Thief of Hearts: A Rogue Billionaire Fake Fiance Romance

by Carter Blake

  It seems that Griff’s next lesson for me in becoming a thief is to test my perception and awareness.

  I have no idea how it got there.

  The paper is delicate and thin enough, so it’s understandable that I hadn’t noticed it was in my bra for who knows how long.

  But it tells me I’m failing this little test of Griff’s.

  It’s not the failure of noticing the paper in my bra that has my lips twisted in a wry smile.

  No, it’s the contents of what is written on the paper.

  My hands and tongue are better at this job. Mine, especially, loves to caress and massage them...reminding them of their importance.

  How in the hell?

  How did I not feel him putting it in there? I look around my chest, hoping to find a clue.

  No luck.

  His presence is easily detectable, even when—or rather, especially when—he doesn’t touch me.

  Maybe that’s how he distracted me.

  Regardless, it’s annoyingly impressive.

  Remembering his hands hovering over my body and the look in his eyes has me wet again.

  All that talk of control and his demonstration of it makes me wonder just how those hands and tongue would deliver on the promise of his little note.

  Heat spreads through me, and as expected, it fires up my nipples and pussy.

  How does he do this to me even when he isn’t even in the room?

  No, I can’t play this game.

  Don’t get me wrong. I am great at this game. I’m a fucking Olympian at it, but it’s not one I can play with Griff.

  As I plan for my counter move, I turn the shower on cold to extinguish my need for his touch.

  Feeling refreshed with a few ideas in mind, I finish getting ready for the day.

  I’m excited to get out and plan for my first heist. I don’t even care that I have to pretend to be engaged to Griff and fake that I’m interested in this hotel as a possible venue for our upcoming nuptials.

  It’ll be fun to play pretend. And it’ll help set up my move.

  I do have to practice being a thief anyhow, or at least learn more about the world and the profession, especially before the heist.

  Watching Griff day in and day out, I’ve become amazed at how much devotion is required to be a thief of his stature.

  It’s nothing like how the movies portray them—well, the bad thieves at least.

  That is, if there are good thieves, which I am beginning to think there might be.

  And Griff might be one of them.

  Sliding into my new favorite pair of Louboutins, I complete my outfit with a short black dress. It’s short enough to distract Griff, but modest enough for the public.

  He seems pleased when I greet him at the front door.

  “That’s quite a dress, love. Or should I use fiancée?” he says, devouring me with his gaze.

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Well, shall we?”

  He puts his hand on the small of my back and guides me out the door.

  There’s something about his touch, even one as innocent as this, that sends a shiver up my spine.

  “I guess we shall, my husband-to-be.” I wink at him, trying to hide my overly enthusiastic smile.

  It’s really just me excited to start preparing for the heist. Well, mostly that.

  On our way, he goes over a checklist that I need to know when casing a locale.

  As the dutiful student that I am, I soak it all up.

  We arrive at the hotel in style, as we should. The drive over he goes over a checklist that I need to know when casing a locale.

  Scoping out the hotel, we make sure to memorize the layout, entrances and exits, and any random cove that might be useful for our night at the gala and auction.

  As Griff teaches me, you can never be too careful in planning out a heist.

  “The more you know, the better,” he says.

  I also make a note of the hotel itself. It’s beautiful, though not spectacular.

  Yes, it’s luxurious and it suits the clientele perfectly well—but it’s nothing like the hotel where I had my birthday at.

  Now that was fit for a queen. It’s the main reason I chose that location.

  After a long and elaborate afternoon of fake wedding planning, we grab a bite to eat at the hotel’s Italian bistro. We discuss the pros and cons of the venue, like any to-be-married couple would—but obviously it’s not the wedding we’re weighing the pros and cons against.

  And with a little bit of coercing and some heavy-handed teasing, I convince Griff that we should go to the pool.

  Seeing as we’re here to explore a possible wedding venue, we should take advantage of everything that it has to offer.

