Bared to the Billionaire: The Complete Series

by Sylvia Pierce

  He set her up in a few different positions, walking her through alternate scenarios—being grabbed from behind, rushed from the front, pinned on the ground. After a few tries, she seemed to get the hang of it, so Jared started a new match, no more hand-holding, no holds barred.

  His avatar twisted her arm and spun her around backward, wrapping a meaty arm across her chest. Jared resisted the urge to tell her what to do.

  After struggling for a few seconds, Crusher finally raised her knee, then slammed her heel down hard, crushing J-Black’s foot. As hobbled backward, she spun around and jammed a heel squarely into his knee. His avatar crumpled to the ground, cursing, clutching his leg in agony. Crusher pressed her advantage and finished him off with a kick that laid him flat.

  “J-Black!” The game voice boomed. “You got HOUSED!”

  “Yes! That’s how it’s done, woman!” Jared stripped off his gloves and hopped onto her platform, wrapping her up in his arms. “You did it! Look at that!”

  “Did you see that?” she said, looping her arms around his neck. She was beaming ear to ear, her whole body glowing with pride.

  “Sure did, love. The bad guys don’t stand a chance.”

  “Does that really work?” she asked.

  “You housed me, didn’t you?”

  “Don’t I always?”

  They both laughed, and for a moment it was as if they’d found a way to stop time, unaffected by everything else as their warm, slick bodies pressed together perfectly, hearts beating in sync. Arianne slid her hands into Jared’s hair, her breath hot against his bare chest, the hard length of him pressing into her abdomen as he buried his face in her neck. He pressed his mouth to her skin, tasting her salty flesh, breathing in her scent.

  God, how he wanted to stay there with her, to hold her for the rest of eternity.

  But letting his guard down was foolish. It was dangerous. And it only made the pain of their inevitable departure worse.

  Jared pulled back, unable to meet her eyes.

  “Arianne,” he said. “I’m sorry. We should probably just—”

  “Eat,” she said brightly, turning her back on him and hopping down off the platform. “I’m starving. Loser makes breakfast, right?”

  Jared shook off the weight of his regrets, telling himself for the hundredth time that this was all for the best. “Breakfast. Yeah, I think I can manage that, Crusher.”

  After quick—and totally separate—showers, Jared whipped up a feast of mushroom-and-cheddar omelets, sourdough toast, and strawberry-banana smoothies—one of his specialties. Arianne couldn’t get enough of it—she practically moaned with pleasure over every sip.

  Her love of smoothies was one more thing Jared wished he’d known about her sooner, one more thing he’d miss after they finally parted ways.

  Aside from the obvious, the day had been damn near perfect. Hanging out together over Saturday breakfast, teasing each other after a wicked game of Brawler, throwing fruit into the blender to see who could invent the best smoothie… it was everything Jared had wanted.

  Only days ago, this had been his fantasy. This morning, this moment, right now, exactly as it was, perfect in all ways except the one that counted most:

  It wasn’t real.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I’ve just had an idea.” Jared rinsed off another plate and passed it Ari to load into the dishwasher.

  “Why am I not surprised?” Ari took the dish with an easy smile, fitting it into the bottom rack. They’d had a great morning so far, and though she knew there was no chance of them getting back together romantically, she wondered—hoped—he might be willing to put their issues aside for today. Perhaps they could spend some time together at the Met, or head up north to roam the halls and gardens of the Cloisters, an extension of the museum she’d yet to see. They still had a lot to sort through, but Ari thought a change of scenery might be just the thing to clear their heads before they dove back into the tough stuff.

  Jared turned back to the sink, rinsing out the coffee mugs. “I think I’ll head upstate for the night, bring Evan along.”

  “Bring… what? Oh, Annandale. Sure, that sounds… great.” She took the mugs and found a place for them on the top rack, struggling to tamp down her disappointment.

  What did you expect? That you two could actually be friends after all this? Skip through the city holding hands like everything is A-okay?

