She still remembered the night she’d asked her friend why she had willingly chosen a profession where she was controlled by the opposite sex. They’d been sprawled on Sam’s red satin sheets, drunk on a bottle of champagne Juliet had lifted from a fancy nabob’s house along with a gold pocket watch and a diamond choker.
Lifting a sleek ebony brow, Sam had softly laughed and said, “But darling, you’ve got it all wrong. I control them. Not the other way around. All it takes is a smoldering stare…a suggestive touch…and they’ll do whatever I want.” She sipped her champagne. “The real trick is making them believe it’s their idea.”
“How do you do that?” Juliet had asked, intrigued.
Sam rolled from her belly to her back, dark hair slithering over her arms in a curtain of black silk as she sat up on her elbows. “Figure out what they desire – what they really desire – and give it to them.”
“Sounds easy enough.”
“If it was that easy I wouldn’t make thirty pounds a client.”
Champagne spilled across the coverlet as Juliet’s flute tipped in her hand. “Thirty pounds? But that’s a bloody–”
“Fortune. Yes, I know.” One pale shoulder lifted in a careless shrug. “And I don’t even have to leave this bed to get it. Well, sometimes I leave the bed.” Her blue eyes twinkled mischievously. “What can I say, darling? Passion is a powerful tool. Learn how to wield it and you’ll have the world – and any man you choose – at your fingertips.”
Juliet had learned a valuable lesson that day, and it was one she’d never forgotten. If she wanted to control the runner, all she needed to do was find out what he wanted…and give it to him.
“Is that everything?” he asked, nodding at the pistol and dagger she’d thrown onto the bed.
“Of course. What?” She slanted him a sideways glance over her shoulder when she heard his incredulous snort. “Don’t believe me? I can’t say as I blame you. I suppose I could always disrobe completely. That’s the only way you would know for sure,” she purred, channeling the smoky voice she’d heard Sam use with her clients. While the art of seduction did not come as naturally to her as her friend, she’d always been a consummate actress. Not that her desire for Grant required much acting…
“That will not be necessary,” he said quickly. Too quickly to her way of thinking.
Ignoring him, she began to trail her hands up her body. His countenance unreadable, Grant remained motionless behind her. Were it not for the heat emanating from his smoldering gaze she might have thought he was unmoved by her little sensual display, but try as he might he couldn’t stop his gaze from following the slow, tantalizing trail of her fingertips as they slid over the swell of her breasts.
“What are you doing?” he demanded when she hooked her thumbs inside the capped sleeves of her gown and started to pull down her bodice.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Touching her chin to her shoulder, she peeked up at him beneath long auburn lashes. From the clenched jaw and throbbing muscle high in his right cheek to the carnal longing in the depths of his green eyes, his handsome countenance was a myriad of contradictions. She could sense the battle within him, for it was the same battle she was fighting within herself. Need versus want. Instinct versus desire. Self-preservation versus insatiable lust…
“This isn’t going to work.” He grabbed her wrist abruptly, long fingers closing around the delicate bones in an unyielding grip. For all intents and purposes he might as well have shackled her…to himself.
“What isn’t?” Using the wrist he held as a fulcrum, she pivoted towards him until they were facing one another with nary an inch of space in between. Were it not for the cold hard pistol pressed against her belly, they might have been in the middle of an elegant waltz instead of a tense standoff that was more likely than not going to end with one of them sprawled in a pool of their own blood.
“You’re mediocre attempts at seduction.” His gaze hardened as he stared down at her, his mouth curling into a sneer.
Juliet blinked.
Mediocre? He thought she was mediocre?
Arrogant bastard.
She’d show him mediocre.
Without giving herself time to think of the consequences, she grabbed a fistful of his shirt, rose up on her toes, and pressed her lips to his.
Chapter Nine
For the span of one thunderous heartbeat Grant managed to resist the sweet allure of Juliet’s lips. He told himself that she was a thief. That she would do anything to earn her freedom. That the wicked promise in those tip-tilted eyes was nothing more than a cleverly crafted illusion.
