by Jenna Rose
Stolen Heart
Bride of the Billionaire
Jenna Rose
Copyright © 2019 by Jenna Rose
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
About the book
Zander Duke is a genius, a billionaire, a world-renowned bachelor stud. But there’s one thing the world doesn’t know about him; he’s also a master art thief. So when Amory discovers his secret, Zander has no choice but to steal her too. Soon, the man who has everything, realizes he may have found his most prized possession…
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Contents
1. Zander
2. Amory
3. Zander
4. Amory
5. Zander
6. Amory
7. Zander
8. Amory
Epilogue
More Jenna Rose
His Only Desire Box set
1. About the bundle
1
Zander
Nothing thrills me anymore. Nothing but this.
When I was young, conquering the business world was my only goal. I had laser focus. Like a gladiator, I rose to the top, leaving other men nothing more than charred corpses in my wake.
And then I got there. And what did I find?
Nothing.
The satisfaction of victory lasted less than a month. And then the emptiness set in.
But you can’t tell anyone that. Not when you’re rich. Not when you’re a billionaire. After all, how could life be empty when you can have whatever you want, right?
Wrong.
I’m Zander Duke, billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist. Oh, and my side hustle? I’m a professional art thief. I have many secrets, but none as important as this. No one knows—not even my most trusted advisers. It’s the only thing that gets my blood pumping anymore, and even that’s beginning to fade.
Money, cars, women. I’ve had it all, and I made sacrifices along the way.
No real friends outside of business and definitely no real relationships. Women want me for one of two things: money or fame. Sometimes both. The gold-diggers are easy to spot. The clout-chasers a little harder. I let myself get fooled one too many times, and then I closed my heart down—locked it up in an ice cold freezer inside my chest, never to be opened again.
The tabloids never stop speculating when I’ll settle down. I’ve told them the answer. I guess they just don’t want to print it.
The answer is never.
I glance at my watch. Three and a half minutes left. That’s when the alarm system comes back online, and if I’m not out of the museum by then, I won’t be leaving at all.
Tonight, I’m here for a Picasso. Picasso’s “PaBLOW” as some are calling it. His “BLEW” period to others. Yes, it’s a self-portrait painted by the master of him getting “orally serviced” by a young lady. Most people don’t think it’s very good, but it made headlines when it surfaced. And that’s why tonight, I’ve broken into the Met to steal it.
The latches on my briefcase snap open, and I slide the painting inside, frame and all. It fits like a glove, which it should, considering I had this made to the exact dimensions. The thrill is there in my chest, but it’s a shadow of what it used to be. Even this is starting to lose its potency.
I slap the case shut and head for my exit—a rope and pulley leading up to one of the skylights. Everything’s going according to plan.
There’s a flicker of motion in the corner of my eye. I stop and turn and feel something jump in my chest. There, standing at the end of the hallway with a mop and bucket, is a girl more beautiful than all the art in the museum.
She shouldn’t even be here tonight. I planned this job carefully. The cleaning staff are supposed to be on strike, and there’s a fifteen-minute window for security patrol on this wing.
I suck in my breath as the feeling hits me hard—harder than the thrill of my first job. I honestly can’t believe it.
Who is she?
She’s holding a mop and wearing a hideous pair of coveralls, but she’s also gorgeous. She could be an actress or a model, and she’s working at the Met after hours cleaning floors? What the hell is going on?
Her eyes fix me in place like she’s a cop pointing a gun at my head. But there’s something soft about her. Innocent. She’s more afraid of me than I am of her, that’s for sure. My heart skips a beat as she reaches for her walkie-talkie.
I cross the space between us in the blink of an eye. My speed shocks her, and her eyes widen. I slap the radio out of her hand, scattering it across the floor. She opens her mouth to cry out, but I slap my hand over her lips and shake my head.
“Don’t do that,” I tell her. “I would never hurt a woman, but don’t force my hand. Understand?”
The poor girl is too scared to react. The clock is ticking. Each second is crucial. I feel my escape window closing quickly, but I give her a few seconds to get her wits about her.
Christ, she’s gorgeous.
Who the hell is she and what is she doing here?
I’m fascinated. One of the reasons I’ve gotten to where I am today is being able to read people, but when I look into this beautiful girl’s eyes, I get nothing. She’s pure mystery and I’m instantly hooked. Infatuated. And it’s not just my mind, either. I feel a pulse between my legs but shut it down quickly. There’s no time for that now.
But later…
No, I can’t take her with me. That would be cruel. If I do, she’ll never be able to leave. She’ll know my identity then. She could blackmail me, rat me out to the police. The only way I could take her is if I made her mine forever. And that would destroy her life.
Leave her now.
It’s the only way. If I don’t leave now, the only place I’ll be going is a prison cell. I’ll come back tomorrow as me and make her mine.