  “You told Davidson the reason for the postponement on the robbery is that I didn’t want to take a vacation this weekend,” Jared explained. “So I’ll schedule a strategy meeting up there with my business partner, and you’ll text your boss and let him know the details. If he’s got people watching the house, they’ll confirm it.”

  “But why go to the trouble? Can’t you meet with Evan in the city? Here?”

  “Yes, but this way it will lend you some more credibility, reassure them that you’re still on their side. Plus, I’d feel better keeping an eye on things at the estate this weekend, and perhaps coming up with a plan B to secure my assets if things on our end fall through.”

  Jared offered an encouraging smile—polite of him, given the circumstances. But Ari couldn’t hide her sadness. She didn’t deserve his friendship, and he owed her absolutely nothing, least of all a breezy weekend date. It was enough that he’d offered his help, and that he hadn’t turned her in to the authorities.

  She’d become his burden, and he was bearing it admirably.

  Shame heated her cheeks.

  “Okay, love,” Jared said, dumping in the dish detergent and starting up the cycle. “All cleaned up here. Better get dressed—we’re heading out soon.”

  Ari blinked, her head spinning from the sudden change in Jared’s vibe. They’d had such a great morning, gaming, lingering over a delicious breakfast, even joking and laughing together. Now he was all business again. Efficient. Cold.

  She met his eyes. “Heading out?”

  “Right. I’m going upstate with Evan. You’re going home.”

  “What for?”

  Jared closed his eyes, running a wet hand through his hair.

  She felt like a troublesome child, sent home by the principal for a proper scolding.

  “Arianne.” He lowered his hand, glaring at her once again. But this time there was something else in his eyes, too.

  Regret.

  “Go home,” he said softly. “I need you to spend some time thinking about Davidson, and anything that might be able to help us build our case. It’s critical. Do you understand?”

  “But I don’t mind doing that from here,” she said. “Tasha’s working a double today, then sleeping over at a friend’s in Park Slope.” Plus, Ari wanted to be here when he returned, to show him that she’d done her homework, that she was in this one hundred percent. That she’d do whatever it took to make things right with him, even if they could never be more than a memory.

  “I’m sorry, love,” he said, and Ari knew he meant it. He wore it in the lines on his face, in the intensity of his eyes, in the heaviness that seemed to bear down on his shoulders.

  Shaking his head, Jared said firmly, “I don’t trust you, Arianne. You can’t stay here.”

  Chapter Twelve

  There was only one person Jared trusted implicitly, and at the moment, that person was three sheets to the wind, doing a handstand in the center of Jared’s hot tub.

  Five more seconds and I’m calling the paramedics.

  Jared counted to three, then gave Evan a swift kick.

  Evan bobbed up out of the water, his hair plastered to his forehead. “I was going for a new record, you tosser.”

  “Evan. If you wish to live out your fantasies as an overgrown frat boy, go work for one of the brokerages.”

  “I’ll tell you something those Wall Street boys know that we don’t. Two straight men mucking about in a hot tub on a Saturday night? That’s a bloody tragedy.” Evan shook out his hair, splashing Jared’s face before settling back into his corner and chugging the
last of his Guinness.

  It wasn’t under the best of circumstances, but Jared was glad he’d decided to leave the city tonight for some time with his best mate, putting some much-needed distance between him and Arianne.

  Arianne.

  Guilt simmered as he pictured her this morning, crestfallen after he’d asked her to leave. It had damn near killed him to put that look in her eyes, but she’d backed him into a corner. And now, he was dragging his best friend into the situation, a dangerous web whose pitfalls Jared had only begun to uncover.

  “What’s got your knickers in a twist, anyway?” Evan asked.

  Jared grunted and reached for his highball glass. “Get stuffed.”

  “Well, I didn’t want to say it,” Evan pressed, “but—”

  “Don’t.”

  “Let her go, mate,” Evan said. “You saw the report. She’s lying. You’ve got no trust—what’s left? Sex? Right, then. See how far that gets you.”

  “Hello, pot?” Jared kicked water in Evan’s direction. “Meet my friend, kettle.”

