The Thief

by Kate McCarthy

  “But … it’s cold,” he bleats. “You want us to just stand out there so you two can chat in the car?”

  “Yes. That’s exactly what I want to do.” Which is a lie because I plan to do more. So much more.

  12

  Arcadia

  I watch Luke and his friend get out of the car. Both of them big, and despite their obvious amusement, an aura of intensity surrounds them, so palpable I can almost taste it on the tip of my tongue.

  The passenger door is left wide open. Kelly nods toward it. “Get in.”

  Said the spider to the fly. At least that’s how it feels. “Please,” I rebuke.

  “Please,” he adds.

  Against all better judgement, I climb inside the car. Kelly wastes no time shutting the door behind me. He moves around the front of the car and opens the driver’s side door. One leg goes in, then he folds the rest of his body inside the car and shuts the door behind him.

  His presence fills the entire space so that I can’t breathe, despite the open window beside me. I wait for him to talk. God knows, I’m not volunteering anything. So … I steal cars is not really the opener I want to run with, so I remain silent. Except he doesn’t say anything either. He doesn’t even look across at me. He simply turns the key in the ignition and starts the car. We pull out, roaring off down the street.

  My mouth falls open. “What the …”

  I glance behind me. Luke is standing by the kerb, next to his friend, slowly shrinking as we eat up distance on the road, his arms splayed out wide as if to say, “Duuuuude.”

  My eyes shift to Racer and Echo. My mouth falls open further. He’s waving. A goodbye gesture. Echo is beside him, holding tight to her phone with one hand, the other clutching her gut, laughing. Good. I hope the amusement gives her a hernia.

  I turn back, facing the road in front of me, wondering where we’re going as we turn right at a set of green lights.

  Kelly’s lips pinch as he drives. He clearly has no idea. He simply continues to focus on the road ahead, one hand on the wheel and his forearm resting on the open window. If I had a camera, I would capture the moment—the shadows on the hard set of his jaw and straight nose contrasting with the light blue of his eyes. Strands of blonde hair whip about his face, and the light of the dashboard has the short beard on his face glinting in the night. There’s beauty in his harsh expression, in the roughness of his edges, and an honesty that simply says, “This is me, take me as I am or fuck off.” It makes me ache with longing to touch him.

  He looks across at me, and he must—must—see the ache in my eyes because I feel it so deep in my bones I can barely take a breath. His voice is gruff as he turns back to the road. “You want to tell me what’s going on, Arcadia?”

  Everyone calls me Ace. I like when he uses my full name. But not enough to admit I’m just a two-bit thief. Someone he’s better off without. It doesn’t matter that I’m trying to leave it behind me. I’m starting to realise a stark truth. It’s inside of me. A part of me I’ll never shake loose. Will you be something I’ll never shake too, Kelly?

  “No.” My voice sounds rusty. I clear my throat. “You want to tell me where you plan on taking me?”

  “Yeah.” His eyes gleam as though he’s thought of something. He executes a swift U-turn and drives down a back street, heading toward the city. “Somewhere special. You’re gonna love this.”

  We’re in Darlinghurst when he pulls into the customer parking lot of a large mechanic’s garage. The building is unobtrusive and sizeable, the outside brickwork painted charcoal. There’s a large sign spread across the front in distinct, vintage lettering that simply says: Rehab.

  I stare, confused. “What is this place?”

  His eyes are on the façade as he answers, “My business.”

  I look from him and back to the building, more than impressed. “You own this? Rehab? What kind of business is it?”

  Kelly shrugs. “Car restoration.”

  He says it as though it’s something inconsequential, but there’s something bright in his eyes, maybe pride. “Get the fuck out. Kelly!” I squeal a little—just enough that I should be embarrassed—and punch his arm, grinning. “You never told me that last night!” I turn back to the frontage, taking it in as we both step out of the car and shut the doors. Hands on hips, I bite my lip, eager to get inside. “This is amazing. This is … unexpected.”

  My enthusiasm must be infectious because a grin tugs at his lips. “It’s only new.”

