The Family Jewels

by Christine Bell

  He’d already cost her thousands by cutting her little night trip short, and something deep down told her that, in the long run?

  It was going to cost her far more than that.

  Jake let her words play over in his mind for a while and took a sip from his glass.

  He'd used a lot of people on the way to nailing Alistair Hannigan and all the people before him. Secretaries he’d had to lean on, hotel workers and cleaning people he’d bribed, bank officials and trash collectors he’d used.

  And then there was Mike. His own brother, his flesh and blood, who he'd lied to countless times. Most of the people he'd dealt with were only out for themselves or a buck, but some of the things he'd done?

  Had definitely left a smudge on his soul.

  "By that definition, I'd have to agree. There is little that I could imagine doing to Alistair Hannigan that he wouldn't deserve and then some."

  She shifted in her seat to face him, swallowing him whole with those dark eyes. "Exactly. It's not too often you can say that in this line of work,” she said. “Sometimes, you spend months gathering intel on a mark. You think they're perfect. Some slumlord who doesn't fix the heat in the wintertime who’s cheating on his wife, to boot. And then, you happen to be tailing him only to find out that his wife is cheating too. And they have a daughter who has spina bifida, and sure, he's a shit of a person, but when he leaves from visiting her, he lays his head on the steering wheel and bursts into tears."

  She swallowed hard and looked down, making a show of tapping out a little ditty on the bar with her fingertips.

  "That's when it's hard. Because no matter how much you want them to, most people don't fit into a box like that. Everybody's got their shit that they've lived with, everyone has their struggles. There's always some guilt there. That's the nature of the beast. Which is why it's so nice when it's easy. When you've spent months following a person's every move and you realize more and more that they have almost no redeeming qualities. Makes me feel...justified, or something. I know that sounds messed up. I can hear it when I'm saying it, how hypocritical it is, but you wanted honesty so I'm giving it."

  And damn if that didn't impress the hell out of him.

  It shouldn't. She'd been nothing but a fly in his soup. A thorn in his side.

  But as he watched her through half-lowered lids, he wondered if that was the reason for this bizarre, insane attraction. He'd never liked easy, preferring women who challenged him mentally, gave him a run for his money. Those women seemed few and far between. But this one? She intrigued him, trouble or no. He liked to listen to her talk, see how her mind worked, watch her move.

  If he wasn't careful, he was going to find himself nursing a serious case of infatuation. And if he thought she was causing him trouble now? She’d wreak havoc if they took this attraction further.

  “What is it that you really want, Jake?”

  What did he want? He couldn’t tell her the whole truth. That, since the first day he'd seen her at the restaurant, he'd wanted to see her sprawled out naked on his bed while he did all number of wicked things to her with his mouth. That he wanted to see Alistair Hannigan with his life and reputation in ruins around him because the need for vengeance had kept him from a decent night sleep for years.

  She might be a slick little cat burglar, but she obviously wasn't in the business of ruining lives and who knew at what point she'd balk. She'd done nothing but show herself to be immoral and a compulsive liar, but his instinct told him different. Common sense told him that she stole and conned people out of money because she liked nice things, but he eyed her cheap purse and her well-worn clothes with a practiced eye. He'd been around women who liked to shop and spend money, and she wasn't one of them. And her real hair, while amazing, was due to good genes. Color like that didn't come from a bottle. She was a natural beauty, he'd stake his considerable fortune on it. So what was she spending all her ill-gotten gains on?

  He tucked that question into his pocket for another day and focused on the most immediate problem.

  Time to cut to the chase.

  "I want you to give me the things you snatched from Alistair’s room,” He hadn't even gotten the words out before she started to shake her head. "Let me finish. If you give me what you've got, I will pay you the equivalent of the value in cash. It's a win-win. You'd save yourself the trouble of having to find a fence, and I'd get back the jewels. You can keep your job here if you want, and move on to another mark. I promise I won’t get in your way."

