The Art of Stealing Forever (10 page)

St.
Clair looks reluctant. “I
don’t
want to separate…”

I
don’t
either, but we don’t
have time. “What
other option do we have?”

He
looks torn, but concedes. “Okay,
but if you hear anything, call me right away.”

He
heads back into the storage areas, and I turn back to the gallery.
It’s
a dark maze of interconnected rooms. I creep around, trying to stay
in the shadows and low to the ground. Even knowing the cameras aren’t
tracking me, I’m
still nervous, my heart racing every time my feet make the slightest
noise. I creep around from room to room until I see it: St. Clair’s
painting.

“I
found it!”
I
call him on the earpiece. “It’s
in the Martinique room, they’ve
already hung it.”

“Is
the crate there?”

I
cast my eyes around the room, studying the shapes in the shadows.
“Yes,
it’s
in the corner.”

“Good
work.” I
hear him let out a breath of relief. “On
my way.”

I
move over to the crate, checking for the secret compartment where St.
Clair hid the forgery. Every second that ticks past, my panic grows.
The guards could come soon, they could find St. Clair before he gets
to me. We need to swap the paintings and get gone
– now.

I
have a buzzing feeling in my gut that something is about to go wrong.
Stay
calm, Grace. Don’t
panic.

I
run my hands over the inside of the crate, checking for a lever or
catch. There.

I
pull it open, and find the rolled-up canvas tucked inside. I lift it
free, and turn to check the door—

And
the canvas roll in my arms brushes up against a painting on the wall.

Oh.
Shit.

Red
lights start flashing in the ceiling. It must have triggered some
alarm. My heart stops. I freeze, but it’s
too late. A metal security grille comes down from the ceiling,
banging onto the floor like a prison door that’s
just been slammed
– barring
my exit.

I’m
trapped.

I
rattle the heavy grille, but it doesn’t
shift. Pounds of metal stand between me and freedom.

Don’t
panic, don’t
panic, don’t
panic
,
repeats over and over in my head. Good advice but I’m
having a hard time listening. The next thought is slightly more
comforting:
St.
Clair will figure something out
.

But
what if he doesn’t?
Or what if we both get caught?

“Grace!”
St.
Clair yells from my earpiece. “Grace,
hello, are you there?”

I’m
ashamed of my mistake and terrified, but I find my voice. “I’m
here.”

“Thank
God.” I
hear the relief in his voice. “Talk
to me. What’s
going on?”

“I’m
trapped in the display room with the paintings.”

“What?
How? I didn’t
hear an alarm.”

“It
didn’t
sound,” I
say, fighting to keep the tremble out of my voice. “But
the security grille fell. I can’t
get out.”
I
feel the tears starting to well up behind my eyes.

How
could I have been so stupid?

St.
Clair’s
answer is quick. “Don’t
panic, Grace. I’m
coming for you right now.”

“No,
don’t,”
I
protest. “You
have to get out of here before the guards come.”

Silence.

“Charles?
Please, just go! Take Crawford’s
painting and get out of here while you can.”

My
earpiece remains silent. Maybe he’s
already gone.

Tears
fall as I stand there feeling useless and stupid. If my mom could see
me now, what would she say? What would Nona say? That I let my heart
override my head. And now I’m
going to be arrested, my whole life forever altered.

I
hear footsteps in the outer gallery and fight back a sob. The guards.
Of course they would have been alerted to the alarm.

I
turn with my hands up, bracing myself, but instead of an angry guard,
it’s
St. Clair.

“I
told you to go,”
I
protest.

“And
there’s
no way in hell I’m
leaving you.”
St.
Clair smiles, but underneath it he looks fierce. He tests the bars,
then moves around, checking the wall for hinges or a security panel
with a release button.

“Please,
someone will come,”
I
beg him, as the lights keep flashing red. “This
is my fault, all of it. I was the one who talked you into going after
Crawford. You can’t
go down because I messed up.”

St.
Clair doesn’t
stop. “We’re
in this together,”
he
vows. “Do
you hear me, Grace? I’m
not leaving you. Ever.”