  I’m the one grabbing his hand this time, pulling him toward the entrance. It’s closed, obviously. The lights are off and the doors locked. “Let me at it, Kelly. Please, please, please.” I pout my lips and flutter my lashes teasingly as we stand by the front door.

  He laughs. “You’re a goof.”

  “A goof that you’re going to let play with all your toys though, right? Say it’s so, Kelly. I’m not above begging.” I take a step toward him, my front brushing his, tantalising and close. I hook my index finger over the front of his jeans and tug suggestively. “Whatever you want.”

  His brows rise, yet his eyes are on me like I’m everything he’s ever wanted and never dared ask for. “You’re whoring yourself out now?”

  I grin happily at the thought of getting to have a look and play. “Yes.”

  Kelly’s nostrils flare. “Goddamn, you’re pretty,” he mutters, seemingly to himself, before his hand snakes around my neck and yanks my face to his, kissing me. His tongue thrusts inside my mouth, his passion intense, his hold on me tight.

  My hands grip his shoulders as he backs me toward the brickwork by the side of the front door, pushing me against it, his erection obvious. It presses into me, throbbing, getting harder with every second that passes.

  Kelly draws back, panting, staring into my eyes. His are glazed, just as I imagine mine are. “Only for me.”

  “Only …” I suck in a breath. “What?”

  “A whore. You can be a whore. But only for me.”

  “I’m not …” My hands drift down, pressing against his chest. “I don’t …”

  He kisses me again, his hips pushing against mine until he’s all I can feel. “You don’t what?” he says against my lips before moving his mouth across my cheek and down my neck, an urgent caress that makes me shiver.

  Oh god, why do I have to be so awkward? My head tilts back to give him better access and collides with the bricks. I barely notice. “I don’t usually sleep around. This … is not something I do.”

  He stills and draws back slightly, meeting my eyes with humour. “Me either.”

  “Kelly!” I laugh, even though I’m trying to be serious, and smack a hand against his chest. It’s so vast, an endless expanse that needs to be studied in further detail. Irrational need overtakes me, and my laughter dies a quick death. “Take off your shirt.”

  “Babe, for someone who doesn’t usually do this, you seem in an awful hurry.”

  I snatch a quick kiss, biting his bottom lip, which elicits a groan from deep within his chest. “Don’t be a tease.”

  “You make me feel so cheap, forcing me to strip outside in the cold, without even letting me get you inside first.”

  His tone is teasing and makes me laugh. Again. “This from the man who said I could be his whore!”

  “That’s different,” he protests as I slide my hands beneath his black tee, encountering ridges of muscle, as if his belly were the Great Dividing Ranges of Australia’s east.

  I sigh with navigational pleasure as my palms traverse the warm skin. “How is it any different?”

  “You’re just using me to get inside that door beside you,” he says against my neck as he kisses a path upward, toward my earlobe.

  “And you’re not using me?”

  Kelly’s lips draw back from my skin, and he lifts his head, his eyes finding mine. His expression is puzzled, as if I just randomly presented him with a Rubik’s cube. He presses both palms on the brickwork behind me, just above my shoulders so it feel
s like nothing else exists outside the two of us. “Can I be honest?”

  I tug on the belt loops of his jeans. Of course I want him to be honest, but the sudden weightiness surrounding us leaves an uneasy lump in my throat. For him to give me that when I’ve given him nothing feels unfair. “Please,” I say, swallowing the unease in an attempt to make it go away. It doesn’t.

  “I’m not sure.”

  My brows draw together. “Not sure?”

  “If I’m using you or not. What if …” He looks away, exhaling a frustrated puff of air. He shakes his head and looks at me again. “What if once isn’t enough?”

  It won’t be. I know it. “So then we do it twice.”

  “What if twice isn’t enough?”

  “So then we do it three times.”

  His lips quirks at the corners. “What if three times isn’t enough?”

  I chuckle and palm his cheeks with both hands. “Then we do it a million times.”

  “Babe.” Kelly kisses me. “A million? The chafing would be a bitch, but points for enthusiasm.”

