Fragile

Fragile A Free Read By Samantha Storm & Jen Nicholas

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Fragile Free read By Samantha Storm and Jen Nicholas 1

Fragile A Free Read By Samantha Storm & Jen Nicholas

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© copyright April 2008, Samantha Storm & Jen Nicholas

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

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Chapter One Paris moved in the shadows. Rolling and diving, she twisted her body through the air and between the security lights. She kept to the foliage, to the jungle of trees and bushes transplanted from their native land to decorate the playground of a millionaire. She was on a fool’s errand. An impossible mission that would more than likely end in her demise, but she had little choice. Overnight she had become a puppet, dancing to the pleasure of the puppet-master. The faint echo of footsteps forced her down to the ground. Dressed in black, her long blonde hair and porcelain skin hidden beneath a ski mask, she stretched out against the grass. The luck of the Irish. She had never counted on it, or even considered calling upon it, until this moment. Luck—with it she might survive the night; without it she was dead. As the steps grew closer Paris closed her eyes and prayed to every saint whose name she could remember, which turned out to be a pretty short list.

Minutes ticked by as

she waited to be discovered. Just when she thought she was finally in the clear, the shape of a body came into view. A

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dark outline of a man, standing only a few yards away as a light, undoubtedly the beam of a flashlight, swept across the lawn. The beam arced and stretched out to the bushes and trees beyond. It danced along the six-foot high fence, swung up into the limbs of the highest trees, and slowly came to rest only inches from her hiding place. Her breath caught, muscles bunched, and adrenaline coursed through her blood, as both her body and mind prepared for flight. Or maybe fight. The thought skimmed across her mind as the night watchman moved closer.

She

had the instincts of a street fight and could hold her own if need be.

Yet she really hoped she wouldn’t need to use

anything more tonight than her wits. Tonight’s target was a diamond and ruby trinket, property of Franklin, a lucrative business tycoon and international philanthropist. The guard moved another step closer. Paris’s focus narrowed, and she unconsciously matched her breathing to that of the watchman’s. One more step and she wouldn’t have a choice; she would have to strike out, no matter how reluctant she was to do so. Loud shrills suddenly broke the silence. A voice barked orders and she watched the guard nodding his head back and forth as he listened intently to the voice issuing

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from his walkie-talkie. She could just make out the words car alarm and main gate. As the guard spun on his heels and took off running, Paris smiled and blew a kiss at the retreating figure. She sprinted across the last expanse of lawn and wasted no time scrambling up the trellis. This would be the tricky part. The trellis stopped halfway up the building. She would have to swing herself over to the drainage pipe and crawl up to the closest balcony. Would the pipe hold her weight? She had no choice but to find out. She reached up, her fingers trying to get a decent hold on the smooth metal. Now or never, she told herself. Paris quickly hoisted herself up and quenched the small voice of panic that reminded her she was now hanging by only her fingertips fifteen-feet above the hard ground below. She grunted in effort, her feet desperately seeking some kind of foothold. Anything to take the strain off her arms. She hadn’t had time to properly prepare. Not enough time in the gym for a job where she was expected to play cat burglary and trapeze artist. Her right foot settled into a crack of the house and she pushed off, using the momentum to climb slowly up, until her legs snaked around the pipe. She stopped a

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moment, her full weight supported by her legs, as she shook the blood back into her trembling arms and gasped in mouthfuls of air. Definitely out of shape. Looking at her watch, she realized she was taking too much time. She should have already made it inside, grabbed her conquest, and been out of sight. Long gone from this job she hadn’t wanted to take in the first place. Paris took one last deep breath and continued climbing. A few more feet upward, and with great relief she swung herself over the ledge onto the balcony. The security box was concealed behind a potted plant. The alarm was disarmed in under two minutes. Her body might be out of shape, but her mind and fingers were still working at lightening speed. Paris opened the French doors and entered the residence of one of the ungodly rich and famous.

Franklin

Reynolds a man who had made his fortune in real estate. At the age sixty-two Franklin had thirty million dollars, four ex-wifes, three Bentleys and two residents the size of small palaces. Franklin was also not currently at home. He was off playing footsie with Temperance Celeste, a twenty-two year old exotic dancer who was vying for the position of the next Mrs. Reynolds.

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Paris pulled a small flashlight from a concealed pocket and shone the light around the room. The pinpoint beam arched across the desk and crawled up the wall of Franklin’s study, coming to rest not on a painting of Saint Nicholas of Myra, as she expected, but instead on an open safe. An open and empty safe.

So much for old Saint Nick

being the patron saint against robbery. "We have to stop meeting this way." The deep voice was close enough Paris imagined she could feel the breath of the words along the sensitive skin on the back of her neck. Her spine tingled as she whirled to face the man she should have known would somehow manage to screw up this job. “Paris, long time no see. How’ve you been?"

Brogan

McAllister’s voice was filled with teasing, but Paris knew he wasn’t as relaxed and unfazed as he pretended to be. "McAllister!" Paris pulled her gun from her belt, a customized .22 with a spot for attaching a German silencer. She pointed it in the direction of McAllister’s head. “Hand over the necklace, Mac." Mac put his hands up in surrender. “I don't have it.” "I don't believe you.” “Mind shining that light somewhere else?” Mac moved his left hand to shield his eyes from the intense beam of

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the flashlight. He took a step forward, and Paris unconsciously took one step back. Mac laughed, a deep sexy rumble that always made her go weak in the knees, while at the same time drummed up the desire to do him bodily harm. She motioned toward the nearest table and watched as he emptied his pockets. He didn’t have the jewel she was looking for, a diamond and ruby necklace worth half a million dollars. “Where did you hide it, Mac?

We both know there was

more than one little bauble in that safe, but I’m only interested in one.” She raised the gun and pointed it his head. “Where is it?” “Why do you always think I’m lying?” “Gee, I don’t know, experience?” Neither of them were prepared for the alarm that suddenly blared to life all around them.

They’d been too

busy playing their never-ending game of one-upmanship. Paris lowered her gun and moved towards the window. “I disarmed the alarm.” ”Someone is playing games.” ”Well isn’t this just great. There’s more than a dozen guards swarming around outside now. No way we’re getting out through the window.” “Follow me.” McAllister headed out the study door.

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Paris wasted a few precious seconds debating the wisdom of following Mac anywhere.

In the end, she realized she

didn’t really have a choice, and caught up with him as he entered the library. “This is a novel approach, trying to get out of a house by heading further inside.” “There’s a panic room in here.” McAllister pulled out his own flashlight and shone it on a wall of books. “There’s no hidden room in the floor plans.” should know.

And she

She’d had just enough time to study the

blueprints of this palatial home before she’d paid her unexpected nightly visit. “The previous owners paid a little extra to make sure it wasn’t made public.” “And you found out about it how?” Amazing.

There was

that sarcasm again. Mac always seemed to bring out the worst in her. “There’s this well-connected redhead whose brother works in the files room of the QT. It wasn’t easy getting the info out of her. First I had to ply her with French food, then I had to ply her with expensive champagne, then I had to…” His words trailed off at Paris’s indelicate snort. “Spare me the details.

Please, I beg you.”

He moved in front of a wall of books and reached up, pulling a thick volume bound in blue leather forward. A

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section of the wall popped open, exposing a reinforced steel door. “Nifty.

Just like in the movies.” Paris watched him

start to work the combination lock. “Let me guess, you got the combination from some brunette.” “Actually, she was a blonde.

They guy who sold

Franklin the safe has this drop-dead gorgeous wife by the name of Victoria who has a thing for bubble-baths.” Voices and footsteps sounded in the hallway. “We have company. Hurry up and open the door. Without the nauseating commentary.” Paris could hear the grin in his voice.

“I just need

another second.” “You don’t have it,” she whispered as the library door slowly opened. McAllister clicked off his flashlight and pulled the bookcase door as tight as he could against him. Paris dove across the room and behind a love seat. “Those are the orders, man, check every room,” a masculine voice said as the lights turned on overhead. “Fine, Bruce, but I still say whoever it was, they’re long gone by now.” Bruce cleared his throat.

“Well, hell, it looks clear

to me. Go ahead and call it in.” “Library’s all clear, too.”

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The lights went off and the door shut. Paris started to rise when the door suddenly flew open again. A voice called out, “Forgot to check the balcony. You go ahead and check the next room and I’ll catch up with you.” The lights went back on and the same voice commanded, “Come out slowly with your hands up.” Paris didn’t move. “Hey, Stevens, you get demoted?”

It was Mac’s voice

she heard now, perched as she was behind the gaudy maroon love seat. “McAllister. Fancy meeting you here.

Now where’s Ms.

St. Claire?” “Who?” “No games, Mac, where’s St. Claire hiding?” “She took off that way when the alarms went off. She’s the skittish type.” Paris had to physically reign in the impulse to jump up and wrap her hands around Mac’s throat and squeeze. The guard, Stevens, didn’t waste any time.

“Put your

hands back up where I can see them.” “Sure thing, Stevens. Hey, when did you guys start using silencers?”

Mac’s tone was slow and easy, meant to

disarm his prey with calm.

Paris could only sit quietly by

and hope to hell it worked.

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“Come closer, slowly. Here’s the drill, McAllister. We’re going out this door. You walk in front of me, down the stairs, and all the way out the front.” “We going on a trip? You should’ve told me. I didn’t pack a bag.” “Always a wise guy, aren’t you, McAllister?