  She stared at him, her liquid brown eyes stirring all sorts of thoughts up in his head that he shouldn't be thinking.

  “Why?” Her smooth brow wrinkled. “What’s so special about the items I took?”

  "Nothing except that you took them and I need to put them back."

  She squinted at him suspiciously, and he could practically hear the gears grinding as she tried to work out his angle. “If you think he’s as bad as I do, why do we have to give the stuff back?”

  “When he finds out he was robbed, best case, he’ll tighten up his security, which doesn’t work for me. Worst case, he's going to suspect it was one of us at the card game. I'm the only one who left the room for any period of time,” he said, lowering his voice as Petra walked past. “I can’t have him looking too hard at me." He had covered his past well, but he didn’t want his business or identity under that kind of scrutiny. It was an unnecessary risk.

  “Even if I agree --which I haven’t-- how would you get the stuff back into his bedroom before he noticed it was missing?”

  “He’s going to the Hamptons to golf tomorrow and then heading straight back to Manhattan for the rest of the weekend for some art show. He’ll spend his week in the city like always, so he won’t be back at the Long Island estate until the next poker game, which is a week away. Unless he noticed already, it’s unlikely that he will before Friday. You give me the stuff, and I’ll worry about putting it back then.”

  She crossed one leg over the other and closed her white teeth over the plump maraschino cherry she’d plucked from her glass. Some of the juice dripped down her chin and it took every ounce of discipline he had not to dip in and lick it off. How could he want a woman as confounding as this one, so desperately? He literally couldn't take his eyes off her.

  She studied him for a long moment before swiping at her chin and leaning toward him. "Okay. I’ll give you the stuff. But I don’t just want the cash.” She dipped her head close to his ear and whispered, “I want in."

  She was stubborn and ballsy as hell, he’d give her that. "Look, Sadie, you don’t have any idea what you’re even asking and-"

  "Whatever this long con is, it's obviously way more lucrative than the twenty thousand dollars worth of jewelry I managed to lift from him before you interrupted me. And I want a piece of it." She sat back in her seat and lifted her chin defiantly. “It’s a win-win. We both get what we want and walk away happy.”

  “This isn’t about finances for me. What I stand to gain is nothing that can be divvied between us.” More importantly, though, he didn’t need her underfoot.

  Her face dropped but she rebounded quickly, the quiet desperation in her eyes moving him far more than it should have. "Okay, so bring me with you to the poker game next weekend, then."

  "He’s already met you. Twice, I might add. Do you honestly think he's stupid enough to not recognize you as a third person?" Even as he said it, he wondered about the answer himself. She was good, and Alistair was dumb enough to let a nice pair of breasts sway him into believing just about anything.

  "Actually, I do," she answered, reiterating his own thoughts on the topic, "but we don't need to take it there. I can go as the Countess. You can tell him you ran into me and invited me along, can't you?"

  "Do you have twenty-five thousand dollars to buy in with?"

  "No. But once you pay me that amount for the jewelry I will."

  "Do you know how to play poker?"

  "Of course," she snorted, rolling
her eyes with disgust. "What do they play, Seven-card Stud? Omaha? Hold 'Em?"

  "Hold 'Em. But I'm not sure how they’ll feel about women at the table."

  She thought about that long and hard before giving him a curt nod.

  "Fine. I'm going to gamble on me," she said, slapping her hand on the bar. "All you have to do is bring me. If I can’t get him to let me play, I keep the twenty-five grand, no harm no foul."

  "And if he says yes?"

  A radiant smile spread over her luscious lips sending a pulse of heat to his groin. What would those lips feel like under his?

  "Then you let me work my magic at the poker table.” She held up her glass and smiled. “What do you say, Jake? Shall we drink on it?"

  7

  Maybe she should've said no on that last drink. Or the one before that. Jake had stopped at two, but she was wrung out and they were so cold and delicious, with all those cherries…

  Laughter bubbled from between her lips, broken by a loud hiccup. "Scuse me," she murmured, letting her head loll back on the plush, leather headrest.

