Hunt Me (Love Thieves #3) (7 page)

He scared the hell out of her.
Jarod wasn’t sure if they were in some type of collusion when he boarded the plane to New York from London, but thirty minutes into their first meeting and he couldn’t see how this self-possessed firecracker with her independent spirit and playful nature could work with a narcissistic psychopath.

Thankfully, his earlier suspicions proved wrong. But they were involved on some level…insofar as duMonde was after her. Did she steal the Buddha from him?

Thief.

The five-cent word didn’t do the million-dollar woman justice. Beyond his suspicions and some circumstantial evidence, he didn’t have any real proof Lady Katherine Hardwicke stole
The Fortunate Buddha
.

But she did. I know she did. duMonde suspects the same, and….
She shifted in the seat next to him, and he glanced over to see her eyes open. She covered a yawn.

“My apologies.”

“No apology required.” He didn’t resist the urge to touch her thigh again, rubbing his knuckles against her knee lightly, soothing. “It’s been a long night.” Dropping the kernel of information about duMonde in her lap had allowed him to observe her reaction. Her immediate discomfort, no matter how she tried to disguise it, pleased him.

He didn’t want her in business or bed with duMonde. But the lack of alliance also meant he needed to keep a warier eye out. The game over
The Fortunate Buddha
continued to escalate. The little gold statue and the promise of good luck it gave to those who rubbed its belly created so much grief in its wake.

“Jarod.” She sat up, shifting her leg away. He withdrew his hand, albeit reluctantly. “I appreciate everything, but you should drive us to where you are staying and then I’ll leave you to do your business in peace.”

“I’d rather wait until you’re safely where you need to be.” Particularly since the heiress didn’t travel with a bodyguard. He knew her driver in New York doubled as security, and, in Europe, she often traveled with personal guards. So why shed a layer of protection here unless she wanted to hide her activities?

“You’re very sweet.” The “but” hung off the end of her sentence like an accessory.

“But?” He said it for her.

“But, we just met, and, while I’ve thoroughly enjoyed our time together, it is time to say our good-byes.” Despite the overstatement, he didn’t hear a lie.

So, how do I play this?
Gut reaction: find a way to stick with her.
But staying isn’t about the Buddha. It’s about me.
Arguably, it was also about protecting her. When duMonde put his hands on her face, all Jarod could see was how swiftly he could have snapped her neck. The French bastard was lucky Jarod hadn’t broken his hand. The instinct to keep her safe ran high and contrary to his primary mission.

Thief or not, she doesn’t deserve to be shot, beaten, or threatened.
He flexed his fingers against the steering wheel. Letting her go to lead him to the Buddha accomplished the goal. Once he took it back, duMonde would have no reason to continue his pursuit.

As if removing the Buddha from play would stop him.

It wouldn’t.

“Jarod?” Concern filtered through the question in her voice.

“I’m a little worried about the viscount’s intentions.” The key to a good lie rested in layering it in elements of the truth.

“Louis….” She waved a hand in the air but let go of whatever thread of story she was about to share. “You don’t have to worry about him. Now I’m aware he’s in the area, I can avoid him.”

“He had two armed men with him, Kit Kat. I don’t think he wants to be avoided.” He controlled his inflections, too pushy and she’d resist. Too blasé and she might not take the threat seriously. If she hadn’t left for Los Angeles immediately following the meeting, he would be more embedded with her.

“The viscount likes to throw his weight around, but he’s nothing for you to worry about. I won’t be in the area long. In fact, I planned to drive north after we landed, hence the car.”

“How far north?”

“We have a house in Malibu.”

Lips quirking at how she clung to her earlier diversion, he swallowed a chuckle. Malibu wasn’t an answer or her destination, but she did speak the truth. “Okay, how about a compromise?”

“I’m listening.” Amusement softened the hint of warning in her tone.

“I’ll take you to the house in Malibu. Make sure you’re behind locked gates, as it were, and then I’ll head out.” He held up a finger when she opened her mouth as if to agree. Glancing at her, he grinned. “If…you agree to have dinner with me when you’re back in Los Angeles.”

“I didn’t say anything about coming back to Los Angeles.” She avoided the question. “And you live in New York.”