One wrong

move, you try anything and…” Mac’s laugh was long and loud. “Let me guess, you’ll plug me?” “I never liked you, McAllister.” “The feelings mutual, Stevens.” Paris moved quietly to the edge of the sofa, risking one quick glance around the corner. She had a gun, but she’d foolishly left the silencer behind. She’d never planned for anyone to see her coming or going. Once again, this job was proof of what type of trouble assuming could get you into. It would only take one shot to bring the whole platoon of armed guards down on them. She reached for her knife instead then muffled a curse as she realized she had left it at home.

When you started leaving your weapons behind, it

was definitely time to start thinking about another line of work. She was being anything but professional on this job. Panic, an emotion she rarely dealt with, raised its ugly head, and for a moment she was unsure of what do to. Looking down at her hands, which were trembling ever so

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slightly, Paris felt a suddenly constricting pressure in her chest as sweat began to pour down her face. She realized she had two choices: she could lose it for the first time ever, lose her nerve and stay behind the couch trembling like a pathetic mouse as Mac was marched out of the house and possibly to his death. Or she could get a grip, take stock, and remember who she was. She was an action diva. And it was time to kick some butt. A huge rush of adrenaline coursed through her body, warming her limbs, giving them strength and making her feel invincible again. The gun was out, she had no other weapons, but she also had no other choice. Paris quickly scrambled over the couch, her right arm grabbing a heavy crystal vase from the side-table. She ran full out, rushing across the room, trying to mentally shorten the distance between herself and the two men. Both men turned in unison. Mac’s face registered a quick flicker of surprise, and then another emotion took over Paris didn’t recognize. Focus on the man with the gun, idiot. She watched as the burly man swung his own gun in her direction. There was no time to aim, so she just threw the vase in the general direction of his ugly face.

Then she dove to the right,

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arms stretched out, like a baseball player sliding into home. Her body stretched out, floating in the air for a moment before it slammed into the hardwood floor, knocking the breath from her lungs.

But her momentum kept her going

and she slid forward behind a pillar and head first straight into the wall. ****

“Five more minutes. Just let me sleep five more minutes,” she said as she attempted to ignore the ringing of the alarm and the pounding at the door. “Paris, open your eyes!” was loud and annoying.

It was Mac’s voice, and it

Even more loud and annoying than

usual. Paris forced her eyes open and light streamed in, causing an immediate explosion that reached from her eyeballs directly to her brain. Squinting, she put her hands to her temple and moaned as fire shot across her forehead. She realized the ringing was coming from her ears and the pounding from inside her own skull. “My head,” she whispered, and as the words escaped tiny bursts of lights glided across her eyes once again. She blinked, trying to clear her vision, and realized Mac’s face was only inches from her own.

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He smiled and gently brushed the hair from her eyes. “Thank God your damn head is so hard.” “Don’t make a joke, Mac.

If I start laughing I think

I’ll puke.” He offered her his hand and she took it. Mac pulled her effortlessly to her feet, then leaned her against the wall as she rocked back and forth on unsteady legs. “We don’t have much time.” His voice was urgent, no longer mocking and teasing as it had been earlier. “Where’s Stevens?” Paris asked. “Over by the door.” “You killed him.” It was a statement, not a question, and a logical one since the front of Mac’s shirt was covered in blood. “No, he’s alive, the bastard. Out cold but alive.” “But the blood…” For some reason all that blood was making her queasy.

The only explanation for her suddenly

upset stomach had to be from the hit her head had taken. She raised her hand and winced as her fingers came in contact with a large bump on the top of her head. “It’s mine.” It took a second for the words to register.

“Mac,

you’ve been shot!” “Yeah, and I’m running out of steam.” He suddenly slumped down onto the floor his face pale and pasty.

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“Brogan!” “The woman finally uses my first name. Gee, if I thought dying would do it, I would’ve tried it years ago.” “You aren’t dying, you moron.”

Paris forced the

nausea down and ignored the pounding at her temples. She closed her eyes and willed herself to concentrate. Opening them again, she took stock of the room. The vase she’d thrown at Stevens was smashed into pieces inches from the unmoving body. “How long was I out?” she asked. Mac had taken off her ski mask. She took it from his hands and pressed it firmly against the hole in his side. She pressed down hard, trying to stop the flow of blood that was even now seeping into the Oriental carpet. Mac grimaced in pain. “Only a few minutes.” “Can you stand up?” “No, I don’t think so. Paris, get out of here while you’ve the chance. Someone will be coming to investigate all the noise.” The door to the panic room now stood wide open. She took his left hand and pressed it against the wound. “Keep pressure on it,” she demanded. Paris grabbed his right arm and dragged him into the inner sanctum. “Be right back.” She hoped she sounded more in control than she felt.

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He smiled weakly as he closed his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.” If she could make it look like they’d escaped outside they might still have a chance to get out of this bum-fuck mess alive. But there was too much blood pooling on the floor, blood that now led a trail to the base of the bookcase. She grabbed a satin cloth with lace edging from the table near a grouping of club chairs and used it as a mop. When she was done she tossed it into the panic room next to Mac. Hopefully there would be too much going on for anyone to notice a missing tablecloth. Moving quickly across the room, Paris reopened the French doors. Her hands were covered with Mac’s blood and she smeared it over the door handles and across the balcony railing. Taking a thin black rope from the fanny-pack at her waist, she secured one end to the railing and threw the other over the edge. She didn’t have much time. She took off her shoes and made her way back to Mac’s side. Pulling the door closed, she realized they were safe for the moment, but if Mac was wrong and the panic room was common knowledge, when the bad guys came there would be no place to go and no way of fighting their way free. They’d be sitting ducks.

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Fragile A Free Read By Samantha Storm & Jen Nicholas She took another glance at Mac.

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His eyes were closed,

his skin pale and his clothes soaked with blood. Paris leaned over and felt for a pulse. He was alive, but his pulse was weak and she knew she had to do something to stop all that bleeding. Inside steel cabinets she found a first aid kit and bottles of water. She did her best to clean out his wounds and bandage them. Her medical experience was limited. She found an exit wound low on his back, which meant the bullet had gone clean through, but the question was whether or not it had hit any vital organs on its way out. There was no way for her to know. He could right now be bleeding to death internally and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Sitting back against the wall she tried to think. Her head was throbbing, a dull ache had settled in between her eyes. Ignoring it, Paris tried her best to clear her thoughts. They were trapped inside Franklin’s estate with armed men surrounding all exits. Stevens hadn’t been surprised to see Mac. The alarm had gone off on its own. It had to have been a set-up. A trap that they had both walked straight into. It was almost three o’clock in the morning. It would take a few hours for the watchmen to settle down, and by the time the grounds were quiet again, the sun would be up.

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No way could she just saunter out the front door in broad daylight as if she owned the place. Her only chance was to wait the long, long hours until the sun set once again and try to escape under the cover of darkness. She looked over at Mac again then checked his bandages. It looked like the bleeding was slowing down to a trickle, but he had lost a lot of blood. He was a big man, six feet four, two hundred and twenty pounds at least. She was a strong woman, but carrying his dead weight and trying to get the both of them out of the mansion unnoticed would be impossible. Paris would have to try and make it out on her own. Her fingers caressed his cheek, something she would never do if he were awake. No one knew about the one thing she feared more than death—loving someone, especially someone like Brogan McAllister. Paris had thought she was in love once, several years ago, but it had ended in disaster.

She couldn’t risk letting that happen again.

Mac’s eyes began to flutter open at the contact. She pulled her hand quickly away. “How are you feeling?” she asked. “Swell.” His voice was hoarse, and he looked beyond tired. “I forgot to ask, Paris, how’s the old man?”

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“He’s doing good,” she lied, and felt a small twinge somewhere deep inside.

Maybe the place where her

conscience had once been. “When did he get out?”

Paris knew he was talking to

keep his mind of the pain, but the conversation was heading into troubling territory. “Stop moving around, Mac, or you’re going to wreck my great bandage job. And to answer you’re question, Harry got out two months ago.” “He had a long stretch this time, although I thought it was going to be longer.” Mac’s eyes were closed, and the back of his head was leaning heavily on the wall. “Yeah.” She suddenly couldn’t meet his eyes. She was afraid he would see the tears that welled up at the thought of her father and his latest round of prison time.

“He was

released early, a conditional release.” “Have you talked him into retiring yet?” McAllister asked in a quiet voice. Paris had to clear her throat a few times before answering. “He’ll retire.” “If you have anything to say about it, you mean.” “He’ll retire this time.” He had to. He was too old to survive another stint in prison.

But Paris didn’t say it,

couldn’t voice the fears that came to visit her nightly about her father.

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Mac shifted his body and winced in pain. “How are you feeling really?” she asked him, wanting to touch his cheek, his forehead, smooth his hair out of his eyes.

She resisted the urge.

Paris St. Claire had

over the years become very good at resisting. “Like death warmed over.” He leaned his head back again and closed his eyes. “Okay, Einstein, any ideas how we get out of here?” “One. When it gets dark I make a run for it.” His eyes popped opened and he growled. “And leave me here to die. A bit heartless even for you, Paris.” She gave him a big smile. “Bastard, do you really think I’d leave you here for the wolves?” His eyes narrowed. “In a heartbeat.” “Okay, you’re right, I would. Except I think you stashed the necklace I’m looking for somewhere. And I want it.” “Give it a rest woman. The necklace is gone.” Mac’s eyes began to close once again, and Paris watched as a shadow of pain crossed his face. “Are you sure you’re okay?” “Right as rain.