  She sat up with a grumble and yanked the itchy wig off before letting her head fall back again, breathing in deeply.

  "Mmm. This is a nice car. Someday I'm going to have a car like this."

  Jake’s response sounded more like a chuckle than anything else, and she opened one eye to get a look at his face. Sure enough, he was smiling that crooked smile of his, dimple cranked up to eleven.

  "Oh, for fuck's sake, put that thing away already, would you?"

  "I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about,” he murmured, shooting a bemused glance in her direction.

  “The dimple,” she grumbled. “It’s ridiculous.”

  “And where would you suggest I put it, lass?"

  She mimicked him in her best Irish accent, "‘And where would you suggest I put it, lass.’ Like, I must be a total anomaly. I bet when you bust out the accent and the dimple at the same time, most women's vaginas just explode like cherry bombs on the Fourth of July, don't they?"

  He barked out a full-on laugh. "I'm not even sure why I would want that to happen. Sounds painful."

  "You know what I mean. The ladies probably fall all over themselves to get a bit o’ the old Callahan Irish salami, am I right?"

  He didn't deny it but she wasn't sure if that was because his shoulders were shaking with laughter or because she was right.

  “There’s no such thing as Irish salami,” he corrected her with a wink.

  “Well that’s a damn shame, isn’t it?” She pressed her cheek against the cool leather again realizing the smell reminded her a little of Jake himself and she burrowed closer. “Do I have eggs?" she murmured, scrunching her face in hopes of jogging her memory.

  "Eggs?” He shook his head slowly. “Right now, you mean?"

  "Don't be ridiculous. Who brings eggs to a bar? I mean, do I have eggs in my fridge.” She enunciated carefully since he was clearly not on the ball tonight. “At my apartment."

  "I couldn't say," he responded, humor still lacing his tone.

  "I bet I have eggs.” She realized belatedly that she'd said it in a stage whisper and had added a double wink in case he didn't catch her drift.

  Was she seriously propositioning him? When was the last time she'd done something just for the sheer pleasure of it? Sure, she ate the occasional slice of cheesecake, or spent a lazy day window shopping on Fifth Avenue without buying, but really indulging? Doing something for the sheer pleasure of it, without an eye to the consequences? It had been a long time.

  And something told her that Jake Callahan would be so worth it.

  She was already sure to regret the fifth --or was it sixth?-- Manhattan she’d drank, anyway. If she was doomed to a morning of regrets, why not add another to the list?

  She sat up, and repeated her offer, being extra careful not to slur her words this time in case he thought she was too drunk to make life decisions.

  “What do you say, Callahan? Want to come in for some,” she waggled her brows at him, “eggs?”

  His strong hands gripped the steering wheel tighter as he pulled in front of her apartment building and popped the car in park. Her heart pounded as he shifted in his seat to face her, his handsome face backlit by the full moon.

  "Countess, I would surely love some eggs. And believe me,” he took her chin in his hand urging her to meet his gaze and let out a pained laugh, “I'd love...whatever else it is that you’re offering, but I prefer my ladies coherent, and an hour ago, you didn’t even like me. If you wake up tomorrow and still want to make me eggs? You have my number. I can be here in twelve minutes or less. Guaranteed."

  That last word left no doubt in her fuzzy mind that he was guaranteeing a lot more than just the speed of his arrival.

  She wet her suddenly dry lips, trying desperately to work up enough moisture to respond. Play it off like she'd been kidding around. But the intensity in his eyes halted her dead in her tracks.

  Lord was he handsome. And dead wrong. She did like him. Far more than she ought to.

  Even as her brain was telling her to open the door...to step out and thank him for the ride, she found herself leaning toward him, unable to stop herself.