  “Totally different,” Evan said. “I’m happy enough with a good shag. But you? You’ve got marriage and kids stamped all over you. It’s downright—”

  “It’s downright done.”

  “And yet…”

  “I’m handling it, Evan.” To prove it, Jared chugged his Scotch.

  “You’re brooding. Brooding is not the same as handling.”

  “Sorry, didn’t quite catch that.” Jared hit the button for the hot tub jets, drowning out Evan’s voice until there was nothing but white noise between them.

  He leaned his head back against the edge of the tub, gazing up at the stars. He’d come up here with the intention of getting some advice from the one man he could always count on to give it to him straight, and he’d planned to solicit that advice by being as vague as possible. Despite the cruel number she’d done on his heart, Jared didn’t want to betray Arianne’s secrets.

  But the alcohol had clouded his thoughts, and after four hours of deflecting Evan’s concern, Jared was tired of keeping secrets.

  He hit the button to kill the jets.

  “She’s a fucking thief, Evan.”

  Evan laughed. “Oh, that’s rich, innit? Let me guess: she stole your heart, leaving you a lesser man for the—”

  “Piss off.” Jared finally lifted his head from the edge, meeting Evan’s eyes dead on.

  After a moment, Evan cocked his head, his demeanor shifting like a switch had been flicked. Jared could pinpoint the exact moment all of the facts clicked into place in Evan’s mind—the dodginess Jared had talked about, the blanks in Arianne’s employment history, the strange gaps in her background file.

  Evan’s eyes narrowed. “You’re serious.”

  Jared nodded, tossing back the last of his Scotch and pouring a fresh glass from the bottle on the deck. From the ice chest, he fished out another bottle of Guinness and tossed it to Evan.

  “What did she take you for?” Evan asked. “Credit cards? Cash? The… oh, Christ, Jared. Tell me it wasn’t corporate intel. I told you, you should’ve made her sign the NDA. That’s why we have those protocols—”

  “She’s an art thief, Evan. Heists, fencing, the—what is it they say here?—the whole enchilada.”

  Before he could think better of it, Jared was spilling the details of their brief relationship, everything from their first evasive meeting at the auction where he’d acquired the Whitfield, to her seemingly coincidental appearance at Jared’s fundraiser, to her fascination with the artwork in Jared’s home.

  Evan was shocked into silence, his head tipped back, unmoving for so long that Jared was beginning to think he’d passed out. He was about to give the man another swift kick when Evan’s head shot up, his eyes narrowing.

  “So you’re telling me, the whole time you’re having a bang—”

  “Watch it, mate.”

  Evan rolled his eyes. “Right. The whole time you’re making love, she’s looking for a place to stick the knife?”

  “So it seems.”

  Evan shook his head, his jaw flexing, his face turning red with anger.

  Seeing his friend upset on his behalf ignited Jared’s anger anew. He wanted to scream, to punch something, to hear the satisfying shatter of glass as he pitched his highball onto the cement behind them. He gripped it furiously, ready to do just that. But then, from some deep internal well, some reserve madness held for just such emergencies, a surge of ridiculous laughter burst out.

  “Well fuck me,” Jared said. “What have I done to deserve such luck with women?”

  “You really know how to pick them, don’t you?” Evan said, howling right along with Jared.

  Jared was laughing so hard he couldn’t even catch his breath to respond.

  “You’re like a walking chick flick,” Evan continued. He raised his hands, forming an invisible marquee. “The Billionaire and the Thief: A Tragic Love Story.”

  “She stole his heart,” Jared said, doubling over, “followed swiftly by his wallet, his car, and the family jewels.”

  “Love is blind,” Evan said, “and also broke.”

  “There is honor among thieves… but not among… something between the sheets… oh, bugger it. I’ve got nothing left.”

  “Well then.” Evan sighed, gazing back up at the stars. As quickly as it had risen, the raucous laughter subsided. “Looks like I won’t be needing that cummerbund after all.”