I’m just feeling really sleepy all of

a sudden.” Her fingers reached out to check his pulse again. It was a bit slow, but strong. He was okay for the moment, but

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she needed to get him out of here and into the hands of medical professionals. It was going to be one really long night.

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Chapter Two

It was nine o’clock the next evening, and Paris knew she had to make her move.

Mac had been fading in and out of

consciousness all through the previous eighteen hours, and she knew he risked serious infection if she didn’t get him out of a the panic room and to the hands of a doctor soon. “I’ll be back for you, Mac, I promise.” answer, but she hadn’t expected him to.

He didn’t

He was either

asleep or unconscious, she wasn’t sure which.

But his

pulse, although sometimes erratic, was still strong, and she had to believe that he’d last long enough for her to come back for him. She refused to acknowledge any other possibility. Her gun was in her right hand as she slowly eased open the safe room door. darkness and shadow.

The library was once again steeped in Paris hugged the wall, sweeping the

.22 in a large arc around the room, but it appeared to be empty.

The remnants of last night’s broken vase had been

swept away, and order had once again been restored to the room. Paris risked one last glance back at where Mac lay on the cold floor of the panic room, biting down on the words that wanted to come out of her mouth.

There’d be time to

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talk later, after she’d gotten him out of here and a doctor had treated his wounds. Paris quietly closed the door to the panic room, then rested her back against the bookshelves which concealed Mac’s hiding place. Time to get the hell out. Paris didn’t realize it was raining until she opened the doors to the balcony.

She was glad for the distraction,

if anyone happened to be watching the rain would distort their vision. It wasn’t until she’d crossed the edge of the balcony that she realized there was no way for her to get down.

The

rope she’d brought for just that purpose had been used in her decoy set up yesterday.

She couldn’t climb down the

same way she’d climbed up. The drainpipe and trellis were off the study balcony, two doors down.

Besides, with the

rain and her current run of bad luck, she’d fall right down on her ass and break a couple of dozen bones in the process. “Damn it all.”

Now she’d have to creep down the hall,

down one flight of stairs, through a hallway, and out the front door.

All without getting caught. Why was nothing

about this job turning out easy? The .22 in her right hand she entered the deserted upstairs hallway. The floor was polished marble and as slipper as ice. Her feet slid silently along the floor as

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she made her way to the staircase.

So silently that Paris

herself didn’t realize she was at the top step until it was almost too late.

Slipping a little on the slick marble, her

butt hit the floor and she slid unceremoniously down to the first landing. Thankful for once that her ass had a little padding and that she’d been so startled she’d forgotten to cry out. Paris picked herself up and flattened herself to the wall. Her breath was coming in short bursts that sounded loud to her own ears.

Taking a few precious minutes to even it

out, she rested against the wall and risked a peek around the next turn of the staircase.

Empty.

Now if only it

stayed that way. Amazingly, the trip down the stairs and across the marble-lined foyer was blissfully quiet.

If there were the

same number of guards on duty tonight, right now they were all outside.

If she were really lucky, they’d be on the

opposite side of the grounds from where she was headed. This time it took less than twenty seconds to disable the alarm.

Now that she knew the code, it was easy enough

to type in the six-digit string of numbers and wait for the glowing screen to flash “deactivated.” Paris was outside, now she just needed to get off this god-forsaken estate and back home to figure out how in the hell to rescue Mac from the panic room.

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She stuck to shadows and the bushes as she made her way to the courtyard.

Franklin, for all his security, had left

the small oasis in relative darkness.

The scent of mingling

roses and jasmine filled the rainy night and the only illumination came from the base of an ostentatious fountain which had water continuously running through the crotch of a naked Raphaelite woman. The rain came down harder. In minutes Paris was soaked to the skin and shivering in the cool night air. She rested for a moment just inside the brick-ensconced courtyard.

Now

that she was out of immediate danger, the sights and sounds and terrors of the night before came crashing down.

Paris

let her chin drift down to her knees as she knelt just out of the weak circle of light from the fountain’s base. The last thing she expected was the voice that came out of the darkness like a bullet riding the air currents. “You were looking for this?” In the watery moonlight shimmering through the rain, Paris could distinctly make out the sparkling carats of a necklace.

The necklace.

Her necklace.

The goddamn diamond

and ruby monstrosity that she’d been sent here to recover. “Where’s your partner in crime?” the voice taunted. The man behind the voice was still in shadow, but it didn’t matter.

Paris knew who it was, and if she’d somehow

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believed that this job couldn’t get any worse, she’d been very, very wrong. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Thankfully, her voice

didn’t betray her emotions, that rolling turmoil that was even now causing something to tighten low in her belly. “Sure you do, Paris. McAllister, the infamous and world-renowned cat burglar, has to be here somewhere.” Paris sighed and raised from her kneeling position in the shadows.

She turned to the voice coming from her left,

and even though she still couldn’t fully see him, she knew he was there.

“What do you want, Simon?”

The man chuckled, stepping out from behind a flowering tree to stand in the light of the fountain.

“I’ve a

proposition for you. Something I want you to steal for me. When you’re finished with this job, of course.”

He let the

necklace he was holding dangle from his fingertips, his dark gray eyes were mesmerizing even in the rain. “You’re insane, Simon. You know I don’t do that type of work anymore.” He laughed, a long deep chuckle of pure delight. “Oh yes, right.

You’re here wandering around in my courtyard in

those skintight, dark clothes, doing what, exactly?”

Simon

took a step closer to Paris. “And with a gun, no less.

How

do you think this will look to the police, dear Paris?” “What do you mean, your courtyard?”

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“Didn’t you hear? I bought the place from Franklin Reynolds six weeks ago.

Didn’t you do your homework?

do you think you got out of the house so easily? guards, as you must know.

How

I’ve

Did you think it just a supreme

miracle that there weren’t any near the entrance?” Paris stomped her foot in frustration.

“Damn it,

Simon, just let me leave in peace and I’ll take my chances with the cops.” Simon’s hand reached out, smoothing a piece of blonde, wet hair off of her cheek.

“You were always gutsy, Paris,

but are you willing to take the same chance with your father’s life?” When she didn’t answer, or even move, he stepped even closer, into her personal space.

Paris was sure he could

feel her breasts pushed against his own wet shirt, and she had to suppress a shiver at the contact. Simon grasped the diamond and ruby bauble more tightly in his fist and caressed her cheek with it, moving it down until it rubbed across the point of one hard nipple. “Let’s just say that I like to hedge my bets.” He lifted his other arm and held up a cell phone. “I could call the police right now and tell them I just caught someone breaking into my place.”

The necklace dipped lower, across

her abdomen, past the fanny-pack at her waist, down to the juncture of her thighs.

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“Or I could just call the police as an anonymous, deeply concerned citizen to report stolen property at 875 Monroe Street. Do you think your father has any idea, Paris, that he’s currently sleeping on top of a million dollars worth of stolen merchandise?” Paris pushed away from him in disgust.

“You bastard!

You set him up!” “Paris, Paris, Paris.

I’ve told you before, when I

play a game, I play to win.” He took a step forward, reaching once again to run one fingertip down her cheek and across her slightly parted lips.

“Breathtaking. God, I’ve

missed you.” She jerked back, but not before he could see the effect his touch had on her body. The rain had made her black shirt almost transparent. Her nipples had already been hard from the cold rain, but at his touch they tightened and became taught, pressing against the thin material of her shirt. Simon stepped forward once again. “Don’t,” she said, but it was only a whisper, tossed away like delicate flower petals on a strong breeze. “What? Touch you? I’ve heard those lips beg me to do a lot of things, Paris, but never that.

Never to not touch

you.” Paris dragged in a ragged breath and stilled Simon’s hand as it reached toward her breast.

“That was a long time

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ago, Simon, and long before you brought my father into this. How could you, Simon?

That’s low, even for you.”

“Ah, Paris, how could I not? do a job for me.

I need you, you see, to

And knowing how stubborn you are, I

figured that you’d balk at the idea. necklace as incentive.”

Even with this

Simon unzipped her pack and

delicately slipped the necklace inside. “Even then, I’d knew you’d be reluctant.

But with Harry, sweet, dear,

unsuspecting Harry, I knew that you’d feel as if you didn’t have a choice.

No choice on whether or not to do the job,

and definitely not a choice in whether or not we’d end up doing this.” His mouth claimed hers as his hand cupped her breast and he brushed his thumb across her nipple. The groan escaped her lips before she could stop it. Simon’s breath caressed her neck and he whispered in her ear, “Are you sure you want me to stop?

I don’t believe

you can resist this any more than you can resist the lure of the job I have for you.” One hand unbuttoned her blouse and the shock of the cool breeze against her skin caused her to tremble. Part of her wanted to fight, to resist, but in one thing Simon was right, she couldn’t resist him, and she couldn’t resist his job.

Not if it meant keeping her father safe.

