Sticky Fingers: An Enemies To Lovers Romantic Comedy

by Starr, Tara

  With a nod, I tell Drake to carry on, and he dutifully keeps rotating through the pictures.

  My jaw drops at what I see next.

  “We suspect this might be one of the devices she uses,” he nods, his tone now all business as he points at the screen. “Unfortunately, I’ve never seen anything like this in my career, and I can’t really tell what it does. It must be high-end, though.”

  I have to do my best not to slap the back of his head. For a group of fucking pros, I can’t believe that a bullet vibrator stumped them. Judging by the expression on their faces, the small device must seem like something out of this planet to them.

  Aren’t Secret Service guys supposed to be all into sex?

  Jesus, seems like I got stuck with the virgins.

  “Yeah, definitely suspicious,” I tell Drake with a sigh.

  “But there’s more,” he continues excitedly, showing me a couple more pictures. “This one’s definitely a techie.”

  “Most definitely,” I nod, my eyes widening as I take in the collection of vibrators, plugs, and sex toys that she has hiding in one of the drawers.

  They all look expensive and high-end enough to confound someone like Jim, but I still have a hard time believing these guys aren’t familiar with…the toys women love.

  Well, I am.

  Mostly because what I have between my legs is women’s favorite toy.

  Still, as I look at the pictures, I can’t stop myself from imagining Sonia plunging one of the vibrators deep inside her wet pussy, her back arched, her eyes closed…and all that as she moans out my fucking name. Yeah, I bet she has already done that: worked on her pussy while thinking of me.

  A woman with a collection like this wouldn’t be capable of helping herself.

  I mean…lingerie, handcuffs, and all the toys in the fucking world. Sonia might get a kick out of stealing paintings, but I bet that’s not the only thing she enjoys doing in her free time.

  “What else?”

  “Not much. Brian ghosted her computer system, too. There’s a copy of it on the top level.” He points to the breadcrumbs at the top of the browser bar. “But nothing really interesting there from what we’ve seen. She did have a safe hidden under a wall panel, and although we couldn’t crack it open, we scanned its insides…and nothing. That safe was empty.”

  “Alright,” I say, sighing and drumming my fingers on the tabletop.

  As frustrating as this whole thing was, I can’t stop myself from grinning—although I have no proof that Sonia is behind the theft, at least I have proof that she’s definitely going to be an interesting one in the bedroom.

  “Thanks, you guys. I appreciate you doing this.”

  At my words, they hop into action, packing up their own equipment and cameras.

  Jim and Brian head for the door quickly. As fun as it must have been to rummage through Sonia’s thong collection, I’m sure they have a life they would like to get back to.

  “I’ll invoice you.” Drake shakes my hand and then quickly exits my apartment, shutting the door quietly behind them.

  Dead end. Again.

  Fucking hell.

  Moving towards my wet bar, I grab a glass and pour myself a couple of fingers of scotch before settling down in front of my computer screen again.

  Taking a long sip, I savor the burn as I click through the photos of her home. Opening them full screen, I contemplate her bedroom decorated in sand and coral tones.

  She’s a neutral woman. Nothing flashy about the place.

  Everything is tasteful and decorated with class.

  Her bathroom is clean, and there isn’t a bunch of women’s crap out on the countertop cluttering things up like so many bitches’ bathrooms.

  Her place looks very similar to mine. Interesting.

  A loud knock on the door interrupts my musing.

  Minimizing the windows on my computer, I get up and head to the door. Maybe one of the guys forgot something.

  I look through the peephole—and do a fucking double take.

  It’s Sonia…and she looks fucking pissed.

  She knocks again while I’m looking at her. Fuck,

  her flushed face really turns me on.

  I open the door and step to the side, using the hand I’m holding the scotch with to wave her in.

  “Missing me already?”

  Turning, I walk into the living room and ignore the fact that I know she’s fucking angry.