  Plus, the pool is impressive with its Grecian-inspired architecture and crystal blue water.

  Seeing as I didn’t plan for a pool party, I have to head to the hotel store to get a bathing suit and leave Griff to lounge out at the pool.

  A few minutes later, I find the perfect suit. If you can call it that—given how little fabric there is.

  The bottom doesn’t entirely cover my ass, bordering on G-string level, and my top just barely covers what it needs to.

  I stare at myself and feel the smug smile spread.

  Checkmate, Griffin.

  I’ll have him wishing he didn’t start his menacing game of secret notes. Because with this bikini, I’ve definitely won.

  And the best part of it all? He won’t even see this coming.

  I make a quick change in the bathroom and make my way outside to the pool.

  It’s not hard to notice his eyes shoot up and fixate on me as I stride toward him. The straw of his drink falls from his mouth as his jaw falls in surprise.

  I laugh at the sight of him reacting exactly how I planned.

  Victory is so sweet, after all.

  Yes, love, I’ve got you now!

  His mouth forms into a devilish grin and I turn my back, giving him a perfect view of my cheeky thong bottoms.

  I effortlessly dive into the pool.

  The water feels amazing and provides a nice reprieve from the heat of the sun—and Griff’s eyes.

  Coming up for air, I flip my hair, and move to the edge of the pool to greet his feasting eyes.

  “Care to join me, fiancée?” I smirk teasingly and bite my bottom lip.

  “Left my swim trousers at the apartment, love. Care to join me for an afternoon delight?” he asks, shaking his drink at me.

  I would much rather prefer the real afternoon delight—a non-alcoholic beverage kind obviously, but it’d be in our best interests if I take the drink instead.

  Besides, I can’t allow myself to get trapped into this game that my body craves to play.

  “Order me some champagne, fiancée.” I wink and dip back under the water.

  Once I see the waitress, I swim towards the other end of the pool. Very slowly, and deliberately, I climb up the ladder.

  I make sure to meet Griff’s eyes while slicking my hair back and running my hands down my body.

  I channel my inner Bond Girl in the hopes of getting a rise out of him.

  I can see that it worked even from here. His eyes never falter for a moment from my own.

  I walk pass him, very assured of myself, and sit across from him at the table. In taking a sip of my drink, I hope to ease some of our sexual tension.

  Instead it only urges me to act on the lust I have for the man.

  “Quite a venue,” I say with a smile.

  “I am thoroughly enjoying the view, love,” he says, his voice low and full of desire.

  It makes me wet—well, more wet—watching his tongue glide over his words.

  That tongue…

  “Do you not like getting wet?” I tease.

  “That’s one of my favorite things to do,” he says as his eyes blatantly glaze down my body.

  Just like with his hands, his eyes have an amazing ability to make me feel as if he is touching me
without actually doing it. And my skin flushes when he lingers over my tits and thighs.

  “But I think something else is quickly becoming a favorite of mine. And it only requires parts of me getting wet.” He winks.

  I can’t deny his carnal eroticism; his quick tongue and smooth delivery elicits more than this bathing suit can handle.

  But as much as I want him and his hands on me—I need to keep him at least three feet away.

  For everyone’s safety.

  I will not become the damsel in distress who falls for her savior.

  No matter how fucking roguishly sexy he is.

  So, to stifle my growing ache and our dangerous flirtation, I steer the conversation onto a safer topic.

  “So, what do you like to do for fun?”

  He laughs and sips his drink.

  “There are many things I like to do for fun. Some with my hands and tongue, but mostly I thoroughly enjoy exploring the finer things in life. And, as you’ve seen, I’m damn good at it. Who wouldn’t love doing what they’re great at and what makes them feel good while doing it?”

  I stare at him, swallowing hard.

  I’m slightly confused as to what exactly he is talking about. His job? His cock?

  But it makes me think that maybe I’ll also feel good doing whatever it is that he does.