“I’m going to leave now,” I growl. “Don’t scream. Remember what I said about not wanting to hurt you?”
This time she nods.
It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but I let go of her and turn away. But as I do, for some reason I can’t comprehend, she reaches out and snatches the ski mask off my head.
Time seems to slow down as her eyes go wide. I pray with everything I have that she somehow won’t recognize me, but my stomach sinks as I watch her expression change.
Busted.
“Zander Du—”
I clap my hand over her lips, snatch my mask from the ground, and pull her down the hallway. She’s kicking and screaming the whole way, but she’s no match for me. I glance down at my watch. Less than thirty seconds left.
This is going to be close.
My rope’s right where I left it—hanging from the skylight where I came in. The pulley is rated to support my weight. I don’t know about the both of us. But she’s given me no choice. She’s coming with me now no matter what, and it’s all her fault.
“I don’t know if you’re religious,” I say as I clip onto the rope. “But right now you’d better pray that this holds and we don’t become two red splatters on the floor.”
I tug the rope to engage the spring on the roof. In an instant, we’re lifted into the air, one arm around her delicate waist, the other hand
holding the Picasso. I can’t help but think that the painting may have been my objective tonight, but I may have just found my real prize.
“Let go of me!” she screams as we rise. “Get off!”
No chance. Forget the Picasso. I’d leave it here if it meant I get to take her home with me. But tonight I get to have both.
I’m grinning like a skull beneath my mask as we hurtle toward the skylight. But this girl is no slouch; she’s squirming like she was on the varsity wrestling team, and just as we’re about to reach the roof, I hear the pulley give way.
2
Amory
My breath leaves my lungs as I feel gravity snatch us from the air.
My eyes go wide as I look up at the night sky as we begin to fall. Way to go, Amory. You should have just let the Herculean burglar kidnap you. Now you’re going to wind up a big red abstract-paint splatter on the floor of the Met.
The thief’s arm tightens around my waist, and suddenly I feel a snap of tension through my body. My heart leaps, and I look up to see him holding on to the frame of the skylight with one hand, holding me in the other. Far below, I hear the clatter of his briefcase, with whatever painting he stole tonight, clatter to the floor.
“You trying to get us killed!?” he snaps, his voice strained. “Climb up me.”
“I—”
“Don’t argue. Do it now before my grip gives out!”
His voice is strong, Spartan—like a king commanding his servants. I have no choice but to obey. It may defy the laws of physics, but I try to make myself as light as possible as I scale him like a cat climbing a tree. I reach out and grab the frame and try to pull myself up onto the roof.
Then I remember that I can’t even do a pull-up.
Why oh why can’t girls have more upper body strength?
I feel a strong hand on my right butt cheek and I’m suddenly thrust over the edge and onto the roof. Out of pure instinct, I turn around to help the mysterious man up, but he hoists himself through the skylight with ease and is instantly on his feet looking down at me.
“You know, if you weren’t so goddamn gorgeous I’d be furious,” he says, his voice firm and in control. He’s not even fazed about the near-death situation we just survived. “That was a Picasso you made me lose.”
As the cool evening breeze blows, I look up at his undeniably gorgeous face and feel a flicker of recognition. His eyes, piercing and dominant, the strong chin and high cheekbones. The way he’s standing, like a man who is used to being obeyed. And then it clicks.
“I know you!” I gasp. “You’re Zander Duke, the billionaire!”
He sighs and shakes his head as though he was still hoping I wouldn’t recognize him. That would of course be impossible. Zander’s face has been plastered all over every media outlet in the world lately, as he has become the world’s first 250-billion-dollar man.
“What are you doing stealing paintings? Couldn’t you just buy that Picasso? Or every Picasso?”
A smile comes across his face. He finds me funny. “I could, but where’s the fun in that?”
“You can let me go…” I whisper. “I won’t tell anybody.”
“No,” he replies as he coils his rope and stuffs it into a bag on his waist. “You will, and even if I did believe you, there’s no way I can let a beauty like you out of my sight.”
Zander Duke, the genius, billionaire, playboy—a real life Iron Man whose fortune puts Elon Musk to shame, just called me a real beauty...
Somehow that’s even more unbelievable than what just happened.
I slowly get to my feet, expecting him to throw his arms around me again to keep me from running, but he doesn’t. And then I realize why. We’re on the roof. Where am I supposed to go?
Swallowing nervously, I look at him and wait. Everyone knows how handsome Zander is; it’s practically the only thing they talk about when discussing him. That and his string of exes—mostly models and celebrities. But seeing him in person is a whole different story. He’s well over six feet, frighteningly strong…and his presence. Overwhelming.
“You know my name,” he says. “Now tell me yours.”
I hesitate, but Zander shakes his head.
“Tell me now or I find out later.”
“Amory,” I reply.
