Thief of Hearts (20 page)

“No, no, the Picasso will be travelling with me. The purchase of that piece was all above board. It’s my other more precious cargo that I’ll be entrusting you with,” he answered, his gaze almost dismissive. When he looked back at me he was smiling again, all charm. “Now, might we discuss the matter of payment? I know, such a pesky topic when we could be chatting about our beloved artists, but I would like to come to an agreement on a figure.”

“Of course,” I answered as he picked up a pen and a piece of paper and scribbled something down. He slid it across the table to me. I picked it up and tried not to gape at the sum. He was going to pay us one hundred thousand pounds, or more specifically, he’d be paying whoever Stu convinced to do the job. Our money would be coming from the eventual sale of the painting.

I wondered why the Duke didn’t plan to take any of Renfield’s other pieces, but then, that was the beauty of the con. Rembrandt was probably the only artist in his collection that Alfie could successfully imitate, their styles being so similar. Renfield would probably never discover that the painting he owned was a fake, and if he did it could be years down the line.

I passed the paper to Stu and he nodded. “Looks about right.”

“Wonderful,” said Renfield. “Now, are you sure you both won’t join me in a drink to toast a successful arrangement?”

“I’ll take a whiskey if you have it,” said Stu and I resisted the urge to nudge him and remind him of Alfie’s warning. There was a calculation in his eyes, though, which led me to believe the drink was purposeful. Renfield’s attention came to me, that flirtatious grin back in place. “And you, Miss Jordan?” he asked expectantly.

“She’ll have a whiskey, too,” Stu answered for me. I wanted to grimace because I hated dark liquors, but I didn’t want to kick up a fuss and continued smiling my false smile. Renfield opened his cabinet, pulling out three glasses alongside an expensive-looking bottle of Scotch. He poured some for each of us and we toasted before taking a sip.

Ugh, I didn’t care how much it cost, it tasted disgusting. Where was a spittoon when you needed one?

“By the way, Miss Jordan, or can I call you Rebecca?” Renfield enquired, sidling up to me. He was several inches shorter, but unlike most men he seemed pleased by the fact. Over his shoulder I saw Stu shooting him a narrowed-eyed glare, lifting his glass to his mouth and knocking it all back before discreetly pouring himself another. Since Renfield was so focused on me he didn’t notice. I widened my eyes infinitesimally to try and urge him to act normal.

“Of course you can,” I replied.

“And you can call me Kenneth,” he continued. “Rebecca, the offer to view my Picasso still stands. In fact, I’d like to take you out to dinner sometime, too. What do you say?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it, trying to come up with a polite way to decline.

In the end I didn’t have to because Stu spoke for me, pointing his glass in the direction of my wedding ring. “She’s married.”

Damn, he really needed to stop sounding so angry or this whole meeting was going to go belly up pretty quickly.

“My apologies,” Renfield exclaimed. “I didn’t realise. Since you go by ‘Miss’ I just assumed—”

“No, it’s my fault. I’m newly married, and I still haven’t gotten used the whole ‘Mrs’ thing yet,” I joked. “I’m sure it’ll stick eventually.”

“Yes, yes, let’s hope,” said Renfield, tipping his glass to his mouth with a vague look of disappointment. This was
so
weird.

Renfield left my side and went to return the Scotch bottle to the cabinet. While his back was turned Stu plucked my still-full glass from my hand and downed it in one. When he was done he gave it back to me, and I had to admit I was impressed by his ability to down it so quickly. I was also glad not to have to drink it myself.

When Renfield brought his attention back to us I placed my empty glass down on the table and thanked him for the delicious drink.

“It really has been a pleasure to meet you,” I said.

“We’ll be in touch with dates and times for the transportation,” said Stu as Renfield led us to the door.

“Very well. And it was a pleasure to meet you both, too. Rebecca, if you ever get bored with that husband of yours, you know where to find me,” he said, casting a final appreciative glance my way. It made me feel a little ill, if I was being honest, and it wasn’t until we got to the car that I felt like I could breathe again.

Stu pulled away from the house as I undid the first two buttons on my blouse, feeling too hot. I also leaned forward, using the overhead mirror as I carefully removed my contact lenses, because they’d started to itch. After that we were quiet for a couple of minutes and my nerves slowly subsided.

“I can’t believe we pulled that off,” I said finally.

He didn’t respond, his jaw firm as he stared dead ahead. I thought maybe he was just trying to concentrate on driving, but then I noticed the stiff line of his shoulders and the way he fisted the steering wheel.

“Stu, are you all right?”

It took him a moment to answer. “Pervy old bastard had his eyes all over you,” he grunted.

My stomach tightened at his tone. I didn’t like it when he was angry.

“Well, you did say you hoped he’d be distracted by my outfit, and it worked to our advantage in the end, didn’t it? He believed us.”

“Doesn’t mean I’ve not still got half a mind to go back there and punch him in the face for coming onto you like that. I mean, I was sitting right there.”

“Stu. It’s not like I could do anything about it. We needed to keep him sweet.”

“You kept him a little too sweet, if you ask me.”