I
catch my breath, overwhelmed. He means it. He would stay here and get
carted off to jail, all because of me.

Any
last doubts or insecurities I had about him evaporate.

He’s
willing to risk it all for me.

St.
Clair levers open the security panel on the wall, and plugs in his
device. He works furiously at the keypad, trying a dozen different
things, and all the while, I’m
waiting for the thunder of angry footsteps, and the guards to come
charging in.

“Got
it,”
he breathes.

Suddenly,
the lights stop flashing. The grille begins to rise.

Relief
and gratitude flood through me. I gape. “What
did you do?”

“Everything
I could. The alarm system must have been faulty –
the
alert never transmitted along the system. That’s
why the alarms didn’t
sound.”

A
lucky break. God, I can’t
believe it. St. Clair ducks under the rising metal bars and sweeps me
into a fierce embrace. I cling to him, so glad to have him here with
me. A man who would sacrifice his own safety for mine. He didn’t
give up on me.

He
didn’t
walk away.

St.
Clair kisses me passionately, then pulls back. “Come
on, let’s
get you out of here.”

I
let him lead me towards the exit, then I remember. “The
painting!”

“Never
mind that.”
St.
Clair shakes his head, but I stand firm.

“I
have the fake one, right here.”
I
pick it up from the top of the crate. “We
can’t
have this whole night be for nothing.”

To
come so close, and leave empty-handed…I
know I should want to put as much distance as possible between myself
and this building, but there’s
a stubborn streak, demanding that we get what we came for.

St.
Clair’s
jaw flexes, and his eyes flash, but he nods, quickly closing the
crate back up so it looks untouched, and then dragging me out of the
room. This time, I have to run to keep up. I can feel the tension
radiating from his body, and I have a sinking feeling it’s
because of me.

He’s
disappointed, and probably angry. I nearly got us caught.

St.
Clair swipes us into the storage room again, and swiftly switches out
the paintings. He doesn’t
even look at me, just goes about his task with total focus: freeing
Crawford’s
original from the frame, and substituting his own forgery in its
place. In a few moments, it’s
done: the paintings traded, and nobody will be the wiser.

He
rolls the original painting under his arm. “We’re
out of time,”
he
growls at me. “Hurry.”

I
follow him out the way we came, ducking past the booth where the
guards are now yelling at the TV screens, the volume blaring,
everyone totally captivated by the game. A few more steps, and then
there’s
the door: freedom.

St.
Clair yanks me through it, and down the alleyway, until we disappear
into the shadows.

My
heartbeat just about returns to normal by the time we drop the
painting at a safe house and make it back to his apartment. The
terror has faded, and in its place is a rush of triumph and elation
so wild I feel invincible.

If
this is the adrenalin rush he gets from pulling off a heist, I can
understand it now.

“We
did it!” I
whoop, when we’re
safely inside, and nobody can see my grin. “Oh
my God, I can’t
believe we actually did it.”

St.
Clair crosses to the liquor cabinet and pours himself a whiskey. He
gulps it down in one swallow, then slams the glass on the table.

My
elation tremors. He looks furious, and I realize just how badly I
screwed up. I risked everything, put both our lives on the line with
my clumsy, amateur mistake.

“I’m
sorry,” I
whisper. “I
know I messed up, and you probably hate me right now, but we made it
out okay, and that’s
the most important thing. You were right, I never should have come—”

“But
you did.”
He
shoots me a look that stops me cold. “And
whose fault was that?”

My
heart plummets even more. “I
know, I talked you into it. It was a mistake.”
He
turns away and I edge closer. “Look
at me. Please?”

St.
Clair turns, and I can see the fury on his face.

I
shrink back. “I
should go,”
I
murmur miserably. “I’ll
go back to England, or America, whatever you want. I’m
sorry.”

“Will
you stop saying that?”
St.
Clair explodes. “You
have nothing to be sorry about. This whole debacle is my fault!”

I
pause, not understanding. “Charles—”

“I
can’t
believe I put you in danger like that.”
St.
Clair paces, his face stormy. “I
knew it was too dangerous, but I was arrogant, I thought it would be
a breeze. And then, when I saw you there behind those bars…fuck,
Grace, I’m
the one who’s
sorry. I’m
sorry I didn’t
take better care of you. I put our whole future on the line, and for
what?”