“Amory,” he muses as though he’s tasting my name on his tongue. “I’ve never met an Amory before. Do you know what it means?”
My cheeks blush and I lower my eyes. “It means…home ruler.”
Zander’s laugh echoes through the night sky. “Perfect. You can rule my home after you have my babies.”
“Wh—what!?” I stammer. But there’s no time to talk. Zander snatches my hand and pulls me across the roof to a ladder. He goes down first. Having no other choice, I follow. When we reach the street, he takes me by the wrist and leads me down a few alleys to a parked black sedan. It chirps and he nods for me to get in.
“It’s easier if you do it yourself.”
I know he’s right, so I do what I say. He’s strong and athletic; there’s no way I could outrun him. Even if I wanted to, which I’m not sure I do at this point. We pull away from the Met, and I feel his eyes on me. He’s not even attempting to hide it.
“What’s a girl like you doing pushing a mop at a museum?” he asks. “A body like that, you should be in front of a camera, or be claimed by some rich man.”
“Or maybe kidnapped by one?”
“Sweetie, I can’t let you go now, can I?” he replies. “Not now that you know my identity.”
“So what’s the plan?” I ask. “Take me back to your lair and have your way with me?”
Zander laughs. “First of all…lair? Lairs are for vampires and werewolves, not billionaires. Second of all, I don’t have my way with women.”
“Oh, no? I thought you were a playboy.”
“I don’t force women to do anything with me, cutie,” he replies. “That’s not my style.”
It might not be his style, but it’s easy to see what’s on his mind. One look at his eyes and I can see what he’s thinking: sex. With me. That doesn’t exactly do much to calm my nerves as I stare back at the world’s most notorious, gorgeous billionaire. What it does do is send a tingling sensation through my body…
“Good,” I reply. “You wouldn’t enjoy it anyway.”
“Wouldn’t enjoy what?” he asks as he reaches over and unzips my overalls down to my belly button. I’m only wearing a sports bra underneath and feel suddenly vulnerable. “That beautiful body of yours? You really have no idea how sexy you are, do you?”
My cheeks tingle like I’ve been pricked by hot porcupine quills. I can’t handle this. “I’m not sexy, but that’s not why I say it. I say it because…”
My voice trails off. I’m on fire. My cheeks are roasting. And now I’m picturing it—Zander with his hands all over me, on top of me, taking me in every way imaginable. God, I hope he can’t see how awkward I am.
“Because you’re a virgin.”
I cringe. Is it that obvious? I glance up at him for a second, which is all I can bear, expecting to see grim disappointment in his eyes, but instead, I see fire.
“I—I’m sure I’d be such a disappointment—”
“You’re crazy, girl.” Zander grins. I’m looking down again but feel his commanding stare. How is he driving with all his attention on me? His fingers find the zipper of my coveralls again and slowly move it down. Each click causes my heart to shake, and he doesn’t stop until the top of my panties is exposed. The warm tingling inside me increases tenfold.
“I have everything, sweetie,” he whispers as he hooks his middle finger inside my lapel and gently tugs, revealing more of my body to him. My core tightens as his touch grazes the skin of my stomach. He traces a line down to my hip bone. It’s almost more than I can bear. “And what I don’t have, I take. Like that painting tonight. I could take you too, gorgeous. Make you mine.”
Oh my God. His words…do something to me. And my nervousness is s
uddenly wiped away by something more powerful—desire. I’m turned on.
I feel his desire for me as he moves that one finger across my skin, and I feel a need to respond, to give him what he wants, to please him. It’s nothing I’ve ever felt before. I can’t even explain it; it’s like the most basic, deep, primal piece of my female identity coming to the surface. And it’s powerful.
But at the same time, I don’t even know this man. He kidnapped me, and now I want to lose my virginity to him?
“You’re just saying all this…” I mutter. “Like you do to all the girls.”
Zander turns the car and I look up as a gate opens before us to an incredible house. “All the girls? This is how you think I meet all the girls?”
We pull into the driveway as I struggle to find the words. “I think you are practiced in how to seduce a woman. You know just what to say…and do.”
“Oh, I know just what to do all right,” he replies. He’s so sure of himself. More than any man I’ve ever met. He parks the car and turns his full attention on me, then hooks that single digit under the strap of my panties and lifts it gently from my hip. “I know every single spot on your body and what I’d do to it to make you cry my name, sweetie. And you’d be begging for more.”
“Stop…” I start to say, but Zander cuts me off.
“I can’t.”
He leans in and kisses my neck. Suddenly, I forget what I was going to say. His lips caress my skin. I feel his breath, soft and warm, and his hand as it slides up to my chest and finds my breast. Without hesitation, he lifts my sports bra, exposing me to him. And when his other hand slides down, two of his fingers finding my mound, I have to fight back a moan.