“Oh my God, now you’re just being ridiculous. And what was with you slugging back all that whiskey? Didn’t we agree we weren’t going to accept any offers of drinks?”

“It would’ve come across dodgy if we said no. You have a drink once the deal is done, that’s how it works.”

“But you didn’t just have one drink, you had at least three. I’m not even sure you should be driving.”

He scoffed at this. “I’m nowhere near drunk, luv. I would’ve had to down the entire bottle for that.”

His dismissive tone got my back up, and I folded my arms across my chest. Stu’s eyes followed the movement, lingering on the open buttons on my blouse. I made a show of doing them back up. His jaw worked as he focused back on the road.

“If I hadn’t cut in, would you have taken him up on his offer?” he asked gruffly.

“Are you being serious right now? He’s old enough to be my father.”

Stu shrugged. “Some women are into that. I’m sure Renfield would be more than happy to pay off your debts in exchange for a few nights with you.”

I gaped at him, outrage building. “That’s it. Let me out of the car. I’ll make my own way home.”

He ignored me and kept on driving.

“Stu! I mean it. Stop the car right now. I won’t sit here and listen to you talk to me like that.”

“No.”

I huffed out a breath. “Why are you acting so jealous? You don’t honestly believe I have any interest in Renfield, do you?”

“He can offer you a fuck of a lot more than I can.”

Was that insecurity behind his aggression?

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not interested in people for what I can gain from them. Although the fact you think I can be bought says a lot about how you see me,” I replied, my voice hard. His insinuation seriously infuriated me.

At this he let out a long, exasperated sigh. “That’s not . . . shit, Andrea, that’s not how I see you.”

“Then why did you say it?”

He ran a hand over his jaw. “Because I’m a dickhead.”

I didn’t say anything to that, because quite frankly I agreed with him. Stu continued driving, our argument at a standstill. I honestly couldn’t tell if he really believed I was flattered by Renfield’s interest, or if it was simply his jealousy making him speak out of turn. After a few minutes I realised he wasn’t going in the right direction for my flat.

“This is the wrong way. Where are we going?”

“Said I’d take you for a spin.”

“Well, I don’t want to go for a
spin
anymore. I want to go home.”

“Too bad.”

“Stu, turn this car around right now or I’m going to start shouting.”

“Just relax.”

“No, I won’t relax until you apologise for how you spoke to me just now.”

We were driving through a leafy area, one of London’s many parks, but I wasn’t familiar with the neighbourhood. Stu let out a growly sigh and pulled the car to a stop in an empty spot, shrouded from view by a number of bushes and tall trees. I didn’t see anyone about, but I imagined there’d be dog walkers and joggers happening by sooner or later.

“I’m sorry. I just . . . I hate it when other men look at you.” He sighed, and it sounded like it took a lot for him to admit it.

I was sure my expression portrayed my bewilderment. “Well, it’s a good thing men don’t look at me very often, and when they do it’s only because my outfit is so tight it’s fit to burst, and I’m wearing a blonde wig.”

I thought injecting some humour into the conversation might lighten things up a little. I was wrong.

“That’s bullshit. Kian’s constantly staring at you in class like a lovesick puppy. Gets on my nerves.”

“Not this again. Kian likes me as a teacher and I like him as a student. There’s nothing more to it. Besides, I thought you two were friends.”

“Yeah well, sometimes I want to tell my friends to stop mentally undressing my woman.”

I sucked in a breath, not knowing whether to continue being angry or to melt at him calling me his woman.

I wanted him.

But I also wanted to throttle him.

Admittedly though, I wanted him more than I wanted to throttle him.

And honestly, the way he looked at me made me feel weak. I felt like I was his and it had happened practically against my will. It was like waking up one day with red hair when you’d always been a blonde. You’re at a loss to explain how it happened.

He let out a gruff breath and dragged a hand through his locks, not looking at me as he spoke. “I feel like I’m not good enough for you sometimes, and seeing that posh prick flirt with you just hammered it home.”

“Stu, that’s ridiculous. You need to quit thinking that way. You also need to realise that I’m not interested in “posh pricks” like Renfield, I’m interested in you. Only you. And you’re definitely good enough.”

At this he unclipped both our seatbelts and pulled me to him, deftly dragging me onto his lap just like when we were in his car the other night. Only now we were in a BMW and there was a lot more room.

“You’re not invisible like you think you are,” he whispered, eyes holding mine intensely. “You’re beautiful. So beautiful. I
see
you.”

His fervent words took me off guard. He reached up and pulled off my wig before freeing my hair from the clip beneath. It fell long and heavy around my shoulders. “I see every gorgeous inch of you. Hold still,” he ordered, placing his hand around my neck to keep me from moving. His fingers dug into my throat, making me feel oddly vulnerable. With his other hand he caressed my cheek then tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, the touch reverent. He tipped my chin up so I was looking at him. “And these eyes are my favourite,” he went on, whispering now. “Never hide them, Andrea.”

My entire body tingled, my skirt hitched so high around my waist that my underwear was exposed. Stu’s breathing was fast, his arousal evident in the hardness that pressed against my inner thigh.

Again, I wanted him.