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But even now she had to admit that kissing him had nothing to do with her father. What he could do to her felt so good. Simon was many things—a womanizer, a liar, even a cheat, but he had always been an incredible lover, his hands able to play over her body like a musical instrument. It had been so long, so very, very long, since her body had reacted like this.

She hadn’t had a lover in over two

years, hadn’t, in fact, slept with any man since Simon left her the last time. Paris had wondered over the past few months if she and Mac had possibly been heading towards this type of relationship, but… “Oh my God, Mac!” “Excuse me?”

Simon’s hands were still on her. Now he

leaned away from her, his mouth set in a grim line. “McAllister.

You knew he was here, but did you know he

was wounded?" Simon grinned ruefully.

“So concerned about your

friend the thief, are we, Paris?

But McAllister isn’t here

right now, and it’s not his hands on you. He’s not the one standing here trying to make love to you.” He was angry.

Paris wasn’t sure if it was the thought

of Mac still inside his house, or some type of male jealousy

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that had his eyes narrowing and his body pushing hers against the rough stone of the surrounding wall. “I’ll take care of your friend, Paris, but we are not finished here.”

Simon held her to the bricks with one hand

at her throat, not intent on harming her, but in keeping her in place.

His free hand reached for the phone at his belt,

and he dialed numbers from memory without once taking his eyes off of her face. “Grant.

There’s a wounded man inside the house.”

He

stopped to listen, then issued a terse “where” in Paris’s direction. “Inside the panic room.

It’s behind the third bookcase

to the right inside the library.” Simon’s eyes narrowed, pissed off that she’d known there was a panic room in his new abode and he hadn’t. “There’s a secret room in the library. to the right.

Third bookcase

See that he’s released and taken to Dr.

Holloway right away. to your position.

Leave him there and come straight back

Do you understand?”

Without waiting for

a response, Simon flipped his phone closed and returned it to its holder on his belt. “I think I’ve done more than my duty for this evening, Paris.

I believe it’s time to seal the deal.”

***

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Simon didn’t have the sanity to be gentle where Paris St. Claire was concerned.

He desired her beyond belief. It

had been two years since he had seen her, but during that time he had kept tabs on what she was up to. He knew one day the perfect job would fall into his lap—-one that required Paris’s special skills. And that’s what he had been waiting for, a reason he could use to draw her back into his life. He knew it wouldn’t be an easy sell. No way she would come willingly. But Simon was not above using whatever means available to get what he wanted. And he wanted Paris. There had been days where the need he felt for her was almost like a physically craving. The desire to run his hands over her soft skin. To hear her soft moans of pleasure as he made love to her. It was hot, pure, lust. Not love. He was not a man capable of love.

Staring at her now through mist of the fountain he saw so much racing across her sapphire blue eyes--desire, reluctance, her needs warring with the thought that she should be resisting him in every way. The desire to possess her was always there, along with admiration for what she could do, both in and out of bed. The brief thought that she might be intimately involved with McAllister had twisted his guts, but he assured himself as

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he ran his thumb over the beating pulse in Paris’s neck that it wasn’t jealousy. He simply didn’t like anyone putting there hands on his property. He simply wanted to own her, once and for all. To block the thoughts that darkened his mind, he lowered his head and took hers in a deep, passionate kiss that was anything but gentle.

Simon used his tongue to

press apart her trembling lips, not pausing as he traced the sharp points of her teeth, not waiting to see if her tongue would come to tangle with his own. He took, and plundered, and ground his straining erection against her pussy, ignoring the way she pushed against him, as if to simultaneously get closer and get away.

Away from him.

Simon took a moment, just one small moment to clear his head, and pulled away from her, his eyes closed, his hands resting on the wall on either side of Paris’s head.

He was

breathing hard, with adrenaline and the desire to take, but as he opened his eyes to stare at Paris, he saw that she wasn’t feeling the same sharp cut of desire that he was, no matter what her body was saying. There were things he should probably tell her, but here, outside in the dark with only the soft light from the fountain lighting the courtyard, he couldn’t think of anything but being inside of her.

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But he couldn’t, not like this, not when he’d just told her about Harry and the way he’d set her up.

Simon Massari

might be a heartless bastard, might even want more than anything to slam Paris against this brick wall and fuck her until she screamed for mercy, but he wouldn’t.

Not tonight.

He was man enough to understand that wouldn’t didn’t mean he couldn’t. The rain had stopped while he’d been debating, and Paris still hadn’t said a word.

Simon leaned his forehead

against hers, taking one last deep breath to inhale the sweet scent of her body. “I’ll contact you tomorrow about the job. have any trouble getting off the grounds now. you’ll be with your father?”

You won’t I’m assuming

His tone was calm and even as

he smoothed his palms across his shirt and backed away from her. He wasn’t sure what to make of the look on her face, when she finally turned to face him. “I’ll help you because you’ve left me no choice.

But

this,” she said, rubbing a hand across her mouth, “Means nothing. Understand?

This will not happen again, Simon.

Don’t touch me again.” His smile was slightly sarcastic as he roamed his gaze up and down her body. you say.

“Whatever you say, Paris, whatever

But I think you and I both know differently.”

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Simon watched in silence as she reattached the pack to her waist, unzipping it to make sure the necklace was still there where he’d put it. “It’s still there.

It’s all yours.

Just a little

additional insurance.” “Go to hell, Simon,” Paris muttered, turning and walking across the grass away from him. Soon her form was gone, and Simon was left in total silence in his suddenly empty courtyard.

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Chapter Three

Paris stood in the doorway watching Mac. He had a pained expression on his face as he leaned over and studied the floor plans spread across the mahogany desk. “Mac, you look like shit.” “Thanks. You don’t look so hot yourself.”

His tone was

teasing, but she knew he was right. She had huge bags under her eyes, and her skin was the color one hue shy of chalk. It had been a week since her encounter with Simon, and since that time she hadn’t had a full night’s rest. Every night she tossed and turned, her dreams full of images of her father yelling for help as rough hands forced him back behind bars. She hated Simon for what he was doing to her. The bastard would pay for using Harry as a pawn in his sick twisted game. It wasn’t like she could just move Harry to another house, away from the stolen goods, and Simon knew that. Part of her dad’s release was that he was to move into the building on Monroe Street, a residence owned by one of the Mayor’s staunchest supporters.

His release from prison was

conditional to his living where he was told, for as long as he was told.

And Goddamn Simon Massari to hell for using

that against her.

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But those hadn’t been the only dreams keeping her from sleep. There were the other ones, the ones that had nothing to do with her father and everything to do with the feel of Simon, against her, on top of her, beneath her. Erotic images of Simon as his hands played across her skin, his lips lowering down onto her, forcing screams of desire from deep in her throat. Those dreams were so real she found herself waking, time after time, moaning, wet, and needy. The desire to leave her bed and make her way to his room was almost too strong for her to resist. How could her body betray her this way? How could she want a man so badly, and at the same time hate and despise him? Even now her body hummed with the thought of him touching her. Even worse, staring at Mac as he carefully studied the blueprints before him, the desire in her ratcheted up another notch.

This

man, she thought, would be a lover unlike any she'd ever known. Paris ran a hand over her face, trying to clear her mind and force the images of both men out of her head. She would not be ruled by her desires. It was a mistake she refused to make again. She focused her attention back to Mac and took the steps that would bring her alongside the desk he worked at. “Should you be doing this?” she asked as she joined him.

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His voice was resigned, not

sarcastic, and Paris felt her stomach clench once again. “Neither of us do.” Paris resisted the urge to beat her fist against the desk in frustration. She hated that Simon had forced her into doing this job to protect her father, but she hated even more that Mac had agreed to help. It meant she would owe Mac a debt that could never be repaid, and Paris St. Claire had always made a point of never owing anyone—-especially Brogan McAllister. Pushing the turmoil in her gut aside yet again, Paris unrolled another set of plans and carefully smoothed them out. “Since there’s nothing we can do about it, let’s just get to work.”

Mac pointed to the left-hand corner of the

plan. “Here’s the alarm system, and this time we’re in luck. It hasn’t been upgraded in years.” He winced again as he reached for pen to make notes, and Paris involuntarily flinched. “Seriously, Mac, what did the doctor say?” “That I should stay off the dance floor for a few weeks. sex.

No swinging from the chandeliers during wild monkey And absolutely no mud wrestling.”

“You’re a moron,” she sputtered, and instantly regretted her biting tone.

She couldn’t stop herself from

laying her hand along his arm, then had to repress the

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shudder of desire that coursed through her system at that small contact.

“Mac, I’m sorry you’re involved in this.”

He turned to look at her, and she was caught in the directness of his gaze.

“You know how I feel about your old

man, Paris. Harry was my mentor. He taught me more than my own father did, and he did it willingly. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him.” “Yeah, great life he got you into, always keeping one step ahead of the cops,” she growled. “I chose this life, Paris. I know you didn’t.”

His

voice was gentle enough to bring tears to her eyes, and Paris turned away before he could see them. It was true in that she’d never really had a choice. As a young child who couldn’t even remember her mother, she’d had no choice but to spend all her time with her father, a man she dearly loved. Unfortunately, that had meant spending her Saturday afternoons working the crowds at the horse track. She learned to pick pockets by the time she was ten, and by the time she graduated from high school she had graduated to cracking safes. At age twenty-one she had ventured out on her own. Her father, he was a thief, but she couldn’t help loving him.