So
this is what it’s
about? He’s
angry at himself. He blames himself for what happened.

My
heart swells. “Don’t.”
I
tell him, placing a quieting hand on his arm.

“I’m
not a child or a fifties housewife, Charles. I don’t
need your permission to take action, and I knew what I was getting
into, I knew the risks involved. I
chose
to come along. I am responsible for me.”

“No,
but—”

“Listen,”
I
insist. “This
was my idea from the start. You can’t
wrap me in tissue paper and keep me safe from the world. I have to be
willing to face the consequences of my actions, and I am.”

St.
Clair doesn’t
look convinced. “I
won’t
do that again,”
he
warns me. “I
know you want to be a part of this life, but I meant it, I’m
quitting it all, and I’ll
never steal another thing if that’s
what it takes to keep you out of danger.”

I
slip my arms around him and rest my head against his chest. “I
think I’m
done with the heist lifestyle,”
I
admit. “My
nerves aren’t
up to it.”

He
laughs, a low rumble against my ear. “You
could have fooled me. You seemed so calm.”

“It
was all an act. I was freaking out inside.”

St.
Clair tilts my face up to him. “I’m
so, so sorry,” he
says again, fervently.

“It’s
okay. You came back for me.”
I
smile. “You
could have left me and saved your own skin, but you didn’t.”

“Never,”
St.
Clair vows. He kisses my palm, sending a little batch of shivers down
my spine. “I
love that you can still surprise me with your strength, Grace. You
were incredibly brave tonight.”

I
look down, sheepish.

“You
are unlike any woman I’ve
ever known.”
He
kisses my forehead.

I
can’t
help but light up at his words, but there’s
still something I need to know. “Why
did you come back for me? You could have gotten away.”

He
lifts my chin up to meet his eyes, those always shifting shades of
blue like a painting of an ocean. Right now it’s
a sea of love, and I am going to dive in. “I
will never leave you, Grace. Not for a painting or anything else. I
will always return to you, always. You are what matters most.”

My
heart swells at his words. “I
believe you.”

He
kisses me, his mouth fierce and hungry against mine. I sway into him,
adrenaline rushing through me, my need for him growing stronger and
more desperate with every insistent stroke of our tongues.

St.
Clair pushes me back against the wall, his hands roaming, already
tearing my clothes away. I grab at his shirt, pulling it open to
reveal his sculpted chest. Buttons go flying, fabric rips, but I
don’t
care. All that matters is our skin, together, the feel of his hard
body naked against mine. He grips my thighs and lifts me, wrapping my
legs around his waist. I can feel his cock, ready and pressing
against me, and I moan in sweet anticipation.

St.
Clair carries me over and lays me out on the dining table.

“What
a feast you’ll
be,” he
murmurs, peeling off my panties and tossing them aside so I’m
spread out, totally naked in front of him.

My
stomach twists, I shiver with lust.

“Don’t
move,” he
growls, placing my hands up above my head, and nudging my legs apart.
“Just
hold on.”

I
curl my hands over the edge of the table, bracing myself, but St.
Clair takes his time. He circles the table slowly, like an animal,
his eyes devouring me.

God,
he’s
sexy.

I
wriggle, impatient. I can feel his gaze like fire on my skin, and
with every passing second my heart pounds faster, my body aching for
his touch. I’m
naked, completely exposed, but in this moment I feel powerful.

He
needs me.

I
arch my back, jutting my breasts higher, and hear an appreciative
groan.

“You
belong in a gallery,”
he
breathes, trailing one hand over my breasts. Pleasure ripples through
me, but it’s
not enough. “A
masterpiece, for the whole world to worship.”

“You
mean, like this?”
I
lift my head and give him a teasing smile.

He
chuckles. “No,
this view is just for me.”

He
grips my ankles, and suddenly pulls me down the table toward him. My
breath comes out in a rapid pant. He lowers to his knees, cups my
ass, and buries his face between my thighs.