had suddenly risen in her throat.

  “Until I met you.”

  Her heart slammed into her ribs and stole her breath. “What do I have to do with your career decisions?”

  He winked at her as if being a wanted man on five continents was as insignificant as swatting a mosquito. “I might go straight for you, Kimberly, darling. At least while we’re together.”

  9

  KIMBERLY HAD NEVER met a man so outrageously confident. She told herself she should be furious that Jason had lied to her. And yet, she couldn’t help but admire his audacity. Many children in his situation would have grown up hurt and resentful of their parents’ lack of attention. But the rogue had described his life as fun and exciting.

  And in just the tiniest part of her, Kimberly was envious. Because Kimberly had always played it safe. Sure, she’d accompanied her parents on a few missions as a kid, but once she’d reached age ten, they’d decided she should stay home with her aunt. They hadn’t wanted to risk her future, but had their insistence that she refuse all risks seeped into other parts of her life? Especially, after her parents had died in that “accident,” she’d played by the rules and worked hard to attain her goals. Not until Jason had challenged her to try the love scenes with him had she ever really just let go and done exactly what she wanted—and damn the consequences.

  And look where that had gotten her. Making love with Jason—a liar and a thief. In a gigantic mess. Her body lusting for a man in a dangerous profession like the one that had taken her parents from her, her mind in a tangle of knots that had a stranglehold on her emotions.

  And she didn’t know whether to shout at him, slap him or sleep with him. All her life she’d felt as though she’d been in control of her decisions, her emotions and her choice of partners, but had she played it safe because her parents had asked that of her? Was safe and practical th
e way she wanted to remain? She was way out of her box here, so far she didn’t know if she could ever be the same again. And changing terrified her, especially because she found it so appealing.

  Despite the lies and heartache, she didn’t regret making love with him this afternoon. And now the passion between them had erupted into anger—at him, at herself, at life for throwing twists at her before she’d nailed down the premise. She blamed him for shredding her nice, safe compartmentalized life, for showing her that she found danger exciting. She shoved off the bed and stalked over to him where he straddled the chair.

  “What exactly are you saying? That you won’t steal while I’m with you?”

  He nodded.

  “And if we’re not together?”

  “Then you’ll have no say in my life.”

  “If I send you on out of here, I won’t feel responsible if you continue to break the law. That’s emotional blackmail, and I’m not playing your games.” She called his bluff. Pointed to the door. “Go on, leave.”

  “No.” He popped a grape into his mouth. She couldn’t make him, and when he tossed her a grape, she automatically caught it. “Go ahead. Eat. They’re great.”

  She hurled the grape at his chest in disgust. “Fine. If you won’t leave, then I’ll find another room.” Like that would stop him from following. “Another hotel.”

  “You need me.”

  Of all the nerve. She pivoted on her heel, pulled out her suitcase and haphazardly tossed in clothes.

  “You need me to pull off your research on stealing the Gypsy Rose Vase.”

  “No, I don’t. I have it all figured out.” She’d meticulously researched her script. Although she’d never visited the museum in Wales, she had pictures, building specs and diagrams. All she had to do was verify that the item could be stolen the way she’d written the scene—just as she’d done with the Book of Celts.

  She frowned, remembering how everything had gone wrong. How Jason had rescued her. But she wouldn’t need him this time.

  Jason popped another grape into his mouth. “Two months ago, the Welsh Museum moved the vase to their new wing.”

  “What?” Was this another trick? She glared at him, furious at how handsome he looked in black, angry that he could so unconcernedly eat grapes while her emotions felt as skittish as droplets of oil on a hot skillet.

  “The new wing has upgrades. Electronics. Surveillance. Guards on every corridor during daylight hours.”

  “But that will ruin…” She glared at him. “How do you know?”

  “It’s my business to know. After I read your script I made a few phone calls, did some research. As I said, you need me.”

  “Maybe I’ll just call off my plans.”

  “There’s always a way around the new systems. Luckily, the security is computerized and that’s only as good as the programmer.”

  “And no doubt you know how to bypass the defenses?”

  “I might.”

  “Since you’re such an accomplished thief, how do I know you didn’t steal the Book of Celts?”

  “I only steal jewels.”

  Her heart sped up. “And you’re willing to help me out?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Folding her arms over her chest, she glared at him, not buying his innocent charm. “What are you asking for in return?”

  “Why nothing more than helping you through the next love scene.”

  She should have known. She’d left herself wide open for that suggestion. And he was the kind of man who didn’t just take advantage of an opening, he created them, then stepped through to claim whatever he sought.

  She hadn’t even thought about writing the next love scene, never mind enacting it. She needn’t go through with this bargain at all. Just like she didn’t intend to steal the Gypsy Vase, she didn’t really have to make love. Except that she wanted to.

  She really, really needed to make love with this man until she didn’t want him anymore. Why not take another walk on the wilder side of life? Take a risk? Make wild, passionate love just because she craved his mouth on hers, his flesh against hers? Somehow being far from home, away from everyone and everyplace familiar made coming out from behind her conservative walls a little easier. But she feared that once those barriers came down, she couldn’t raise them back up.