He was and always would be her father, the one

true constant in her life.

It wasn’t really his fault he

never thought twice about teaching his daughter everything

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he knew about his way of life. Harry was just passing on the family trade, teaching her skills he had been taught by his own father. “Someone has to make sure this job goes off without a hitch,” Mac said, and the teasing tone told her that although his body might be in pain, his mind was in the same working order as usual. “You think I couldn’t do it by myself?”

Paris knew she

shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t show her need for his praise, but she just couldn’t help herself. Mac turned to her with a laugh.

“This job, Paris?

No,

I don’t think you could do it by yourself.” “You weren’t so smug last year when I stole that statue out from under your nose, you damn pig.” His laugh was almost a snort.

“You were lucky.”

Paris glared at him, hands on her hips.

“Luck had

nothing to do with it. Just once, McAllister, it would be nice if you’d admit how good I am, instead of treating me like some imbecile little child.” He reached out and ruffled her hair. “Anything you say, kid.” She pushed his hand away and leaned into him. “I’m sick of you treating me like some infant, Brogan.

I am not a

child.”

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Mac’s eyes scanned her body, taking in her snug blue sweater and form-fitting blue jeans. “You certainly do look all grown up tonight.” “Mac, I’ve been all grown up now for a very long time.” “I’ve noticed.” His voice was low, his tone deep.

The

tension in her belly tightened into a ball of need and desire. She looked into his eyes and suddenly couldn’t look away. His gaze stayed locked on hers for several heartstopping seconds, until he suddenly smiled and turned back to the plans. “The security in this place is antiquated.” Paris nodded her head. If he wanted to be nonchalant, she’d be nonchalant. She picked up a pile of papers and flipped through them. “They also seem to be short staffed, only one guard on duty at night. The museum hasn’t had an exhibition of this magnitude in years, and it looks like they aren’t really up to handling it now. “ “Agreed. So I don’t get it.” “What do you mean?” she asked. “Why does Simon need us? This job is a piece of cake.” “He’s the type of man that doesn’t like to take chances.” “Not much of a gambler?”

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“Simon Massari only gambles in games he knows he can win.” Mac’s eyes scanned the room, and Paris followed his gaze.

She took in the floor-length red drapes made of silk,

the gold-encrusted globe on a marble pedestal. The entire room spoke of old money and well-established opulence. Everywhere she looked there were quality antiques, treasures that her trained eye could tell would bring a lot of money if they were fenced. One wall was covered in bookshelves filled to the brim with old books, and knowing Simon, the majority would be first editions. Her eyes lingered on the titles she recognized, and the thief in her couldn’t help considering the fact they were well read, which would reduce their value. The floor sported an Oriental carpet that would support her for months if it hadn’t been worn by decades of traffic. All the shelves and walls in the room were filled with art and sculpture mixed in with a few pieces of nostalgic junk. Simon had gone out of his way to make the room decadent, yet scream old money. “This guy, Simon, seems to have done all right for himself. How’s he make his living?” When Paris didn’t answer, Mac continued, “So you and Simon…”

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She interrupted him with slice of her hand through the air between them.

“There is no me and Simon!”

He raised his eyebrows, his mouth quirking up at one corner. “Okay, we were an item once, but that was years ago. I don’t know how he pays the bills now, nor do I care. All I care about is getting this job done, so my father and I can go back to some semblance of a normal life. Can we please get back to the job now?”

The petulance in her voice was

close to a whine, and she hated it.

Hated it, but couldn’t

stop it. “Sure thing. Far be it from me to get between two quarreling lovers.” “We are not lovers.”

This time she struck the desk

with her open palm for emphasis, but even as the words left her mouth she knew it was, if not a lie, than at least a misnomer.

She had gone into Simon’s arms the other night

willingly, and even though he hadn’t forced himself on her or even pushed past that first spine-tingling kiss, the urge to continue was still there. It was a mistake Paris wasn’t going to make again. Simon had broken her heart and her trust too many times in the past, and she would not let history repeat itself. “Earth to Paris…” “What?”

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“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt your daydreaming, especially with something as insignificant as this job.” “Shut up.” She wanted to fight with him, but at the same time she just wanted to be far, far away. “Pay attention.” She saluted him. “Yes, sir.” “We disable the alarm and go in here.” He pointed to the ventilation system. “There are no alarms on the roof. It’s just a matter of getting up there without anyone noticing and making our way into the building.” Paris studied the plans and frowned. “You’re right. This is too easy.” Mac nodded his head. “So we have to assume there is more to the heist then meets the eye. We need to stay alert. Watch our backs. Who knows what the bastard is really up to.” “Should my ears be burning?” Simon’s voice cut through their reverie from where he stood in the doorway. His body language showed him to be at ease, and his voice sounded casual, but Paris didn’t miss the anger that flashed across his eyes as he watched them. Simon turned his full attention on Mac. “Can you do it?” “Piece of cake,” Mac answered, and frowned.

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A really little piece of cake, the kind that you could choke on when you ate it, thought Paris. Simon walked over stood next to Paris. “Good. If you two are done with your plotting, I had the cook make up something for dinner. Nothing too fancy.” Even though their bodies didn’t touch, Simon’s shoulder was just a few inches from hers. Paris could feel the heat radiating from him. He suddenly leaned over and whispered in her ear, his hot breath dancing across her ear lobe. “I remember you like to eat light the night before a big heist.” His breath on her skin made her heart start to beat faster. It was too much like her dream. His mouth blazing a trail down her neck. His hands on her body, skimming across her naked skin.

Her body hummed in response to his and for

a moment she wanted him so badly her hands trembled. She suddenly felt disoriented. She shook her head trying to clear her thoughts and forced herself to take a step away from him. Paris needed distance between them so that she could breathe again. Why was she feeling this way? It had taken her so long to get over him. She had worked hard to turn whatever feelings she had for him into anger and hatred. He had left her. She had given him her heart and he had given her nothing in return but heartache and pain. How many times had

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he told her, he wasn’t the type of man to commit. She had been young, naïve and desperately in love—like an idiot she was sure she could change his playboy ways. And now, years later, when she had every reason to despise him, she could barely breathe for wanting him. This time she mentally shook herself. Remember who he is and what he did to you. “I’m not hungry.” She turned to Mac. “If we’re done for the night I think I’m going to head off to bed.” Before either man could answer, she turned and walked out of the room. Paris didn’t realize that two sets of eyes followed her as she exited the room. One filled with hunger, the other with concerned. ***

Paris turned and looked at the clock. Blue neon light stared back at her, announcing that it was after two in the morning. Yet another restless night. She sat up and switched on the light on the side table. The room was like something out of a magazine with its four-poster bed covered with rich golden material carefully and artfully twisted around each cherry wood post. The windows were decorated in drapes made from the same golden material, hanging all the way to the floor.

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When she and Simon had been together he had been well off, had always seemed to have enough money, but he didn’t have the kind of wealth he seemed to possess now. Paris fingered the Egyptian cotton sheets. Even the damn sheets screamed good taste and opulence. She kicked off the covers and got out of bed, putting on her robe and walking over to the windows. Staring out into the night she wondered how Simon made his living. He had, once upon a time, dealt in stolen merchandise, but how does someone go from moving televisions and stereos to fencing million dollar artwork? Somehow, in just a few years he had jumped up the food chain into the playing field of the uber-rich. Her eyes suddenly settled on a vase full of white roses, which she had missed when she’d first come to bed. Simon had remembered her favorite flower. She picked one from the vase and took in its gentle fragrance. She remembered the night he covered her bed in rose petals. Paris dropped the rose on the ground as if it suddenly burned her fingers. She didn’t care for him anymore. She wouldn’t care for him anymore. She had to get the man out of her head. It hadn’t been her idea to stay at his Manson. Somehow she found herself being talked into it. Now she realized it was a mistake. There was no escaping the man. Every where

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she turned he was there invading her space and her thoughts. She opened the window and let the warm breeze caress her face. Down in the dark she watched the glitter of the pool lights sparkling against the water. What she needed to do was go for a late night swim and clear her head. ****

The pool was Olympic size, but it curved in and out of the landscape, and at each corner, surrounded by red tile stood white marble statues.

The pool itself was lit from

within which made it glow in the night an eerier greenish blue. The closest security light was 200 hundred feet away, which meant if she had been brave enough she could have easily gone skinny dipping. She looked back at the house, at the darken windows and knew somewhere in there Simon was watching her.

She could feel his eyes on her. The man never

slept much when there were together. He was one of the few people she knew who could survive on four hours sleep. And when he did sleep, he slept like a cat. Any noise, even the tiniest would find him wide awake. She had done her best to creep by his room, but she knew somehow he had heard her, or felt her and a part of her had felt him stir behind the door.

He was just behind the door, probably dressed in a

pair of men’s pajamas, his chest bare. Before she realized

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it her hand was on the doorknob. A part of her desperately wanted to open it and fall back into his arms, and into his bed. But she shook herself and forced herself to step quietly back and down the hall. At the edge of the pool she took off her robe and dove in. The water was cool on her hot skin. She surfaced and then dove under again enjoying the feel of the water against her body. She swam leisurely around the pool, alternating between slow laps and floating on her back watching the stars. Instead of relaxing her, she was now wide awake. She got out of the pool and grabbed the robe. It was a warm night. She flung the robe onto the nearest lounge chair and stretched across it. Suddenly lights blared over head. “I miss our midnight swims.” “Simon, what the hell are you doing here?” “Just taking a stroll.” Simon sat down on the chair next to hers and rubbed his finger along her leg. She couldn’t help the shiver of delight that ran through her body. She forced herself to remember this man was her enemy. “Would you prefer if I’d promise not to touch you again until you ask me too?” “Yes.” She answered between tight lips.