  There’s fucking murder in her eyes.

  I’m assuming she knows someone was in her apartment because we ended the evening in a high-fucking-note. Aside from the blue balls issue, that is.

  “Look at this.” I turn around and she sticks her phone in my face.

  Very clearly on the screen I see Drake, Brian, and Jim enter her apartment and split up.

  I’m trying to keep my face, blank but I’m sure a bit of a smirk is coming out.

  “I know this was your doing.” She swivels her body to stand next to me, so we can both see the screen she’s holding up. “Look at this.”

  She flips to another video, and it shows her bedroom with her dresser drawers being opened and closed while photos are taken.

  I see a poor, confounded-looking Brian who picks up a massive twelve-inch black wand that he accidentally turns on.

  The fucking snake-like appendage starts to shake as the bulbous head begins to vibrate, and he drops it on the floor with a yelp.

  I sigh mentally to myself as I watch three grown men—people who have spent weeks living off the land in war-torn Iraq as they fought ISIS—chasing after a galloping vibrator that screams down a hardwood floor.

  I close my eyes and cringe as the three of them finally pounce on it and tackle the machine, turning it off by banging the head against the wall repeatedly, as if doing battle with a wild snake.

  “I really wish, if you were going to do this, you would have done it yourself.” She lowers the phone and turns towards me.

  I just look at her. I’m not going to start lying to her now.

  But I don’t need to fucking admit that it was me either.

  I just stare into her eyes for a long moment, not saying a word, and then I take one step toward her. As a grin starts dawning on my lips, I reach for her and rest my hands on her waist, my eyes still locked on hers. I can already feel the fucking temperature in the room climbing.

  “Why would you want that to be me? Do you want me to go through your drawers? Do you want me to imagine you in your sexy lingerie, is that it? Because I can do that right now, too.”

  Grinning, she gives up on being coy and wraps her arms around my neck, grinding her pussy against my trapped cock—which is already as hard as a rock.

  I pull her closer as she presses her tits against my chest and lean in to whisper into her ear.

  “Maybe you want me to find your sex toys and imagine using them on you? Thrusting them in and out of your body as you moan and beg for more.”

  Pulling back, I tangle my fingers on her hair. Holding her head still, I slam my lips down on hers.

  I’m not even thinking straight right now. I’m just working on pure fucking instinct.

  I want to dominate her. Control her.

  I fucking wish I was sinking into her right now. It’s what I need, more than anything.

  She’s so fucking infuriating and intoxicating at the same time.

  Tearing her lips from mine, she slowly pulls away, pushing off my chest.

  “You really think so highly of yourself, don’t you? I know you thought you could take me out on one date and I’d be that easy.” I watch her fine ass sway as she walks towards my door and away from me. “And maybe you thought that me coming here would be your chance…”

  She opens the door and steps outside, her hand still on the handle. “As you’re slowly finding out, nothing about me is that easy.”

  The door slams hard behind her as she leaves.

  Rubbing my throbbing cock, I sink into a chair. Well, shit, she’s
the fucking queen of cock teases.

  I’m going to get back at her for this.

  Somehow.

  Chapter Ten

  Sonia

  Malcolm Asshole Push.

  I’m sure that must be his real name. I mean, what kind of bastard would ask me out just to have his goons break into my apartment? I’ll answer that for you—he’s the kind of bastard who doesn’t believe rules apply to him.

  In that, we’re alike.

  Still, he’s lucky I didn’t kick him in the balls after the stunt he pulled yesterday. Any other man would see what I’m all about in the blink of an eye, but with Malcolm…there’s something about him that just makes me lose it.

  He’s the testosterone version of a Happy Hour Martini.

  All those thoughts cruise through my head as I head straight to the front entrance of Clarendon Tower, my shopping bag slung over one shoulder. There’s no better therapy than spending a few grand on a pair of Louboutin shoes, that much I can tell you. And if there’s anyone in need of that kind of therapy right now, it’s me.