At least, that’s what his head told him. His cock was a bit more blunt.
Kiss. Woman. Soft. Mine.
Resist Juliet? Impossible. He could no more resist the temptation of her willing little mouth than he could resist the air he breathed. On a throaty growl he slid his pistol into the waistband of his trousers and dragged her against him, wanting to feel every inch of her delectable body pressed against his.
She leaned into him, sharp nails digging into his chest. His head slanted to the side and he deepened their kiss, ruthlessly demanding everything she had to give. Without hesitation she parted her lips and welcomed his tongue between her teeth on a soft, breathy mewl of desire that made him want to throw back his head and roar.
Grant was a man who prided himself on his self-control, but there was no control to be found in their kiss. There was only a wild, pulsating need to plunder. To devour. To leap recklessly into the flames and let himself burn.
So he did.
His hands swept up her spine and tangled in her hair, sending pins flying in every direction. The tidy coiffure unraveled, spilling fiery tendrils over her shoulders that stood out in sharp contrast against her ivory skin. The auburn tresses smelled faintly of violets, the delicately feminine scent as unexpected as it was arousing. He drew back to stare down at her, wanting to drink in every stunning inch of her flawless countenance. In the muted candlelight her entire face seemed to glow, from her flushed cheeks to her glistening lips, already swollen from the demanding pressure of his mouth.
She gazed up him, green eyes dark and troubled. A tiny line of wary bewilderment marred her smooth brow. He knew his own forehead carried the same mark. What had begun as a calculated act of seduction had quickly turned into something more powerful than either one of them could have ever anticipated.
There was no sense to their sizzling chemistry. No rhyme. No reason.
A thief and a runner?
Impossible.
And yet…
Having shared his bed with more than one courtesan, Grant knew when a woman was playing a part. He knew that was precisely what Juliet had intended to do. But he also knew, with every fiber of his being, that she had failed miserably.
If her silence was any indication, she knew it as well. When this was over – when this moment of heat and blinding passion had passed – they would still be as they had been. The hunter and the hunted. But he didn’t want it to end. Not yet. And neither did she.
This time their kiss held a hint of desperation. He devoured the honeyed nectar of her mouth like a man starved. His cock rose between them to press against her belly, branding her flesh through the thin layers of her dress with its hard, hot length.
She gasped when he rocked his pelvis against her sensitive groin.
He groaned when she sank her teeth into his bottom lip.
They both trembled, their bodies throbbing with unspoken need as they both took whatever the other had to give. His craving for her was unparalleled to anything he had ever felt before. It seized him mind, body, and soul, numbing his brain to any type of rational thought as her fingers began an exploratory path down the muscled plane of his abdomen.
Without warning her hands abruptly reversed direction and streaked behind his back. On a savage oath he tried to stop her, but passion had dulled his reflexes. Quick as a cat she grabbed his pistol and leapt out of reach, bal
ancing nimbly on the balls of her feet as she raised the gun and pointed it straight at the middle of his chest.
Furious with her, more furious with himself, he slowly lifted his arms in the air, palms facing towards her. “You’re making a mistake,” he growled, dark eyes narrowing to slits of glinting emerald as his gaze raked across her flushed countenance. She was breathing so heavily that her breasts were temptingly close to spilling out of her flimsy bodice, but her hands were steady and her stare unflinching when she met his murderous stare with her own triumphant one.
“I don’t think so, runner.” She gave a jaunty toss of her head. “You really didn’t think that little act was going to end any other way, did you?”
Bloody hell. Even though she held his own weapon against him, he still wanted her. How could he not? Her flame-colored hair was in a wild tangle around her ivory shoulders, her mouth plump and swollen from his demanding kisses. He’d never seen a more tempting creature in all his life and his body ached to finish what they’d started. To toss her on the bed and strip away her gown. To ravish every inch of her curvy little body until she begged him to take her.