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He studied her and she felt the heat move through her body following the trail of his eyes up her exposed legs, along the skimpy material of the blue bikini. He concentrated his glance on the supple curves of her breasts. “God, I wish I had your will power.” He leaned over and one finger tip gently began to trace along the mounds of exposed flesh that pushed their way over the top of the confining material.

He watched her breath quicken and

smiled. “What do you want?” She asked trying to keep her voice cold and distant. His eyes bore into hers. “You.” She said the words very slowly, punctuating each one. “You can’t have me.” “So you keep saying.” He smiled at her, but the smile never reached his eyes. She recognized that look it was one of pure animal lust. And her body cried out to answer the challenge. Parts of her body hummed with a heat and her heart beat quickened. She was suddenly wet. She was mad at herself, at her body which kept betraying her. Forcing her eyes from his, she turned her head and got up from the chair, trying to put physically distance between them. “You can’t have me,” she said it this time with more force as she walked away from him without looking back.

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****

Mac and Paris stood next to each other in the library going over the plans. It was the night of the heist. Midnight, only three hours until they would they would break in. Paris raised her hands to her temples rubbing them. She felt a migraine coming on. Yet another night without any sleep. She had hoped to get a nap in during the day, but Mac had forced her to go over every detail half a dozen times during the day. She looked at her watch. Just three hours until the heist. “I think we are ready.” “You look tired.” “I’m fine.” Mac walked behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. His strong hand began kneading her muscles. She sighed and leaned back, enjoying the sensation. “That feels good. Is this how you get those women to tell you all their secrets?” He chuckled. “I am a man of many skills.” “I bet.” “What about a kiss for luck?” “Stop clowning around.” She knew half the things that came out of Mac’s mouth were just to try and get a rise out

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of her. He seemed to get endless amusement from needling her. He whispered in her ear, “You know Harry always demands a kiss for luck before a job.” It was true, even as a child her father would find her before a job and demand she gave him a kiss on the check for luck. She laughed at the expression on Mac’s face. “Dream on, I’m not kissing you for luck.” Mac spun her around and before she could protest she was pulled into his strong arms. “Why not? Come on just a little one.” His breath was hot on her neck and sent chills down her spin. “Celebrating?” Simon entered the room a gun in his hand. “What the hell are you doing?” Mac demanded. “What did you do with it?” Simon voice was low and threatening. Mac’s stepped in front of Paris, his voice calm when he answered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “The painting. You double crossed me! Was it just you Mac,” Simone asked turning the gun on Paris, “Or were you involved?” “Simon you are insane,” Paris said quietly when she could finally find her voice.

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“Someone went in last night and stole it.” Simon stepped closer and aimed the gun at Mac’s head. “I want it back now!” Paris pushed Mac aside and started to walk towards Simon. “Stop it you idiot, he didn’t take it!” She had to reason with him. He was acting unhinged. If she didn’t convince him quickly he might do something stupid like actually shoot Mac. But before she could react Mac lunged forward and knocked the gun from Simon hands with one hand as the other swung out and hit Simon squarely on the jaw. Simon’s head snapped back. Another punch to the nose and Simon fell hard to the ground. Simon rolled and when he came to his feet he had the gun in his hands again. He took aim at Mac. Paris rushed forward forgetting for the moment her own safety. She had to stop this insanity. “Stop it!” She grabbed the arm holding the gun with both hands. “If he took the painting why is he still here?” Simon looked from Paris flushed face to Mac’s face which seemed void of expression. “If you stole it or not either way I’ll find out. If someone else took it then wherever that painting is, I’m going to find it and you two are going to steal it back. You understand me? I want that

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painting!” Simon yelled, he pushed her hard to the floor and stormed out of the room. Mac walked over and puts his arm out. Paris reached and he pulled her effortlessly to her feet. Her face was only inches from his. “Did you?” “You think I would double cross you?” “Yes.” Mac’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know where the necklace is and I didn’t steal that painting.” “I know you didn’t take the necklace. Simon gave it to me.” “Convenient.” “It’s not what you think.” “So tell me how it is.” Paris had no idea how to answer him. She opened her mouth to reply, but he stopped her. “Save it. Did you take the painting?” She shook her head, her long hair spilling over her shoulders. “No.” “So if you didn’t, then some other thief?” She laughed, “You seriously think someone stole it hours before we were going in.” “The other option is that I took it.” “Did you?” she demanded. “I told you I didn’t.”

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“I can’t afford to trust anyone.” “If I took it like you told Simon why am I still here?” She looked at him unable to answer. Why would he stay? If he had it he would be long gone by now.

****

When Simon had said he would find out who stole the painting Paris believed him. He was not a man who gave up easily. Simon disappeared for two days and when he finally reemerged she could tell he had found the information he was looking for. She recognized that the smug smile he was sporting. “Cole Drake has the painting.” Simone announced as he sat down at the table and helped himself to a plate full of lasagna. Paris had asked to eat lunch outside by the pool. She had invited Mac to join her but he had begged off. Mac had been moving slowly the last couple days and a man who normally ate a large quantity of food she had noticed lately he just picked at his food. She wondered how he was really doing. Every time she asked about his injuries he made a joke. Simon was talking a mile a minute and waving his fork around. “And Cole’s horse Butterfly 8 just won a race and Cole’s throwing an impromptu party tonight.” He handed Paris

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a newspaper clipping. “We’re invited. You are going as my date.” “Tonight! Are you nuts! There no time to prepare!” “It’s the only shot we have. By next week the painting will be moved. Right now my sources tell me he has it in his possession. Besides I know him, he likes to appreciate his trophies.” “And Mac? How’s he getting in?” “He can go as my body guard or business association.” She studied Cole’s photo on the paper. He was a handsome man, blonde with an expression of power both in his stature and his eyes. He was also a man with a reputation for getting even. If he found out Paris and Mac stole the painting, nothing on would stop him from exacting his revenge. He was not a man she would consider stealing from even with a lot of preparation. “We can’t do it.” He put his hand on her arm. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. Besides you don’t want to have to go back to visiting Daddy in jail every Saturday, do you?” She pushed his hand away and got up. “You’re a bastard!” “Paris, you are getting me that painting,” he growled. They stared at each other. She wanted to tell him to go to hell. She wanted to pick up the pool chair and smash

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against his face. Instead she lowered her head and said, “Okay. Tonight we go in.” “Good girl. I picked out a dress I think you’ll like. I always liked you in blue. Pass that pasta salad it looks delicious.”

**** Paris felt self-conscious. The evening gown was blue as promised, but it was also cut so low in the front it bordered on the obscene. Simon had a wicked sense of humor. She knew he picked the dress knowing she would be uncomfortable showing so much cleavage. If the cleavage wasn’t bad enough the rest of the dress didn’t leave much to the imagination. Covered in blue sequins it hugged her body and emphasized every curve. Mac watched her tug at the front of her dress and laughed. “Stop fussing you look stunning tonight.” “I feel like a hooker.” “A high class one at the very least.” “Shut up!” He laughed and straightened his tie. He looked stunning himself in his dark gray suit and blue striped tie. He looked more like a banker than a cat burglar. Paris eyes roamed from Mac to the grandeur around her. “This is quite a place.”

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The mansion was a show stopper. The ballroom was a huge expansion of white and black marble floor that lead up to a white marble staircase. On one side of the room a full buffet featuring lobster and seafood was spread out. On the other a twelve piece orchestra played music. A crowd of people were scattered around the room, many huddle in small groups as they talked and ate. Mac turned to her and held out his hand. “Come dance with me.” “No one else is dancing.” “We’ll start a trend.” “No.” “Scared?” his eyes swept over he face, “Oh I forgot you have nerves of steel.” “That’s right.” “Come on supergirl. I promise not to bite.” They gilded across the room. And slowly more couples joined in, dancing across the marble floor. Suddenly her body collided with something hard. A low masculine voice spoke into her ear. “I’m so sorry. How clumsy of me.” Hands glazed cross her waist and she spun around and found herself face to face with Cole Drake.

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“Your Simon’s friend if I’m not mistaken,” Cole’s eyes scanned down to her cleavage and never left it as he spoke, “Charming.” She forced the anger from her voice and plastered a smile on her face. “You must be Cole. Simon has told me so much about you.” “Only good things I hope.” Cole reached out and grabbed one of her hands, placing it between his. “Simon was telling me you love to ride. I have a wonderful stable. Come by anytime I’m sure I can find something for you to ride.” Mac body was suddenly next to hers. “Excuse us.” Without another word he pulled her away from Cole and back into his arms. They began dancing again to the music. “Why the hell did you do that?” Paris hissed. “The guy is a snake.” “The snake has the painting. I could have pumped him for information.” “You think you could seduce the info out of him?” Mac’s voice sounded angry. Before she could reply Simon walked across the room and demanded, “My turn.” She reluctantly went into his arms. And he gave her a wide smile as the music slowed. “I slipped the band a little extra to play something romantic.” “You really shouldn’t have.”

