Too Wicked to Keep. Julie Leto
from Abby’s frown, she didn’t look anxious to share.
“I’m sure the things I’ve learned you committed to memory by the age of eight.”
“That everyone is a liar and a thief, you mean. In one way or another?”
“Yeah,” she acknowledged. “That.”
“You’re not,” he argued.
“Not what? A liar? Please, Daniel. Don’t sugarcoat on my account.”
“I’m not,” he insisted. “You told Marshall the truth about us, didn’t you?”
“Only after lying to him for weeks. And I colluded with my mother to get my father out of the country. And I expect that by this time next week, I’ll have lied enough to match your level of expertise.”
She unbuckled her seat belt and retreated to the galley at the back of the plane. She tugged open the built-in wine cooler and extracted a bottle without giving the label a second glance. When her hunt for a corkscrew escalated from frustrated to frantic, he joined her.
“I should have kept the champagne,” she said with a slightly maniacal laugh. “It was already open.”
“Let me.” He reached out to touch her shoulder, but pulled back. She didn’t want him to touch her—she’d made that clear. And right now, he didn’t think she needed one more reason to hate him.
She didn’t turn around, but clutched the countertop in front of her.
“I loved Marshall.”
“I know.”
From their first contact, their first kiss, their first hot, frantic sexual encounter in a darkened corner of the museum after hours, Danny had known that Abby had only gravitated to him because of excitement and exploration and lust. He was a man unlike any she’d ever encountered—one who had been tailored to her needs, her wants, her desires. In giving her what she so secretly craved, he’d taken what he’d come for and then counted on her loyalty to the man she really loved in order to cover up his own crime.
What Danny hadn’t factored into the equation was that once he delivered the painting to his buyer, he hadn’t been able to follow his usual routine, which was to disappear until the heat from the crime wore off. Instead, he’d walked right back into the fire, determined to steal Abby, too.
But not to fence her for someone else to enjoy—she was a treasure he’d wanted for himself.
One he could never have.
He wished he could define what it was about her that was so enthralling. Despite her sexier packaging, he still sensed her reined-in wildness, her continued struggle between doing what was expected of her and acting on her raging need to be free.
In a lot of ways, she lived a double life the same as he did.
Once upon a time, Abby had been as simple to figure out as a game of Three Card Monty. Now, she was more like Omaha Hi/Lo Hold’Em Poker—complex and challenging, with variations the average player wouldn’t understand.
Luckily, Danny was well above average.
“I’m sorry for what I did to you, Abby. I’m sorry that I took something you valued so much. I have no good excuse, I just have the truth. I’m a thief. Stealing is what I do. It’s what you’re counting on me to do when we get to Chicago.”
At this, she spun around. Her eyes were dry, but streaked with red. “And you agreed with hardly a second thought.”
He clasped his hands behind his back to keep from grabbing her by the shoulders and kissing her. The action was all levels of wrong, but the need to backtrack out of this conversation was powerful.
“Of course I agreed. Stealing is what I do. Besides, I only steal from people who can afford it,” he explained with a wink. “And my expertise is in stealing things. The value we put on tangible items in our society is the real crime.”
She snorted, then pushed past him, abandoning the wine. “Philosophy? Not your forte.”
“Clearly,” he said wryly.
She marched down the aisle and threw herself back into her seat. Danny took a quick look through a drawer, found a corkscrew, grabbed the wine bottle and joined her. As he had not thought to pack a parachute, he had nowhere to run and a lot of air space to endure before they reached Chicago. The whole experience would be a hell of a lot better after a few glasses of Pinot Noir.
He settled in across from her and popped the cork.
She didn’t speak until he offered her a glass, which she accepted, though she didn’t take a sip. “You stole more than a thing from me, Daniel.”
Her voice was barely audible, yet sharp as a knife.
“I know.”
“I want it back,” she said.
“I told you. I’ll do whatever it takes to get the painting for you.”
She stared at him with such intense focus, he nearly looked away. “That’s not what I meant. I want what you took from my heart. Think you can find that, too?”
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