  He smothers another of my laughs with his mouth, his hands leaving the wall and finding my hips, pulling me flush against him as we kiss. “Kelly,” I whisper when he gives me a bare moment to breathe.

  “Mmm?”

  “Let me inside or lose me forever.”

  He throws back his head, wrapping both arms around my neck and smooshing my face into his chest, and he laughs hard.

  Oh god. This man. This man.

  Kelly eventually lets me go and tugs a set of keys from the pocket of his jeans. Shifting to the door, he slides in a key and turns it. The lock clunks in the quiet of the night, and he turns the handle and opens the door wide, gesturing for me to walk inside.

  We’re in the front office. The counter is sleek, the timber floors fresh with varnish, yet there’s an unmistakable scent in the air—motor oil, chassis grease, solvent, and brake dust. It’s the scent of my childhood. Of my grandfather, my father, my brother. It’s home. I breathe it in, savouring it as I look around. “Where do we start?”

  To my left is a set of automatic glass doors that lead to all the action. There’s only one car inside. It’s concealed, tucked in like a little baby for the night with a car cover. I want to start with her.

  “There.” Instead, Kelly points down the hallway beside the counter entrance. There are three doors on the right as you head along, which likely contain private offices and washrooms, but he’s indicating a set of stairs at the very end.

  “Ok. Lead the way.”

  “Babe.” Kelly shakes his head, indicating that’s a negative. “You go first on the stairs. Always.”

  “And there’s the gentleman side of you again.”

  He shakes his head again. “Not a gentleman. Just a pervert. Want a bird’s eye view of that fine ass.”

  My cheeks flush pink at the thought, but he wants me to lead the way, so that’s exactly what I do. There’s a lot of stairs, and when we reach the top, it’s high and not a vast area. On my left is bunch of lockers, a bench seat, and an en suite-sized bathroom. To my right is a big uncovered window and resting beneath it a bed. A large one. King size, at least. It’s dressed with nothing but white sheets and white pillow covers. It makes sense, because when you’re working late into the night, your body gets stiff and tired, and crashing somewhere close by always feels like heaven. And white sheets mean you can regularly bleach them to remove grease stains.

  Still. Here we are. Standing beside a bed with no one else around. I turn and face him. “I see you’ve led me to your lair.”

  “Au contraire, babe. You led me.”

  “Touché.” My lips form a smirk. “Now take off your shirt.”

  Kelly grabs the back of the neckline and tugs it off, mussing his hair. He tosses it to the corner and walks backward toward the bed. He reaches it and sits on the edge while I stand there and stare.

  His chest is what dreams are made of. My dreams. It’s a hard chest, but not just with muscle. With scars and tattoos. With chest hair and thick veins. With life. It says, “I’ve worked and I’ve lived.” It also says, “I’ll protect you from any storm.” It should also come with a sign—warning: Touching this is an experience that will change your life, forever.

  “Your turn,” he eventually says, after waiting out my extra-long gawking session with unexpected patience.

  Ugh. Do I have to? I’m pretty sure beneath this long-sleeved high-necked fitted black shirt lurks a granny bra. I tug the neckline away from my skin and take a peek down.

  “Are they still there?” he quips.

  Fuck. It’s the granny bra. I want to weep. I let go, the stretchy cotton snapping back into place as I look at him. “What?”

  “Your tits. You seem worried they upped and disappeared on you.”

  My gaze sweeps the length of him again. He has all of that, and I have heinous unmentionables that my neighbour’s dog wouldn’t even chew—and that dog chews everything. He broke through our fence late last year and into our yard and ate his way through my brother’s putrid old boots that he’s owned since 1985.

  This is supposed to be a sexy and passionate encounter, one I’ve been imagining since the moment he stepped foot inside Fix. My daydreams pictured me shaved, with smoky eye-makeup and heels, and the kind of black lace so scrappy you needed to invest in a microscope just to find it in your underwear drawer. And Kelly would drop to his knees in gratitude just seeing me in all my dazzling glory.

  “They’re still there,” I croak, miserable. I suck. I fucking suck so bad.

  “And that makes you sad because?” he prompts.