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He pulled her closer and gave her a kiss on neck. “Did I tell you how delicious you look tonight?” She resisted the urge push him away. He was supposed to be her lover, which meant she needed to play the part of doting girl friend. She flipped back her hair and gave a loud giggle. “Only a dozen times, darling.” Simon’s lips trailed along the curve of her neck, coming to rest just below her ear. “You have maybe twenty minutes, any longer and your absence might be noticed by our gracious host,” he whispered in her ear while his hands came to rest on her ass. The temptation to smack him hard was almost too much for her. Simon laughed suddenly as if aware of her inner turmoil. His hands begin gently caressing her back. And she had to force down the angry that was boiling to the surface. She might have known he would take advantage of the situation. His fingers played up and down her spin. “Smile, darling. You are supposed to be warm for my form, remember?” “How could I possibly forget,” the words were forced out slowly as she concentrated on keeping the smile plastered on her face. As his fingers came to rest just below her ribcage she grabbed his hand and pulled it up towards her lips. She gave his palm a gently kiss then stared into his eyes. Now there faces were only inches

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apart. “Try that again and I swear I’ll break every finger, sweetie pie.” He laughed out loud and raised his hand to caress her cheek. “Remember, to be careful. Now if you’ll excuse me Dear, I have to mosey over to the other side of the room and cause a raucous.” Paris made her way slowly across the room towards Mac. He stood a foot from the door that lead to a hallway that gave them access to a back staircase. “All set?” he asked, his eyes scanning the room. She took her place next to him. “Simon is going to cause a distraction and then we’re a go.” Suddenly loud angry voice could be heard over the music. The exact moment all eyes turned towards the fight in process across the room, Mac and Paris slipped unseen through the door. They made their way quickly down the hallway and up the staircase. At the landing Paris took out a pair of gloves from her handbag and put them on. “You take the library and I’ll check out his office. Whoever finds the painting first, the other has to buy them dinner. Deal?” She expected a sarcastic reply instead Mac’s voice was serious. “Any trouble you get out. Don’t wait for me just get your butt out of this house.”

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“Mac, when have I ever had a problem leaving your ass behind?” She gave him a saucy wink and headed down the hall. ****

She checked her watch. She had been searching the office for five minutes. Nothing. The safe had been full of cash and documents, but no painting. And the secret compartment she found inside his desk only housed a dozen phony passports. Maybe Mac was having better luck. Probably, the bastard was always lucky. But this time she didn’t mind losing. Especially if it meant they could be done with this job. She made sure she put everything back as she found it and made her way out of the office and down towards the library. Mac met her at the library door. “Anything?” He shook his head. “A few priceless statues, some very nice and expensive artwork. Everything, but the painting we’re looking for.” “Cole’s bedroom is our last shot. If he doesn’t have it stashed there we’re totally screwed.”

****

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Cole’s bedroom lived up to his playboy reputation. Round bed, covered in red velvet bed spread. White lamps shades topped statues of golden naked ladies. She looked up expecting to find a mirrored ceiling. “I guess he drew the line.” “What was that?” Mac asked. He was rummaging through a large cherry wood dresser. “Never mind. Find anything?” “No how about you?” Footsteps sounded at the door and the doorknob began to turn. Mac dived behind the large dresser, but Paris, who was in the center of the room didn’t have time hide.

She

watched in horror as the door swung open and in walked Cole Drake. If he was surprised at finding a woman he just met in his bedroom he hid it well. His voice sounded almost cordial. “Well, hello.” She forced a smile on her lips. “Hi.” “To what do I owe the honor of your visit?” as he asked the question he took a few steps forward. He was walking in the direction of Mac’s hiding place. A few more steps and he would see Mac’s huddle against the dresser. She had to do something to distract his attention. She tossed her hair back and gave him her most seductive smile. “You invited me riding.”

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His eyes took in her body, slowly and he smiled. “Yes, I did. And you decided to take me up on my offer now? I have to tell you, it’s too dark outside to go riding.” “Really?” she asked rounding her eyes in surprise. Her fingers reached behind her and she slowly unzipped the back of her dress. Paris let the dress fall in a pool at her feet and kept the smile on her face as she stepped away from it. She was now only wearing white garters, a bra and panties and high heels. She lowered her voice and asked, “Hmm, if not horse riding, what can we do at night to entertain ourselves?” Paris could see over Cole shoulder the look of shock on Mac’s face. “Won’t Simon mind, if I share?” Cole asked “I don’t belong to Simon!” “Lucky me. Champagne?” “Let me,” she cooed, making her way quickly to the bar against the wall. If she could get Cole on the bed, she could switch the lights off and Mac could escape out of the room. Hopefully he could then make some distraction so she could escape before she was forced to do more than just play the seductress. She walked back over and handed Cole a bottle of champagne and two glasses. In her best sexy saunter she made her way to the bed, sat down and patted the spot next to her.

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Cole joined her. He expertly opened the champagne and handed her a glass. He put the bottle on the floor and settled himself closer to her. He took a sip of champagne, his free hand began to skim down her down her bare shoulder. His fingers traveled to the edge of her bra and grazed across the see thru material. It took every once of will not to shudder at his touch. She forced an expression of pleasure on her face. “Looks like its going to be an interesting night.” Before she could even think of a reply a loud knock sounded at the door. Cole frowned, got up from the bed and answered the door. She couldn’t see who he was talking to, but the exchange only lasted a few seconds before he turned back towards her. “I have a bit of business I have to take care of. It’s not in my nature to make a beautiful women wait but this is important. Make yourself comfortable. I won’t be long.” Paris made herself comfortable on the bed. She lifted the glass of champagne to her mouth and took a sip watching him with a slight smile. “I don’t mind,” She purred in her most seductive voice. She cursed herself as Cole hesitated. She could feel her heart beating loudly in her chest as he stood looking at her. By the look in his eyes he was ready to forgot about

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urgent business and join her on the bed. She had overplayed her hand. She was trying to think of something to say to get him out the door, when he turned suddenly and left without a word, closing the door slowly behind him. The door had barely closed when Mac stormed towards the bed. He towered over her and demanded, “What the hell do you think your doing?” “Keep your voice down moron. I’m saving your ass, for the second time!” she hissed. He picked up her dress from the floor and threw it at her. “Put your damn clothes on!” She didn’t understand why he was so mad. “Go to hell!” He suddenly lunged towards her, taking her by surprise. One moment he was standing over her the next he was on the bed next to her. His eyes were now only inches from hers. His body pressed firmly against hers. “What are you doing?” His lips lowered and she was suddenly lost in his kiss. She tried to push him away, tried to keep from acting like the kiss affected her in anyway, but when it deepened and his tongue slid against hers, she couldn’t stop the moan from escaping from between her lips. Damn Mac to hell. It was incredible rash and foolish what they were doing. Cole will be back any minute, but

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suddenly she didn’t care. Everything was forgotten as Mac’s mouth pulled away from hers and slowly made its way down her shoulder. His fingers trailed softly against her naked skin. The feeling was intoxicating. She was so lost in the moment she didn’t resist when his hands undid her bra. It wasn’t until a rough palm grazed across a swollen nipple she realized her breasts where now completely exposed. When his mouth took that nipple between his lips her head jerked back and she gasped out loud. He licked and then sucked a bit harder. All the while his free hand blazed a trail down to the thin material covering her. He yanked at her panties, ripping them aside. Before she could protest he shifted and suddenly his mouth was on belly. He slowly made his way lower to her inner thigh. His hot breath kissed softly back and forth, up and then down. And each exquisite time his lips grew closer to her mound. When she thought she couldn’t take it anymore those lips plunged into her. Her body rocked up and both his hands grasped her from behind forcing her up higher as his mouth began to plunder. Her breath was now coming out in rasps. Her body jerking back and forth as the pleasure built. A part of her which was still thinking rationally realized if she made any noise they could be caught. When she felt explosion of ecstasy bursting from her very core she covered her hand

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over her own mouth, biting down to keep from screaming out loud as the orgasm rocked hard through her entire body. His body moved slowly up hers until his mouth found the delicate skin behind her ear. She could feel the hard pulse of his arousal against her. And then she felt something else. A strange vibration. It took her a few minutes to realize it was Mac’s cell phone. And in a rush the realization of where she was and what they were doing hit her. She pushed against him, trying to get his attention. “Mac, your phone.” He ignored her. She used all her strength to push him off her. He lay next to her his eyes filled with surprise. “Your phone.” Understanding slowly filled his eyes. When Mac answered the phone his voice abrupt. She would tell he did not like what was being said on the other end, as she watched anger fill his eyes and a frown form on his face. He suddenly shoved the phone into her hands. “Where the hell are you? And more importantly did you find the damn painting?” Simon. His voice splashed her sense like a bucket of cold water. What was she doing? She was on a job and the Cole would be back any minute.