  “Do you think I’d like exploring as much as you?”

  He gazes at me, in all sincerity, and I feel oddly exposed—more than what I am.

  “A woman like you? I wouldn’t doubt it. And frankly, I think you’re more than capable of getting whatever you want in life. But I’m excited to see that you’ll be getting a taste of my world, love. If that’s what you want.”

  I let out a breath—not realizing I was holding it in—and feel a wave excitement wash over me. A wave mixed with a touch of desire.

  I grin confidently.

  So far, I’m very intrigued.

  “I think that is exactly what I want.”

  He smiles charmingly as his eyes dance with playful delight.

  “Finish your drink, love. We should be heading back. We need to start planning.”

  I nod in agreement as I catch him licking his lips and eyeing my tits.

  “Yes, love,” I mimic him, lingering on his word.

  I shimmy out of my seat and walk past him. I can feel him following behind me and feel his eyes on my nearly bare ass.

  Back at his apartment, I change into my silk pajamas and find another piece of paper like the one in my bra.

  Where in the hell did this come from? There was barely a place to put it in.

  Places where I like to get wet have to do with the places I love to taste…and it’s the most forbidden. Dare to explore?

  Chapter 17

  Kalista

  I had heard that the waiting list for La Carta Manairó was, at least, two months long.

  But all Griffin had to do was place a call, and here we are.

  I sit with my back straight against the cool metal chair, watching Griffin like a hawk, waiting for him to make an attempt to lift something from me.

  Not that I’ve made it all that difficult for him.

  My Givenchy cocktail dress looks more like lingerie than it does Fort Knox.

  But something tells me that even if I was laced and strapped up tighter than a bank vault, Griffin would just want to crack me open even more.

  With this dress, I’m challenging Griffin to take something from me without me—or anyone else—noticing. Mostly anyone else.

  Since I walked in the room, I’ve been aware that at least one other diner has been checking me out—or staring at Griffin.

  “So, love, how do you feel about being Mrs. Langdon?” Griffin asks me as we read through the menu.

  “That depends. Who’s Mr. Langdon? Is he hot?”

  “Oh, very. They say he’s the most attractive man in the world.”

  I look up at him, feigning confusion. “But I thought I was pretending to be married to you?” I fight the smile that crosses my face, but ultimately fail.

  “Very funny, Kali. Let’s hope you can be that natural when you’re not being yourself.”

  “I can be natural. Almost everything about my old life was a charade too, Griffin.” I remind him.

  The waiter comes to take our orders, bringing a few bottles of wine for us to try.

  “I’m sure it was, love. But it’s a little bit different when you’re completely reinventing yourself. Any little mistake could mean game over for us.”

  I can tell that Griffin wants to trust me, but he seems genuinely concerned. Why can’t he see that I won’t fuck this up for us?

  “I may be green, Griffin, but you can rely on me at the auction. You should know that,” I say, waiting for the waiter to leave before I continue. “So, what will you have me do? What am I going to lift?”

  “You, Kalista love, are not going to lift anything,” Griffin says firmly, sipping at the wine—a rich red with fruity undertones. “I’m not going to throw you off the deep end and hope that you’ll suddenly be an Olympian.”

  “I can lift something from the auction.”

  Griffin’s lack of faith almost hurts my feelings. But he means well—of that I’m certain—though I bet he started small, too.

  “Maybe from an auction, one day. But not this one.” He’s resolute. “Your job is to be my eyes and ears. To keep a look out and make me look good.”

  “Wow, you really have given me the harder job.”

  “I know. Making me look good is a full-time event. I didn’t want to burden you with having to lift something as well,” Griffin teases.

  The slight feelings of hurt vanish from my chest. I can’t stay mad at him—not really.

  The waiter brings over our plates—foie gras ravioli with truffle and a coffee for me, a fillet of steak for Griffin.