  As soon as I’m inside the lobby, another woman stumbles out of the nearby elevator. It’s Daphne.

  “Sonia!” she exclaims happily. “How are you?”

  “Can’t complain,” I reply. “You?”

  “Oh, I’m wonderful. I just heard the good news.”

  She looks at me expectantly, like I’m supposed to know what she’s referring to. I’m at a loss, though, as to what could be the good news. Maybe Malcolm decided to move out?

  “You haven’t heard, have you?” she asks me, her eyes widening with surprise.

  “I’m afraid not,” is all I can say.

  “The stolen Picasso painting has been found! Malcolm—you know, Dominic’s friend—found the painting. Isn’t that great?”

  What?! No freaking way. That’s impossible!

  “Daphne!” I hear a familiar booming voice say behind me.

  I whip around so fast I’m sure I gave myself whiplash.

  Malcolm is striding into the building with a confident walk and a smile of triumph on his face. The cocky bastard.

  He’s holding a canvas in his hand, but I can’t see what the painting is, or if it’s, in fact, the damn Picasso.

  But it can’t be the Picasso. There’s no way he figured out where I stored it, is there?

  Malcolm stops in front of Daphne and me, that shit-eating grin on his face.

  “As promised,” he says with a flourish, “the stolen Picasso—found and returned to its rightful place in the Clarendon Tower Art Gallery.”

  He flips the painting around so we get a full view of it.

  Son of a bitch…I don’t know how, but that’s the damn painting!

  I glance over at the wall where the watercolor I donated the other night to take the place of the Picasso rests.

  How the hell did Malcolm get his hands on the Picasso?

  Applause rises in the lobby, the few tenants there all looking at Malcolm with fascination. How wonderful—everyone has heard and witnessed the return of the painting. Some of these assholes are even calling him a hero.

  Are they freaking kidding me with this bullshit?

  I let loose a huge sigh of frustration and glare at Malcolm.

  He looks at me with a cocky smirk. And then the smug bastard actually winks.

  I get the urge to punch him in the face. I hold back, though. Barely.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Malcolm starts, addressing the crowd that has gathered in the lobby, “I was thrilled when I found the painting. I’m proud to say that the Picasso will once more take its place here, on the walls of the Clarendon Tower Art Gallery. Once Detective Strong signs off that the painting has been found, I will put it up in the gallery for all of you to admire once more.”

  A new wave of applause fills the room once more.

  Fucking idiots. That can’t be the real Picasso.

  “Well, I’ll be damned!” Dominic suddenly appears out of the crowd. “How the hell did you find the painting, man?”

  “I have my ways…and a lot of skilled people who work for me helped as well.”

  He looks right at me as he says it. He thinks he’s bested me. He thinks he’s won, but I’m not as gullible as everyone here seems to be.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” he suddenly says, “I have to find Detective Strong.”

  “Of course,” Daphne replies. “Thank you so much, Malcolm, for finding the painting. This means so much to the gallery…and to me.”

  “It was my pleasure, Daph. To make sure it’s not stolen again, I’m going to hold the painting in my own apartment, if that’s alright with you.”

  I look at Daphne and Dominic. No way are they going to agree to that. The painting needs to be secured in a safe place, not this man’s apartment. They’d be crazy to agree to it.

  Dominic, though, is actually nodding in agreement. What the hell is going on with people today? Have their brains stopped functioning?

  “That would probably be best,” Dominic states. “Your apartment does have better security. I’m okay with that.”

  “I agree,” Daphne pipes in. “It needs to be in the safest place possible. We don’t need it being stolen again. Thank you, Malcolm, for offering to keep it safe. I can’t wait until it’s back in the gallery, though.”

  “Me too,” Malcolm responds. “It deserves to be back there, that’s for sure. Now, off to find the detective.”