  Yet, here was the most handsome man she’d seen in a long time, offering his body up to her, proffering his skills. However, she wanted more than lovemaking, she wanted emotional intimacy. She wanted sharing and caring as well as X-rated lust. He was reaching out to her by telling her about his mission, about his past and what he really did for a living. And he’d offered to change for the time they were together. That was a start upon which she could build. All she had to do was say yes—and she could reach for everything her heart desired.

  But, the words stuck in her throat. She had to be crazy to stay in the same room with him after what he’d told her. He’d violated her trust in the most fundamental way and…she wanted him.

  She wanted to press her palms against his black shirt and feel his heart accelerate as she lifted her mouth to his for a kiss. She wanted to tug off his boots, peel him out of those snug pants and spend the night together on the big Irish four-poster bed.

  She raised her hands to her hot cheeks wondering what the hell was wrong with her. She was tired of weighing and rationalizing and analyzing. She was tired of trying to think four steps ahead when he could think eight.

  Before she could change her mind, before she came to her senses, she took a deep breath and let out the air in a rush of excitement. “Okay.”

  “Good.”

  And as long as she was so foolishly agreeing to this bargain, she might as well cast aside her other inhibitions. “We should seal this agreement with a kiss.”

  He tugged her to him. “I like the way you think.”

  And finally her palms were on that black shirt, his heat seeping through the cotton into her fingers. She clutched his shirt, yanking him closer, her eyes open and locked with his.

  “Am I making the biggest mistake of my life?”

  “Are you calling me a mistake?”

  She didn’t bother answering his question. “You’d better be worth it, mister. Kiss me.”

  JASON KISSED HER, the kiss all the sweeter for how close he’d come to losing her. It had been touch and go there, and for a while, he hadn’t known which way she would decide. With her in his arms once more, he had the opportunity to show her that the decision she’d made was a good one.

  He had every intention of savoring this precious time with her to the fullest. Kimberly was so different from the women he usually met. Cautious on the outside but full of a zest for life on the inside, she seemed a mass of contradictions. She rarely let down those walls except through her writing; her screenplay was chock-full of danger and excitement. And she was so careful to keep barriers between them—except when they kissed or made love. She was full of interesting inconsistencies that fascinated him as much as her delectable mouth, her green tilted eyes and her sunny smile.

  He inhaled her fragrance, a mixture of soap and a feminine scent all her own. To him, she tasted like the most delicate ambrosia, and, as he realized again how close he’d come to losing her, he tightly and carefully closed his arms around her shoulders.

  Never before had he admitted his true profession to a woman. That he had done so for her had shocked him into realizing that she was even more special than he’d believed.

  He let his fingers trace their way up her neck and into her thick blond hair, and he reveled in how she pressed against him, boldly giving and taking until he was forced to draw back. Her eyes had dilated and the vivid green glittered like a black opal. Her breath came in gulps and the pulse at the delicate juncture between neck and collarbone beat erratically.

  He considered whether or not to kiss her again. If he did, he might not find the fortitude to pull away, but despite their making up, he sensed she needed time to come to grips
with all that he’d revealed. So he shifted his pack from his back and removed his laptop.

  She watched his every move as if she’d expected him to pull a rabbit from his pack instead of a computer. “What are you doing?”

  “We only have two days in Wales. One for surveillance. One to steal the Gypsy Rose Vase.”

  “Remember, we aren’t really going to steal it.”

  “No problem. I specialize. It’s jewels that speak to me, not glass.”

  “Jewels speak to you?”

  He unzipped his laptop case. “Each stone possesses its own individual characteristics; rarity, hardness, origin and beauty.”

  “From your tone, you sound as if you’re speaking about women, not inanimate objects.”

  “Jewels are far less trouble than women.”

  “Is that so?”

  “They can be appreciated, complimented and caressed with no chance of causing offense.”

  “True.”

  The amusement in her voice didn’t stop him from drawing further comparisons. “Jewels can almost always be counted on in an emergency to hold their value and are usually judged by objective criteria.”

  “I rather thought beauty to be a subjective concept.”

  “You have a point. Precious stones are valued by size, clarity and hardness but also by a combination of fact and fantasy, history, fashions, superstition and reality not to mention those with fantastic origins which can have magical and medicinal properties. But we need to talk about the vase—unless you’d prefer to go after—”

  “No. I don’t want to do a major rewrite. Historically, the Gypsy Rose Vase was given to a lady by her Gypsy lover. It’s a perfect metaphor to mirror the story in my script. Besides…”

  “What?”

  “Quinn likes the story the way it is. If I make too many changes, I take a risk of him changing his mind.”

  “Does he do that often?”

  She shrugged. “Quinn is brilliant and decisive. And he knows how to put a project together with the best people in the business. This isn’t just my chance to sell an option. Quinn has the power not only to buy the screenplay, but to produce the film.”