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She couldn’t meet Mac’s eyes as she scrambled off the bed and reached for her clothes “Simon. Um, no. not yet.” “Stop fucking around and hurry up!” his voice shouted and the line went dead. She closed the phone and threw it back at Mac. “We need to find the painting.” Mac caught it and got off the bed. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes followed her every movement and were dark with what she wasn’t sure. Suddenly she felt self conscious. She didn’t met his eyes again as she scrambled off the bed and back into her clothes. They searched the room in silence. Both safes were empty. She was beginning to give up hope when it suddenly dawned on her that the painting above Cole’s bed was the exact dimension of the painting they were looking for. “Give me your knife.” She removed the painting and placed it on the bed upside down. She slid the knife along the edge of the frame and carefully cut away until she could peal and edge of the seascape up. Below the seascape was the painting they have been looking for. Cole had hid it within another painting. Smart.

She carefully cut it

from the frame handed it to Mac. He rolled it up and slipped it down his pant leg closing this jacket.

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She smiled up at him. “I found it, so where you taking me to dinner.” He watched her in silence his eyes and expression grim. She waited for him to give her a hard time, but instead he turned without a word and headed out the door.

***

He had been a fool to touch her. He had always been careful not to get to close. She had always made it very clear she didn’t want anything from him. And he was not the type of man that had to throw himself at women. But when he had watched Cole’s hands on her, his body had been filled with a rage. He wanted to smash the man’s face in. He wanted to kill him, just for touching Paris. His reaction had shaken him. He was not a man who let himself get out of control. Cold and calculating was the only way you stayed safe in this job. As soon as you let your emotions cloud your judgment you were through. Harry had taught him that. And it was a lesson he had always followed until now. He still couldn’t get the way she looked out of his mind. As she lay across the bed, her long legs encased in white stockings, white stockings that lead up to a garter with a pink rose. He had seen half clothed women before. Hell he had seen naked women before that

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hadn’t effected him like she did. Her hair was tousled, her nipples peaking out from the sheer material of her bra. When she looked up at him with those large blue cat eyes he had lost all rational thought. He wanted to strangle her for what she did. Even though a part of his brain new she was doing it to save his skin. He didn’t care why she was trying to seduce Cole. He just knew that he wanted to shake her from head to toe for doing it. That’s what he had meant to do. To shake sense into her, but instead had looked at her full lips, parted in surprise and he had lowered his own just for one taste. One taste is all he promised himself. A man could only stand so much torture. But as his lips took hers, he could no longer think. Hot fire burned through his body. He couldn’t think of anything, but the smell of her perfume--a mixture of vanilla and flowers and the taste of her soft skin had driven him insane. He had made love to her knowing that any minute they could have been discovered. When Simon called, he watched the expressions play across her face. First surprise then guilt. She was Simon woman by choice Mac reminded himself. Mac was so far into his own thoughts it took him a moment to realize someone was calling his name.

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He turned and froze when he realized Cole was standing inches from Paris, a gun nozzle was pressed firmly against her temple. Cole smiled widely. “Leaving so soon? I think you have something of mine.” “Let her go.” “In due time. Now let’s go into the library and discuss this in private.” He motioned with the gun. Mac turned and made his way into the library. His mind was racing. If he could get close enough to Cole he could knock the gun away. Cole pushed Paris into the room and pointed the gun at Mac. “Put the painting on the desk.” “Don’t do anything crazy.” “Crazy like having my ex-partner send two thieves into my house to steal my property?” Mac placed the painting on the desk and put up both his hands as if in surrender. “That’s right paid thieves who don’t really give a damn about your painting. Just let her go and we will leave.” “What fun is there in doing that?” He waved the gun back and forth in the air. “I guess since I’m the one with the gun, I get to make the rules of this game. Now step back away from the desk and I want both of you over there

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in the corner where I can keep an eye on you.” Cole moved to the desk. He never took the gun off them as he picked up the phone. “The party is over. Tell everyone to go home. Yes, I mean now. I want everyone out of this house in ten minutes or your ass is fired.” He put down the phone and smiled. “Good help is so hard to find now a days.” Cole sat on the desk and motioned towards Paris. “You come over here. I want take a closer look.” When she didn’t move he pointed the gun at Mac. “Get that cute ass over here right now or I blow his head off.” Paris scrambled across the room. She stopped in front of him and he grabbed her pulling her closer. “You weren’t so shy earlier.” Cole’s free hand ran down her arm. “Simone always did have the most exquisite taste in woman.” He smiled up at her. “Revenge. How can I get my revenge. Hmm, I can think of a few things I could do that might piss off Simone.” “Leave her alone.” Mac growled from across the room. Cole laughed. Standing up he reached out and traced the plunge of her neckline. ”Nice.” “Take your hands off her.” Before Paris could reach Mac lunged across the room. Cole turned and pointed the gun in his direction. Paris knocked it out of his hands. It fell to the floor and both

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Cole and Mac dove for it. Their bodies wrestled on the ground. Suddenly the sound of a muffled gun shot filled the air. Paris watched in horror as Mac body went still. A scream froze in the back of her throat. He had killed Mac. She could feel the blood drain from her face as her body went cold. Mac was dead. And then Mac moved. He rolled off Cole and got to his feet. It took a few minutes for Paris to find her voice. “It was self defense.” She said as she looked down at Cole’s lifeless body. “No one will believe that.” Mac said. “Give me your phone.” “Who are you calling?” “Simon. He’ll know what to do.” Simon answered on the first ring his voice harsh. “Where the hell are you?” “On the second floor, third room on the left. We have the painting, but there’s a problem Cole is dead.” “Stay where you are…” before she could say anything the line went dead. Mac and Paris stood close together without speaking, waiting any moment for Cole’s men or the police to burst

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in. The minutes ticked by. She had no idea how long they waited. When the door finally opened Paris jumped. It was Simon. “It’s okay. I know most of Cole’s men. I just explained to them they may be looking for a new job in the morning and offered them a hefty salary if they left their current employment asap and came to work for me.” “You bought off Cole’s men?” Simon smiled. “Of course.” “Then I don’t understand why you couldn’t have done that before and had them swipe the painting for you!” Paris demanded. “Where’s the challenge and fun in that?” “Was this whole thing a game just to try and get me back?” When he didn’t answer she walked up and slapped him across the face. “You are a bastard!” His eyes never left her face as his raised his hand to rub his cheek. “So you are always telling me.” Simon looked down at Cole’s lifeless body. “You main concern here is not a court of law, but Cole’s associates. Cole is not only tied into organized crime, he’s the nephew of one of the mafia’s top hit men Eddie the bull. No way Eddie will let you live.” “What do we do?” Paris asked. “Mac has to run.” “No.” Paris whispered.

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Simon turned to Mac. “Your best bet is Europe. I have a buyer for the painting. I can give you half of what I get for it as a bankroll.” Paris walked over and stood in front of Mac. “No.” this time she said it with force and volume. Mac demanded, “What choice do I have?” “I got you into this mess, if you are running then so am I.” Mac’s eyes suddenly filled with anger. “You aren’t coming with me.” “Yes, I am.” Simon grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh. “Paris, don’t be an idiot. I can protect you. I have enough connections and pull I can convince them you had nothing to do with Cole’s death.” “Paris listen to him. Simon is right. He is your best bet to keeping you safe.” Paris pulled her arm out of Simon’s grip and she faced him. “I am not letting Mac go alone.” “What about your father?” Paris voice was calm and collected voice. “We’ll take him with us.” “How far do you think you will get, the three of you traveling. Are you insane?” Simon hissed.

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“Maybe.” She turned back to Mac and raised her hand against his cheek. “I’m going with you.” “Did you ever think I don’t want you coming with me?” “You might say it but you know it’s a lie.” “Paris, stay with Simon.” “I don’t want Simon, you idiot. I want you.” And it was true. As much as she had tried to deny it she had always been in love with Mac. She had just been too emotionally fragile to admit it. But now she faced what she felt for him straight on. She was in love with him and she was not letting him out of her sight. Mac didn’t say a word he just watched her. “Are you both crazy! No way you’ll make it out of the state, let alone the country with the old man tagging along.” Mac turned to Simon. “I think we’ll take our chances.” Mac grabbed her and put his arms around her. “Are you really sure about this?” “Yes,” her hands caressed his cheek. “It took me a long time to realize what you mean to me and now that I know how I feel about you, I’m not letting you get away.” “It will be a hard life. If we get out of the country we’ll have to live by our wits and skills.” “Are you saying you don’t think I am up for the challenge?” she demanded.

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Mac laughed, “I can’t imagine anyone I would rather have by my side.” “Good, it took you long enough to realize what a great thief I am.” “The greatest. You stole my heart. Something I didn’t think was possible.” He turned to Simon. “Now what?” Simon face was expressionless. He stood like a statue watching them. When he finally spoke his voice was cold and distant, “You go get Harry. I’ll call some people and take care of this mess. Meet me back at my place in a few hours. I should have the money by then.” Mac leaned in and kissed Paris long and hard. When he was done he gave her a smile and held out his hand. “Ready?” She looked at Simon and wondered what was going through his head. It wasn’t like him to give up so easily. He was not the type to surrender in a game. And for a moment that worried her. Would he come after her? She knew he had the money and resources to track her down no matter where or how far she ran. And the thought sent a chill down her spin. She looked into Mac’s eyes and her heart swelled. She really loved him and she was not going to lose him, not matter what she had to sacrifice.

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She had no idea what the future held, but she had to trust together they would survive it. She took a deep breath and placed her hand in his. “Ready. As long as we are together, that’s all that matters.” The End Check out more free reads at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/SamanthaStorm/

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