  He walks off with one last meaningful look aimed towards me. I stare at him blankly, giving him no reaction.

  “Isn’t he wonderful, Sonia?” Daphne asks.

  I turn back to face her.

  “You really think he’s the best option for protecting the painting? I heard he was a suspect. Isn’t that a conflict of interest or something?”

  “Malcolm has heavy security in his apartment,” Dominic replies with a shrug. “No one will be able to get to the painting there. As for him being a suspect, that’s just one of the board members having a grudge against Malcolm. The fucking condo board president doesn’t like Malcolm, you know? I wouldn’t worry about it, Sonia. The painting is in capable hands.”

  “Okay,” I grumble. “I have to put these groceries up. I’ll see you two around. It was good to see you again.”

  “Bye, Sonia,” Daphne says as she suddenly moves toward me to give me a hug.

  I hug her back politely and then head toward the elevators.

  I have so many questions rolling around in my head, but I can’t figure out the answer for any of them.

  One thing I know for sure—Malcolm hasn’t found and returned the stolen Picasso.

  You can take that to the bank.

  I’m going to find out what game he’s playing right now and what fucking painting he brought in for the detective.

  I’ll get the answers out of him one way or another.

  Tonight.

  Chapter Eleven

  Malcolm

  Looking at the glowing clock, I note it’s two in the morning. I haven’t been sleeping for very long.

  And something woke me the fuck up.

  Lying on my back, I listen carefully to the sounds of the building.

  Some people use sound machines at night in large multi-family buildings. The creaks, moans, and pops of the risers running through the walls can drive some people crazy and keep them awake. And, of course, some people scream loud enough during sex to wake up an entire city.

  That’s my experience with most women, though.

  But moans and screams aren’t the reason I’m awake.

  I hear it again. The faint pop of tin as a heat duct flexes.

  And it isn’t the small pop that you normally hear when the system kicks on and off from the temperature change.

  Someone is in the fucking ducts.

  And I have a pretty good idea who. There are only a few people I know who could manage that feat.

  The system isn’t large. Anyone bigger than a small woman or child would be stu
ck trying to leave their floor due to the size changes.

  Sitting up, I throw the covers off myself and sit still on my bed to listen again. The cool air on my naked skin doesn’t bother me. I don’t even bother to throw on some fucking boxers.

  This little hottie is going to learn a fucking lesson.

  If she thinks she can sneak in here and invade my space without me knowing, I’m going to treat her like the little fucking thief she is.

  The slight creak of flexing ducts has me on my feet and moving towards the door to the bedroom. The direction I hear the muffled noises from makes sense.

  The largest cold air return opening comes out in the hall by the dining room. I’m sure she’ll exit the venting at the easiest point.

  She must have gotten her hands on the building’s blueprints to be able to navigate around the way she is.

  Impressive. Everything about her makes me hard.

  Leaning my back against the wall to the side of the vent, I listen to the wall with my head cocked against it.

  Yes, she’s definitely coming.

  Watching the screws slowly turn in the vent cover makes me smile.

  Slowly and painfully, I stand totally still and wait. Watching her carefully grab the vent and lower it to the floor, I realize she has a lot more experience with this than I realized.

  She’s skilled, quiet, and quick.

  When she’s halfway out the vent, I drop my weight on her from above, pushing her into the floor and using my larger body and more muscle mass to my advantage.

  There’s a whoomph as the air escapes her lungs. I use my arms to grab around her and squeeze.

  And yeah, I can’t fucking deny it. She feels real good.

  Real good.

  As good as it feels, I’m still playing it safe. After all, I don’t even know if she has a weapon. I like to think she wouldn’t use one on me—but still.

  This little minx has some kick. I feel her bringing up her elbow and pushing back against me, momentarily knocking the wind out of me.

  “Stop trying to get away!” I hiss as we grapple, but she continues to struggle to get free.

  Her small body feels almost fragile as I pin her tightly.