Read Hunt Me (Love Thieves #3) Online

Authors: Heather Long

Tags: #contemporary, #Buddha, #erotic, #treasure, #suspense thriller

Hunt Me (Love Thieves #3) (5 page)

BOOK: Hunt Me (Love Thieves #3)
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He sat silently. She forced herself to eat three bites of the salmon in quick succession, followed by a forkful of the steamed spinach and grilled zucchini. Her lack of appetite did not do the meal justice, but her audience forced her to play the part. Their air of civility wore on her. She’d rather be curled up, snacking on her dinner in bed and watching the latest movies she’d missed thanks to the whirlwind schedule she’d been maintaining.

But, no. She sat at a table with a perfectly respectable, smoking-hot-should-be-licked-often stranger. Damn her father.

Hell, if her father hadn’t sent him, she could have indulged in one of those carnal impulses which used to land her in the scandal rags during her university years. When the heat in her body continued to spread, warming her cheeks and breasts, she reached for the wine again. Maybe a glass or three would knock the temperature off her libido.

“You seem very relaxed, considering our present circumstances.” He sounded almost curious.

“I’m used to it.” She sighed and ran her tongue along her teeth, hoping no bits of veggie were embarrassing her. “Unfortunately.”

“Well, if you’re used to it, maybe you should consider a change in careers.” The odd comment, coupled with his pursed lips, dragged her attention away from her raging hormones to stare at him again. He watched her with no attempt to disguise the shrewd predator in his eyes. A fresh wave of awareness rolled over her.

He wasn’t any ordinary businessman, and his attempts at vanilla engagement, from his relaxed dress to his mannerisms, couldn’t disguise the difference anymore. Something far more dangerous than an unwanted matchmaking attempt lurked in his gaze.

Intrigue and wariness clashed inside.

“Why would I change careers? I’m destined to inherit the entire organization. I have to know how it works from top to bottom. Or are you one of those men who thinks marrying me will be your key to the executive office, and I’ll be at home hosting tea while popping out the requisite heirs?”

Jarod tugged his ear then set his utensils down. “Kit Kat, what the hell are you talking about?”

“My father,
Mr. Parker.
And stop calling me by that horrid nickname.” Irritation rose to the top of her desire and flamed. “I asked you to call me Katherine.”

“No. You told me to. I prefer Kit Kat. It suits your mercurial moods. What does your father have to do with my being on this plane?”

“Everything.” She leaned forward. “Miles told me Daddy sent you to the meeting and here. I am used to my father’s matchmaking—although he’s generally a great deal subtler than this. I suppose my birthday last month and the engagements of several of his associates’ children has him thinking.”

“Miles told you I’m here as a—”

“Seriously, Mr. Parker? A stud service. Yes, my father sent you to stand stud for his recalcitrant princess who will not settle down. Granted, you’re an exceptionally fine specimen, but I have no desire to wear the reins which undoubtedly go with your promising physique.”

Jarod’s mouth opened briefly then snapped shut. To her amazement—and ire—he started to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re not mad your father might have sent me, Kit Kat. You’re mad you wanted me, and now you think you can’t have me.”

She sat up straighter in the chair, aggravation dragging its nails across the chalkboard of her spine. “I am glad I amuse you.” She tossed her napkin onto the plate, all pretense of appetite gone. Standing, she gave him a practiced look of dismissal. “Good evening, Mr. Parker. I expect you off my plane as soon as we land in Los Angeles.”

She didn’t make it two steps away from the table before he caught her arm and spun her back. She impacted against his chest, and her hands flattened against a very hard, very well-developed set of pectoral muscles, his mouth an inch from her own. “If I’m standing stud, you should at least sample the services before you dismiss them.”

She wasn’t sure which of them moved, but, suddenly, their mouths fused together and the heat inside of her burst into a raging forest fire. His tongue stabbed against hers, demanding and gaining access. His hand slid up to her still damp hair, and, sometime between the first caress of his tongue and the flood of want between her thighs, he released the ponytail.

The world spun, as if the private jet performed aerial acrobatics. She clung to him, fighting the waves of sensuous dizziness swarming over her and devouring every shred of common sense shrieking at her to let him go.