  “No, I suppose not.” Jared leaned back on his arms, hauling himself out of the tub. He knew he was drunk, and might regret sharing so much come morning, but at this point he no longer cared. He couldn’t carry this thing on his own, no matter how badly he’d wanted to. He was all in when it came to Evan, and there was no point in holding back the rest.

  “There’s something else,” Jared said. “Two weeks from tonight, they’re going to knock off this house, and I’m not sure there’s a damn thing I can do about it.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  It’s the perfect heist, baby girl. You go your whole life looking for a setup like this one, and we got it right here. We fuckin’ got it.

  Her father’s words echoed, the memory of his sly smile lancing her heart. He’d been so certain the celebrity heist was the one they’d been waiting for, so convinced it would go off without a hitch. Trick and Keens had officially christened it the One Night Stand—in and out, no strings attached—and the whole crew had pulled together to make it happen. They’d left nothing to chance.

  It had been perfect, too. Right up until the end.

  Now, the more Ari thought about the whys and the hows of that final imperfection, the more it confused her. Her father, betraying his own crew? Betraying his daughter without a word of warning? It had never made sense, but Davidson was always so sure. The other guys had been shocked at first, but they bought into Davidson’s theory quickly enough. Ari had always attributed her own lingering doubts to the haze of grief that had enveloped her after her father’s death, and the fact that she’d been much too close to him in life to see the truth. By the time her head cleared, Tasha had come into her life, and the past no longer mattered. Only the future. Tasha’s future.

  But after five years, it was starting to matter again.

  Solving the mystery of the botched heist suddenly felt like the most important thing in the world.

  Ari’s mind spun. She grabbed a pen from the cup on her desk and scribbled frantic notes, questions, scraps of memories about that night.

  Seventy million dollars in stolen art, boosted without a hitch, ferried away in a van that made it all the way through the Holland Tunnel, only to be stolen again somewhere on the Jersey side. A “new guy” no one else but her father had ever met—a man he trusted enough to drive the van. A second-in-command who’d taken over immediately, insisting without reservation that the boss had betrayed them. The art vanishing without a trace, then resurfacing five years later in the home of Ari’s mark—Davidson’s mark. And never another
word about the new guy—the one who Davidson had walked away from with no talk of retribution, despite the fact that he’d allegedly whacked the crew boss and made off with the score.

  In retrospect, it all looked too easy, too neat.

  Or maybe you’re just grasping at straws…

  Ari chucked the pen across the room, her eyes blurring with tears. What did it matter? Who was she trying to fool? She’d never talked to anyone about her father’s murder, and she’d already told Jared the Hermes and LaPorte had nothing to do with the current situation. How could she go to him with this flimsy, paper-thin evidence—no more than vague memories and wishful thinking, really—and admit to lying again?

  Besides, he’d made it clear that he didn’t want to see her any more than necessary. She’d texted him a few times over the weekend, but it was already Monday and she hadn’t heard from him at all—not since they’d parted ways on Saturday, Jared heading upstate with Evan, Ari sent home like a petulant child who’d forgotten to do her homework. Her entire weekend had passed in a blur as she roamed the halls of her penthouse in a bathrobe and slippers, hair unwashed, subsisting on coffee and Ben & Jerry’s, racking her brain for memories. She’d replayed dozens of scenes, hundreds of conversations, an entire filmography of movies in her head, all in search for that elusive puzzle piece that could nail Davidson to the wall.

  Save for a few cryptic text messages that were too easily explained away, she had nothing. Not a shred of solid evidence.

  All those jobs, all those years… she’d never once thought to make an insurance policy of her own. Back then, she hadn’t needed to; her father was supposed to live forever. He was her insurance policy.

  The more she considered it, the more the One Night Stand job taunted her. She didn’t know how, but she was certain it all meant something: her discovering the pieces at Jared’s estate, Davidson making no mention of them when he’d first decided to target the Annandale house. But even with the names of the art dealers Jared had given her, she hadn’t been able to trace the initial lead any farther than Kyle Errington, and she couldn’t risk approaching the man herself. If he’d been involved in the heist that had ended her father’s life, he likely knew Arianne, too.