He swallowed with difficulty and shifted his weight, hoping she wouldn’t glance down and see the bulging erection pressing against his trousers.
“We both know damn well that wasn’t an act,” he said tersely.
She hesitated a second too long. “Of course it was. Now turn around and face the wall. Keep your arms above your head.”
“You’re making an enormous–”
“I believe I said now.” The sharp click of the hammer being drawn back startled him into action. Whore’s breath, she wouldn’t actually shoot him, would she?
Yes, he decided as he took note of the determined gleam in her eye.
She bloody well would.
His jaw clenched, teeth grinding together with so much force he felt a distinct pop in the back of his mouth. What he wouldn’t give to get his hands around her pretty little neck. That would wipe the arrogant smirk off those swollen lips. But as long as she held the gun she held the power, and he had no choice but to turn and walk to the wall. The paper-hangings smelled strongly of gardenia, Lady Dashwood’s fragrance of choice and the direct opposite of Juliet’s delicate scent.
“What now?” he growled after he’d slapped his hands up on the wall.
“Now I go on my merry way and you leave me the hell alone.” He heard the bed creak as she leaned across it to presumably gather her weapons, followed by the soft padding of her footsteps on the carpet as she backed slowly towards the door. “For what it’s worth, I’ve never hurt anyone that did not deserve it, and I’ve never taken from anyone who could not afford it.”
“Is that supposed to make you a good person?” he scoffed.
“No,” she acknowledged. “But it doesn’t make me a bad one.”
“You’re a thief, Juliet. A criminal.” And he’d still kissed her senseless. So what, he wondered silently, does that make me?
He, Grant Hargrave, a man who lived and died by his moral code, had broken the rules. Rules he’d abided by his entire career, first as a soldier and then as a runner. Rules that governed his entire life, from the second he woke up in the morning to the moment he closed his eyes at night. But Juliet, with her pouty lips and velvety voice and tight little body, had been too much of a temptation to resist. So he’d broken the rules. Hell, he’d shattered the damn rules.
And now he was paying the consequences.
“You’re right,” she said. “I am a thief. A bloody good one, too. I make no apologies for who I am or what I’ve done.” Light spilled into the room when she opened the door.
“This is not over,” he vowed darkly.
“Are you going to keep chasing me, runner?” She almost sounded amused.
“To the ends of the earth.”
Juliet was so quiet that for a moment he thought she’d fled, but when he looked back over his shoulder he found her poised in the doorway, her vivid green eyes as wild and fierce as he’d ever seen them.
“You won’t catch me. Not again.”
Her defiance only added to her untamed beauty. She reminded him of a tigress he’d seen the summer before he went off to war. The large feline had been captured in India and brought back to London to enthrall the masses. Trapped in a cage too small for her massive size, she had sat quietly while people shouted and clapped. Until her captor got too close...and she took his hand.
For all her stunning beauty, Juliet was every bit as dangerous as that tigress had been. Something he would do well to remember the next time he was tempted to kiss her instead of capture her.
“Best sleep with one eye open, little tigress.”
“Oh?” She gave a coy tilt of her head. “And why is that?”
“Because the question is not if I’ll find you.” His ominous smile was a dark promise of things yet to come. “The question is when.”
Chapter Ten
For the second time Juliet ran away from Grant as if the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels. Or to be more accurate, one hound. One very big, very menacing, very hungry hound.
When he had kissed her back she’d feared he was going to devour her whole...but what had frightened her even more, what had scared her absolutely witless, was how much she’d loved it.
She’d loved the weight of his mouth on hers and the bold way he’d swept his tongue between her teeth. She’d loved the taste of him; a touch of peppermint with just a hint of coffee grounds. She’d loved the possessive way he had run his hands through her hair. And she’d especially loved the throaty growl he’d made when she bit his bottom lip.
Shoving between two older women wearing feather plumed hats, she ran down the hall as fast as her gown would allow. Knowing her lead was only slight at best and nonexistent at worst, she skidded into the foyer and dashed out the front door, taking the wide marble steps two at a time.