“You’re so infuriating,” I said, but my voice held no anger anymore, only desire.

“And you’re sexy. Come here.”

Stu took my chin, pulling my mouth to his for a hard, possessive kiss. My pulse skyrocketed. One half of me wanted to tell him to stop, to let me get back into my seat so he could drive me home. The other half—
the half that was winning
—wanted his hands all over me. We kissed like two people starved for air. I gripped his shirt, then started undoing it button by button. Once I had enough of them free I slid my hands over his chest, feeling every hard, muscular inch of him.

His mouth smiled around our kiss. “Gonna let me return the favour, luv?”

I shivered at the idea of him feeling me like I was feeling him right then. My breasts ached for it. “Yes, touch me. Please.”

Stu squeezed my hips, running his fingers up my thighs before bringing them to my blouse. He had it open in seconds, and before I knew it he’d unclipped my bra and my breasts were bare.

“Perfect,” he murmured, moulding them with his hands and pinching my nipples. I grew slick and ready, a delicious friction building between my underwear and his trousers. I moved my hips, rubbing against his hard length a little more aggressively than I intended. In spite of the larger front seat, my backside hit off the dashboard, pressing on a button and causing the radio to come to life.
Hounds of Love
by The Futureheads blared from the speakers.

Stu chuckled but he didn’t let me pull away, even though I was a little embarrassed. The song was weirdly appropriate, the volume so loud it was surely going to attract attention, even with all the windows closed. I tried to reach for the buttons to turn it off but Stu pulled me back to him.

“Leave it,” he growled, like he couldn’t stand the idea of breaking our kiss for even a second. He cupped either side of my face and kissed me with such passion I felt it all the way to my toes. Fast guitar music filled the car as he slid his tongue deep into my mouth, tasting me, claiming me. I trembled, my hands gripping his shoulders now as I continued to rut against him. Stu broke the kiss to stare up at me in awe, his eyes taking all of me in.

“Christ, look at you.”

“Stu, I need—”

He put a finger to my lips. “Hush, I know.”

After that we were nothing but commands and fevered grabbing.

His hand gripped my hip, the other massaged my breast.

“Kiss me.”

I slid my fingers up and down his length and brought my mouth to his.

“You’re so hard.”

He palmed my arse and slid his fingers past the elastic of my underwear.

“And you’re so wet.”

“Faster.”

“Like this?”

“Yes.”

“Need your mouth, luv.”

More kissing, tongues, wet heat, friction. I hurried to undo his fly and pull his erection free, feeling his hot silky skin for the first time.

“Give me . . .”

“Need to . . .”

“Wait.”

Heavy breathing. Hands fumbling.

Pressure.

Pressure
.

Such lovely pressure. The music continued to blare around us, but I was too lost in him to care. People might be able to see us, still, neither one of us cared. We were need and desire and emotions entangled. His cock slid against my sex and we both moaned simultaneously.

“Stu.”

“No.”

“Stu.”

“I said no, Andrea.”

I bit my lip. “Please.”

“I fucking . . . I fucking don’t have . . . Oh God, quit doing that for a second,” he panted and shifted me in his lap, then leaned forward to reach for the glove compartment. I kissed his neck, loving how his skin pebbled beneath my mouth while he rifled through his friend’s stuff, searching for a condom.

“Terry, you fucking legend,” he swore then came back to me, a small foil packet in his hand. I didn’t stop kissing his neck as he reached between us, vaguely aware of him tearing the packet open with his teeth. Jesus, that was sexy.

He slid the condom down his length and dragged my mouth away from his neck so he could kiss me properly. His tongue was hard and unrelenting. I lifted my hips so he could position himself beneath me. I gasped and bit his lower lip when his cock nudged inside me the tiniest bit. My eyes were closed but I opened them to find him watching me, soaking me in. His gaze was fierce, wild, his need for me clear as day. He continued to watch me as I lowered, letting him fill me completely.

I cried out, unable to contain the pleasure of how amazing he felt inside me. The fact that it was still bright out, that we were in the middle of a public park where anyone might happen by felt electric. I didn’t ever think I’d get off on exhibitionism, but with Stu I wanted things I never did before.

“You’re tight,” he breathed.

“You’re just big,” I countered, and he chuckled.

“I’ve never seen you look more beautiful, Andrea,” he said, his voice worshipful as his gaze turned dark, his next words erotically carnal. “Ride me.”

I didn’t break eye contact as I started to move my hips. Stu plucked one nipple, then the other, sending delicious bolts of pleasure through me. I was so wet, so turned on, that I felt like a different person. Someone wild and free.

“That’s it, faster, luv, you’re perfect, you feel perfect.”

Stu’s words spurred me on, and I started to realise he was quite adept at talking dirty. He gripped my hair, winding it around his fist and giving it a little pull. “Do you know how hard I’m gonna fuck you when I get you in my bed?” he whispered.

My only response was a whimper. He yanked on my hair again, harder this time.

“I’ll get you on all fours, spread you so fucking wide . . . don’t stop, keep moving, fuck me, Andrea. I’m yours. Jesus, your pussy was made for me. I’m close. Are you close?”