Who started the kiss might have been a mystery, but Jarod pulled back. He stared down at her with those deep-amber eyes. “By the way, Kit Kat…Daddy didn’t send me. You sleep well tonight.”

He let her go and returned to the table. He picked up his fork and knife as if nothing happened and dug into the meal. Her body sizzled, and the taste of him on her lips was far more tantalizing than the food.

Exhaling a hard breath, she turned on her heel and marched back to the door separating the bedroom from the cabin.

“Oh,” his voice chased her. “I think we can call it two points for me.”

Damn.

She shut the door and leaned back against it. Her pulse raced, her body trembled, and her mind quivered.

He was ahead.

 

Chapter Three

 

 

He finished the glass of wine and stared at the thin door standing between him and his goal. Before the flight attendants could clear the table, he wiped down the glass and the silverware. Old habits had saved his ass too many times in the past and were difficult to avoid. He accepted the offer of coffee, and the stewardesses left him with a carafe, a cup, and fresh creamer. They retreated to the front and what he imagined was their station during the flight when not needed.

An hour after their explosive kiss and her retreat to the bedroom, Jarod accepted she didn’t intend to join him anytime soon. He itched to search the cabin, but it would be an exercise in futility. If she carried the Buddha personally, the priceless artifact would be in the bedroom. Retrieving his laptop, he booted up and began a casual web search of Lord Hardwicke and his impetuous daughter. He knew a great deal about Kit Kat, his thorough research uncovering several warnings from the Bridgerton Boarding Academy in Switzerland.

Katherine Hardwicke possessed a remarkable intellect. Several of her instructors commented on the difficulty of keeping the young woman engaged—and on campus. Most of the sealed records required hacking to access, but IAAR background checks remained thorough. The Hardwickes and the Sauvages shared a long acquaintance. His Kit Kat seemed linked to Pietr or Max on several occasions via newspaper speculation but—adept at reading between the lines—all Jarod found was speculation. Her romantic liaisons seemed far and few between.

At sixteen, she began appearing at her father’s business functions as his hostess. At eighteen, a noticeable three-month absence in reports of her activities intrigued him, followed by a second absence at twenty and a third one lasting nearly nine months in the year after she completed university. He would have to put a researcher on those discrepancies when they landed in Los Angeles.

At twenty-nine, she had never been engaged nor linked romantically with any one man for longer than three months. And, in spite of the rampant speculation about her affairs, no photographs or reports of in-depth emotional investment appeared, the lack of evidence more telling than all the implied assignations ascribed to the Lady Hardwicke.

Pouring another cup of coffee, he studied the closed door as though it might reveal prize clues about the woman hiding behind it. Definitely hiding. He wasn’t too proud to admit the electric sizzle of their kiss lingered beneath his skin, nor was he ashamed of the raw desire to push up her skimpy cotton tank top and explore the curves beneath.

His mouth quirked. He loved the pajamas. For thirty seconds, he’d seen the real Kit Kat. The freshly scrubbed, hair still damp from the shower woman with all her complicated barriers set aside when she padded barefoot out of the cabin.

Thirty seconds to appreciate the fist of need to his gut. No matter how much he told himself this was purely about business, those precious seconds gave him a glimpse of the woman beneath the polished answers and smooth handling. He saw Kit Kat.

And she was exactly who he kissed. Dragging his attention away from the door, he scrolled through the various news articles, columns, and features. He skimmed the headlines. The phone in his pocket buzzed, and he pulled it out while mulling what pieces of information were missing.

Two sentence incoming text from an asset in Geneva:
duMonde boarded a flight for the United States. Destination Los Angeles.

He tapped out one question and hit send.
ETA?

Swift response.
Flight scheduled to arrive at 8:00 p.m., Pacific Time.

Dammit.

Jarod didn’t believe in coincidence. duMonde was a borderline psychopath with delusions of grandeur and a definite narcissistic streak. His arrival in Los Angeles ahead of Kit disturbed him to say the least. Was she on her way to meet him?