The late evening drizzle had turned into a downpour and rain lashed at her face in a cold, icy spray as she sprinted down the walkway and leaped over a small wrought iron fence. Her ankle turned when she landed and she fell hard on her hands and knees in a patch of wet grass, the pistol she’d stolen from Grant flying out of her hand in a graceful arc before landing with a loud ker-plunk in a stone fountain topped by a smirking cherub.
“Bloody goddamn dress!” she cursed, yanking at her skirts in frustration. This was exactly why she preferred breeches! So when she stole jewelry and was caught by a runner and had to flee for her life she didn’t land face first in a pile of sod.
Clenching her teeth against the sharp pain radiating from her ankle, she half ran, half staggered towards the long row of carriages lining the street just as Grant’s booming voice tore through the night.
“JULIET! I KNOW YOU’RE OUT THERE. TURN YOURSELF IN!”
Aye, good luck with that, she thought with a sneer. After all the trouble she’d gone through to get herself free, did he honestly believe she was just going to walk up to him with her head bowed and her arms held out? She’d rather die than spend the rest of her life locked in a cell.
Blinking rain out of her eyes, she managed to hobble behind a glossy black brougham pulled by two matching grays. Flattening herself against one of the back wheels, she dared a quick glance around the side.
Grant stood silhouetted in the entryway, his towering frame casting an insidious shadow that reached all the way to the bottom of the marble stairs. His head swiveled left and right as he looked for her. She held her breath, silently willing him to go back inside. With her twisted ankle her chances of outrunning him were slim to none. She was trapped...just like one of the rats she and Eddy used to catch in the bottom of old grain bins.
They would lure the rodents with bits of moldy cheese and sell them to the baker in Highmarket Square. Little did the fancy ladies in their plumed hats know they were getting a bit more than they bargained for in their mincemeat pies.
Taking a deep breath, she turned back around a
nd considered her options. She may not have been able to run, but she could still defend herself. Would defend herself if it came down to it. She didn’t want to shoot Grant. Not because of their kiss or any attraction she may or may not have felt towards him. Of course not. She didn’t want to shoot him for the same reason she hadn’t wanted to shoot him in the bookstore. One runner after her was bad enough, but if she took the life of one of their own she knew she’d have all of Bow Street breathing down her neck.
She’d also been telling the truth in Lady Dashwood’s bedroom. She did not hurt those who did not deserve it, and even though Grant was a ruddy pain in her arse, he was only doing his job. As he’d so kindly pointed out, she was the criminal. It was his job to catch her and turn her over to the magistrate for sentencing.
So why the devil had he kissed her?
Later, she told herself as heat flared in her belly. You can think about that later. Right now you need to focus on getting out of here alive.
She snuck another peek around the carriage and felt a quiver of alarm race down her spine when she saw him walking slowly down the steps. Whipping back around before he saw her, she let her head fall back with a dull thud, the quiet sound causing on the gray’s to swish its tail in annoyance.
Shite.
Shite. Shite.
Shite.
What the devil was she going to do? Short of crawling under the carriage, there was nowhere else for her to go and it would only be a matter of time before he figured out where she was hiding. She shuddered to think of what he would do when he caught her. Bind her arms behind her back and drag her straight to Bow Street, most likely. Would he kiss her again?
Focus, Jules!
Right. She needed to stop thinking about kissing and start thinking about a way out of this mess. Shaking her wet hair out of her eyes, she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek as she mulled over her limited possibilities.
She supposed she could always stab him. A little knife wound never hurt anyone. But that would require her to get close to him and she feared if she did he would be able to easily overpower her, big lummox that he was. Maybe she could steal a carriage…but all he had to do was jump on a horse and he’d chase her down in a matter of minutes. Blast and damn. Why couldn’t he save them both the trouble and just give up? He was certainly taking his time descending the stairs. She glanced around the side of the carriage again, and her eyes narrowed when she saw a willowy blonde standing in the doorway.
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