“A beautiful woman exposing herself? God, please have mercy, what a nightmare.”
I snort an ugly, undignified laugh. Annie always says I sound like a goat when I do that. I quickly cover my mouth, even more embarrassed, but Brenden doesn’t seem to mind. He walks to another shelf and picks up a small gold lighter.
“Nowthisis interesting. 18 karats and do you see this mark here?” He comes closer, holding it out. There’s a strange checkerboard-like pattern in the front and a scripted name across the top.
“S.T. Dupont, Paris. What’s that?”
“High end luxury lighter brand. This particular one is likely from the early 1940s. Any idea what something like this would cost?” He offers it for me to inspect. Without thinking, I release my blouse and take it. One half falls open.
“No clue,” I admit, hefting the lighter in my hand. “It’s surprisingly heavy.” I flip the top and flick a circular column on the side. The flame springs out with a distinctcling.
“My bet is anywhere from three to ten thousand, depending on the actual date of manufacture.”
I flick the lid shut and kill the flame, laughing in surprise. “Who has a ten thousand dollar lighter lying around their house?”
“Rich old people who love burning oil in August for no god damn reason.”
I hold it out but he pushes my hand away. “Keep it.”
“What? Are you crazy? Put it back, they’ll notice it’s gone.”
“No, they really won’t. Have you seen this place? The Davis’s are rich as sin and collect luxury bullshit like birds gather twigs for a nest. They won’t miss a lighter.”
I narrow my gaze, a strange thrill running into my core. Could I actually take it? I mean, he’s probably right. This office has a bunch of stuff lying around on the shelves, from a fancy model train to an obscene crystal inkwell. The clock is Cartier and there’s a silver plate covered in diamond-stuffed cufflinks. Plus, there are at least a half dozen other lighters scattered all over. Brenden’s got a point.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t steal from old people.” I try to put the lighter down, but Brenden gently takes my wrist. I’m very aware of his proximity now, the way he towers over me, the distracting slope of his handsome nose and the lean muscle under his clothes.
“Do you know how the Davis family made its money?”
“I’m guessing they didn’t volunteer to raise puppies.”
“Guns. Lots and lots of guns. They have one of the largest ammunition manufacturing businesses in the world.”
“Everyone’s got to make a living.”
“It’s blood money. Why should they keep it?”
“Why should I?”
“Because the gold looks nice against your skin.” His hungry eyes slip to my mouth and down to my neck. “And because you still haven’t buttoned up your blouse.”
A shiver rolls down to my toes. He’s right, my top’s still hanging partway open, exposing more of my chest than is appropriate.
“I don’t need the money.” I pull my wrist away. He releases me, but doesn’t step back. “And I don’t steal.”
“I don’t need the money, but I definitely steal. Sometimes it’s not about what the score costs, but more about the way the score feels.” He takes the lighter from my fingers and raises it up to press it to my cheek.
The gold is soft and strangely cool. God, it feels good in this horribly hot place. He moves it down and I tremble, a swell of desire rushing through me. This man’s attractive, absurdly good looking, and I know how wrong this is, having this charged moment with a complete stranger. I’ve never done anything like this before, except he’s confident, in charge, and shockingly charming. My mouth opens to tell him to stop, except nothing comes out, as he moves the lighter down my skin.
It feels good on my chin, against the side of my neck. A soft sigh of pleasure escapes me as it goes lower, cool and deliberate. He nudges open the other side of my blouse. The lighter slides along my shoulder, my collarbone. I could tell him to stop. I could scream and about a couple dozen armed and very dangerous men would come pounding up the stairs. They’d beat Brenden to a bloody pulp and likely toss his body in the harbor.
Instead, the lighter reaches my breasts. I grip his belt, holding to either side of his hips, my pulse rocketing wildly. I’ve never been touched like this before. Nobody’s ever dared try something like this, probably because they know who my father is, who my family is, and what would happen if they were caught. One word, one scream?—
Instead, a whimper escapes my mouth. My eyes lock on his, needy in ways I don’t fully understand, as he slips the lighter down the cup of my bra, caressing it against my nipple.
Animal lust overtakes me. I get on my toes and pull his mouth down to meet mine. I kiss him eagerly, kiss him hard, his tongue slipping against mine minty and warm, a hint of bourbon and spice, delicious and intoxicating all at once, and if I stop to think about this too much it won’t happen, and I’m tired of everythingnot happeningall the time. Tired of trying so hard, tired of being who I am, when I can be someone else with this attractive, confident stranger for a few minutes.
The lighter remains tucked down my bra. His hand cups my tits, greedy and roaming, as he pushes me back against the desk. I yelp in surprise when I’m lifted up, keys, a USB drive, random watches scattering to the ground as he spreads my legs roughly. His other hand tangles in my thick hair and I don’t bother telling him to be careful like I should, god forbid a single strand is out of place. He pulls and it hurts and I like it as he kisses my neck.