Or had he, like Jarod, put the pieces together?

duMonde’s obsession with the Buddha led to his alleged involvement in at least three deaths in New York—and the near murder of Pietr Sauvage and Jarod’s most recently acquired asset to the IAAR, Sophie Kingston. Anya had a history with the French collector, one she didn’t enjoy relating in her reports, but manipulating the viscount to gain access to some collections proved fruitful until his unbalanced possessive streak reared its head.

duMonde arriving LAX, 8 p.m. local time. Follow him.
Fortunately, a network of worldwide assets provided him with immeasurable resources. Kit didn’t need to spend any time with the French lunatic. The tough, resourceful front she exuded to the world wouldn’t keep her safe.

Thumbing the phone off, he didn’t examine his motivations too closely. Her complicity in the theft of
The Fortunate Buddha
did not warrant leaving her to duMonde’s less than tender mercies. He’d drunk all the coffee and didn’t want to ask them for more, though they were two hours from LA. The laptop screen darkened as the energy saving feature kicked in.

The Frenchman’s Los Angeles trip could be completely unrelated but added a new wrinkle to the timetable. He couldn’t afford to alienate Kit Kat further, not if he wanted to stay close enough to protect her.
What am I not seeing in all of this?

A key piece of data eluded him, some fact to tie together disparate pieces of information in his possession—something that might explain Kit Kat’s involvement. A woman with her level of wealth didn’t dabble in stolen goods unless to purchase them. But she wasn’t buying or selling the Buddha. Nothing hit IAAR’s radar about an auction. Granted, the network of art fences in the world remained relatively small, but an item like the Buddha made ripples—it was how they traced them.

So what was it? What element was out of context with the rest?

Born in London, Lady Hardwicke grew up in a life of wealth and privilege. Despite modernization, British nobility still lived a step or two beyond the average British subject. They lived by a code of rules and propriety with greater allowance for flaws and eccentricities. Her private school education included four years at university studying business, management, and finance. The vanilla nature of her degree did not match the seductively provocative woman. Hardwicke Industries maintained investments in a dozen corporations worldwide. Lord Hardwicke sat on as many more boards of directors. Kit Kat assumed many of the day-to-day operational meetings in the last three years, increasing her already frequent travel schedule to a new country nearly every month.

She and her father seemed very close, but they hadn’t been at the same event, or even in the same country, in months. No rumors or reports of an illness for Lord Hardwicke explained the discrepancy.

Wait a minute.
He hit the spacebar on the laptop and skimmed through the headlines again.
Where the hell is her mother?

 

The buzzing of the phone roused her from sleep. She blinked at the nightstand clock. It read 1:00 a.m.—had she changed it from Eastern time? Plucking the phone from the wall cradle, she tried to rub the drowsiness from her eyes. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry to wake you, Lady Hardwicke. We’re about thirty minutes out and will be beginning our descent shortly. You need to move to a seat belted position.” The captain’s calm apology and directness pushed the fog of fatigue away.

Thirty minutes?
“Did we have a delay?”

“A small one. I routed us around a storm.”

“Thank you, Captain. I’ll be going back to bed after we land.” She hung up and dragged herself out of the tangle of sheets. The twisted bed covers spoke more to her restlessness than she imagined. Padding to the loo, the knock at the door surprised her.

Jarod.

For a few precious seconds, she’d forgotten the stowaway on board. The unpleasant jolt knocked more adrenaline into her system. She didn’t open the door. “Yes?”

“The captain called back to say we’ll be landing soon.” Silence followed the statement and then, “I didn’t want it to surprise you.”

“He called me, Mr. Parker. You should pack your things and take your seat. As soon as we land and park, feel free to deplane.” She yawned, and rubbed a hand against her face. “In fact, I insist.”

She didn’t wait for a response but walked into the loo and took care of business. Ten minutes later, she sat down on the flight chair in the room and buckled her seat belt. She could have walked out into the main cabin and dozed in one of the more comfortable seats, but this one provided more privacy.

The phone next to her buzzed. “I am buckled in, Captain,” she answered in lieu of a greeting.

“Good. Plenty of room out here if you want to join me.” Positively incorrigible man. Incorrigible, irritating, impertinent, and presumptuous.

So why the hell was she entertained?

BOOK: Hunt Me (Love Thieves #3)
13.98Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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