  Though Griffin is talking, I look up at the waiter as he’s refilling our wine glasses. I wink at him, and then struggle to hold back my laughter as he almost spills wine across the table and Griffin’s crisp white shirt.

  Griffin and I exchange eye contact, and I know that he’s impressed.

  “So, your life was a charade, too, huh?” I ask.

  Griffin pauses with his meal, I watch the cogs in his mind tick and turn to try and find a way out of this question. I’m waiting for some kind of vague non-answer or an obvious evasion. But I’m surprised at the sincerity of his face.

  “You know how it is, love. Especially when you’ve got old money. If you’re not doing something, you’re not on the cover of Tatler. If you’re not in Tatler, you’re a nobody.” He sighs softly with an even softer shake of his head.

  I nod in understanding. He’s right. If you’re not constantly on the cover of magazines or in the ‘trending’ section of social media, it feels like your life doesn’t really amount to anything.

  “Daddy always used to say that I helped draw attention from the younger market.” I confess. “Not that I can imagine why teenagers would be interested in Von Knopf’s Chemicals.”

  “It doesn’t matter, because you’re still drawing their attention.”

  He sips his wine and thinks for a moment more. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but then falls silent.

  “Were you the same?” I ask, trying to pull the truth from him.

  I can feel the honesty and Griffin’s words resting heavily in the air between us.

  I would never have imagined he would understand what it was like to feel so alone even when the whole world follows your every move; but the way his eyes dance as if lost in memory tells me otherwise.

  “My parents liked to cart me around to their galas and their parties as a shiny bauble. I was something to show off so they could secure their next big deal instead of just being their son. They liked to pretend that I was the most eligible bachelor in all of England. I think I had twelve possible wives at one point.”

  My mouth falls open slightly.

  Twelve?

 
The most I’d ever had was three. But then again, I don’t have Griffin’s accent.

  “Is that when you became a thief?” I ask, my voice soft and low so none of the other diners can hear us.

  “No, that started when I was younger. It was when the novelty of having everything brought to me by a butler on a silver tray started to wear off. I wanted to challenge myself.”

  “And the Gryphon was born.”

  “Exactly,” Griffin says with a satisfied smirk.

  We’re halfway through dessert—sharing the chocolate culan—when I slip my foot towards Griffin’s leg. I slide it up his thigh, and he sits up straighter in his seat as I caress his leg.

  “Oh, love, getting ready for the gala, are we?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

  Griffin moves his leg forward slightly, allowing me better access to him.

  “Well, dear, I figure it was a good as time as any to start practicing being a good wife,” I say, raising my leg higher and higher.

  With the tips of my toes, I caress his thighs—finding Griffin’s wallet in his pocket—and another bulge that begins to present itself.

  “That’s true. If we want to be believable, we’ll probably have to consummate the marriage.”

  Griffin leans forward to feed me a mouthful of chocolate tarte. I look up at him through my eyelashes the whole time, wrapping my lips around the spoon and letting him draw it back out from my mouth.

  Griffin clears his throat, and I stand from my seat.

  “Well, husband, I’m going to powder my nose. Don’t flirt with the waitresses when I come back,” I tease.

  As I pass Griffin’s chair, I pause to pick up the wallet I had nudged from his pocket—which, to my delight, he didn’t notice.

  I play with the straps of my shoe as well, when I feel Griffin’s hand pinch my ass.

  “Now, love, you know I only have eyes for you,” he says before giving me a light spank to send me on my way.

  The touch of his hand sends a jolt of electricity through my body. And the knowledge that he didn’t see me take his wallet makes the moment even sweeter.

  When I return from the bathroom, I stop at Griffin’s seat to deliver a soft kiss against his jaw. A distraction while I slip something into his pocket to replace the wallet I took.

  After I sit, I watch Griffin as he, in turn, watches the crowd. I can see him sizing them up, and picking apart their persons for weaknesses—ways he could steal their wallets or their car keys.