  “I’m not sad. But you should turn around.”

  “What? And miss the show? Babe.” He folds his arms. Muscles bulge. Christ.

  “Just … trust me.”

  Kelly crooks a finger. “Come here.”

  I press my lips together, my feet glued to the floor.

  His eyes narrow and he starts to rise. “Don’t make me come over there.”

  I splay my hands out, warding him off. “Wait,” I blurt out, knowing I’m ruining the moment, but I seem unable to get over myself and my manky underwear. “Just … close your eyes for a second.”

  “Ace—”

  “Please?”

  His sinks back to the bed and closes them. I waste no time. I reach around, unsnapping the hooks on my bra. Diving up through my sleeves, I yank out the straps, rip the damn thing up and outside the neckline of my shirt, and toss the offensive garment to the corner where I send out a hopeful prayer for it to spontaneously combust.

  “You can open them now,” I inform him, slightly out of breath.

  Kelly’s eyes open and he looks me over, his brows rising. “You look … no different. What did you do?”

  “Let’s just do this, okay?”

  “You’re making it sound like laundry. Is sex going to be a chore for you?”

  Ace, you’re so good at this, laughs my inner voice. You should totally be a porn star.

  “Shut up,” I mutter to myself.

  “Shut up?” Kelly echoes.

  Oh my god. Fuck it. I take deep breath and peel my shirt over my head. After it drops to the floor beside me, I remove the elastic band from my hair and give it a quick shake, letting it fall down the naked length of my back.

  Kelly rises, soundless, staring. My heart stops. There’s hunger in his eyes, a craving that makes everything that came before this moment just … fall away.

  “Babe,” he says. “Come here.” His voice is sandpaper, his words a rough command.

  I walk toward him and he takes my hands, tugging me flush against him. The heat of his body is vivid, the press of his naked skin heady. I slide my palms upward on his chest, winding them around his neck. He responds by trailing the rough pads of his fingers down my ribcage, his thumbs brushing the sides of my breasts. Shivers erupt.

  “You like that?” he murmurs.

  I can only nod and moan when he does it agai
n. “Oh god,” I say with a shaky breath. The torment is delicious.

  Kelly sinks back onto the edge of the bed, bringing me down with him. I straddle his lap, and he ducks his head, licking a small pathway between both breasts. I hold still, my hands on his shoulders. He kisses his way across my chest and slowly draws a nipple inside his mouth. Pleasure shoots straight between my legs, sharp and sweet. My head tilts back and my hair spills down. He takes the strands in his fist and tugs, arching me back further, forcing my breasts to rise higher.

  When Kelly’s finished giving them all his attention, my panties are soaked. He lets my hair go and his hands move to the waistband of my leather pants. Oh god, yes.

  He glances up at me. “Stand.”

  I fumble from his lap, my legs unsteady like a newborn foal. Kelly’s hands encircle my hips, supporting me as I find my feet. Then they shift to my pants button. He undoes it and slides my zipper down, his pace excruciatingly slow.

  He slides his hand in, outside of my underwear, and I know he can feel how wet they are because his eyes close and his nostrils flare. I don’t know what panties I’m wearing. I’m past the point of caring. Just touch me.

  As if he hears my plea, his hand pushes its way inside the fabric. His calloused fingers rub against the slick skin. I sway, lightheaded, and he retreats and stands, the size of him towering over me.

  “Kelly.”

  He shoves my pants down, bunching them beneath the cheeks of my ass. Then he turns me and nudges me down, so now I’m the one seated on the edge of the bed. I fall back on my elbows when he takes my pants and tugs. I lift my legs, and he peels them clean away, leaving me in just my panties.

  “Pull them to the side.”

  My breath hitches. “Kelly.”

  “Do it, babe.”

  I do as he asks, revealing the swollen, aching flesh beneath the thin layer of fabric. I’m more exposed to this man than I’ve been to any other in my entire life.

  His eyes burn and he groans as if in pain, his hand going to the bulge in his jeans and squeezing. “Prettiest fuckin’ sight in the world.”

  “It’s your turn to come here now,” I tell him.