  "Sadie," he muttered, when her mouth was only an inch from his. It was meant to be a warning, she was sure, but it sounded more like a prayer. A second later, she closed the gap between them and he slanted his mouth over hers. This was no gentle kiss. It was a gnashing of tongues and teeth. A maelstrom of heat and want. A culmination of tension that had been brewing between them from the moment they'd laid eyes on each other.

  He pulled back with a groan to trace her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue and laced his fingers into her hair. Then he tipped her head to the side so he could take the kiss deeper again. She moaned against his mouth, desperate to get closer, silently cursing the console between them.

  "I knew you'd taste like that," he rasped, the huskiness of his voice conveying his need. He wanted her as badly as she wanted him, and the thought sent a bolt of heat through her. “Sweet and hot.”

  She barely caught her breath before he was back again, kissing her like she was the last woman on earth. When had she kissed a man last? And moreover, when had she ever been kissed like this?

  The answer required no thought at all.

  Never.

  She strained forward, giving in to the need to touch him, letting her fingers trail over his rock hard biceps before gripping his thickly muscled shoulders. He felt more superhero than man and she groaned her approval.

  He drew back to pepper kisses along her jawline. "Don't make that sound. It's killing me," he said, his voice all growl.

  A thrill ran through her and she shifted her body closer to his, tilting her head back to give him better access as his mouth moved over her throat. Could he feel the pounding of her pulse against his lips? He nipped her sharply and then soothed the spot with his tongue.

  "Ah, Countess," he bit out through gritted teeth, dropping kisses on her neck between words, "we've got to stop while I still have a thought in my head."

  Every nerve in her body rallied in protest. She didn't want to stop. She didn't want to think. She just wanted to feel.

  Just this once...

  God, she was gorgeous.

  Jake sucked in a steadying breath and tried to think through the rush of blood pounding in his head.

  What had he done to deserve this extra helping of suffering tonight? Because suffering, he was. The most compelling woman he'd ever met was sliding her tongue into his mouth the way he wanted to slide into her, and he had to say no.

  It defied all the laws of nature. His cock was jammed against his fly like a war-hammer ready for battle, and his thighs quaked with want.

  Using every ounce of self-control he could muster, he began to pull away, but she wasn’t letting go. She moved with him, stretching as far across the barrier between them as she could, smashing her soft breasts against his hard chest.
/>
  "Please stay," she whispered, and then kissed him again.

  "I can't."

  This time, though, it wasn't about Hannigan or the job. The way he felt in the moment, that all seemed far away. Like another time and place.

  But he couldn't bring himself to take advantage of Sadie when she was obviously drunk. Which meant bringing things to a halt sooner than later.

  And, damn, it hurt.

  He took her shoulders gently in his hands and pulled back, anchoring her in place. "Sadie."

  Her glassy eyes went sharp and she ran a trembling hand over her lips. "Um, yeah, sure. I get it. Sorry, I don't know what came over me."

  "Don't," he demanded, his tone sharper than he'd intended. He shook his head and lowered his voice. "It was my fault. I shouldn't have let you drink so much. You seemed like you needed to unwind, and I knew I'd be able to get you home safe.” He blew out a sigh and scrubbed a hand over his chin. “But going into your apartment and fucking ourselves blind isn't getting you home safe. If we sleep together one day, it will be because we both want it, not because you were too piss-drunk to realize what a bad idea it was."

  He hadn't meant to say that. He'd meant to let her down easy, not all but invite her for a ride on the Jake Train once she'd slept it off. When they'd both had some time and space to think without their hormones getting in the way, surely they'd both realize they'd dodged a bullet. Better to make it a clean, straight “no.”

  So why wasn't he explaining that to her now? Letting her know this was never going to happen?

  "It's okay. It's all good. You're totally right, I should go in. I've got someplace to be early in the morning," she said, adding a rusty sounding laugh. "Better take some aspirin before bed, am I right?"

  She had one hand on the door and it took everything he had not to reach out for her. To yank her right over the console and onto his lap to show her that stopping had been just as hard on him as it had been on her --his cock bucked in protest-- maybe even harder.