“Fine, agree to have dinner with me in L.A., New York, London—wherever.” He gritted his teeth at the slip but forced his hands to stay relaxed. The darkness offered him a cloak of sorts from her all-too-observant eyes, but passing cars illuminated the interior regularly.

“You are a determined man, Jarod.” She leaned her head back against the seat.

“Not a no.” He followed the highway curve to head toward Malibu.

“True. It wasn’t a yes, either.”
Stubborn. Sassy. Sexy. Smart.

“Agreed. So no acceptance, but no outright rejection. In business, we call it a status quo.”

“Are you suggesting you’ll continue driving around until I give you an answer? Or until I give you the answer you want?” The headlights of a passing car played over her face and revealed her pursed lips.

“No, I’m telling you I want to go out with you because I want to get to know you better.” Lies couched in truth worked. Truth by itself was also useful.

She sighed, impatience in the huff of breath. “I can’t commit to anything right now. I can tell you I’ll call, but…life is complicated.”

Complicated.

A sad, provocative word that spoke volumes to whatever held back the playful woman he’d engaged on the curb in New York.

“It doesn’t have to be.” He faced a fork in the path but trust took time.

“And most of the time, it probably wouldn’t be, but as much as I have enjoyed this and appreciated your assistance, it’s time to say good-bye, Jarod.” Like a lock turning, she shut him out.

“Okay.” Strategic retreat and regroup time. He took the next exit and pulled into the first hotel lot he saw. “But you need sleep. You’re exhausted.” He put the car in park and turned in the seat to face her. “Humor me. Get a room. Get some sleep. Leave in the morning.”

She arched both brows and sat forward in her seat, studying the hotel. It wasn’t anything fancy, a mid-level hotel offering clean rooms, soft beds, and convenience. It was also a far cry from the five-star options she usually selected.

“Well, Louis would never look for me here.” But a trace of uncertainty wavered under the words.

“No, and we’ll put it on my business card. That way, if he’s looking for you to use yours, we can buy you a little more time.” It wasn’t ideal, but if he could get her to sleep, he could move some assets around. He wanted eyes on duMonde at all times.

“You’re being a little too nice to me, Mr. Parker.” And she pushed him away again. The quiet determination to keep him at arm’s length aggravated and enticed him.

“Nice wouldn’t have an ulterior motive.” He shut the car off and pocketed the keys as he stepped out. He let her chew on the bite of truth while he walked around and opened her door. She’d only put on a trace of cosmetics before leaving the plane. Her tousled curls curved around her face, and the pantsuit she wore did nothing to disguise her figure. But he missed the pajamas and ponytail.

“So you admit to having one?” she challenged, stepping out of the car, purse in hand.

“Never denied it in the first place. Getting to know you is a perk.” He locked the car, leaving their bags in the backseat. “I’ll bring your things to you as soon as you’re tucked away in the room.”

“You do realize this is my car?”

“I do.” He stared back at her, unmoved by the coy twist to her expression.

“Very well,” she conceded and motioned to the hotel. “I am tired.”

He didn’t gloat or buy she’d given up trying to shed him like a bad winter coat, but led the way inside. Booking two side-by-side rooms took less than fifteen minutes. He walked her to their rooms, checked the locks, and prowled both rooms once before leaving her to fetch the bags. Five minutes later, he handed her the room key and her briefcase from the plane.

“Try to rest. I’ll see you in”— he glanced at his watch—“a few hours.”

“Jarod?” She stopped him with a hand on his back before he could leave the room. He twisted to find her leaning up, standing on her tiptoes, and then her mouth brushed his. The hesitant little caress caught him off-guard, ripping the cap off his desire and dropping in a match. He slid a hand up to catch her nape, massaging her lips until her mouth opened.

Her tongue darted against his with quick, firm strokes. Her palms flattened against his chest, rubbing his shirt. Pressed against the wall, he enjoyed the teasing dance of her tongue until he caught it in a slow, lingering suck. The sensuous action drew a moan from her throat.

Yeah, this is professional.
The cold, practical side of him intruded on the lazy heat consuming his good intentions. It would be so easy to pick her up, shut the door, and carry her over to the bed. If nothing else, he’d know exactly where she was while he took his time exploring the sensuous curves tormenting him.

But he couldn’t afford the distraction. Not with duMonde on her scent and the Buddha close to being in his grasp. His whole body protested his mind’s rationality, and he broke the kiss with far more reluctance than he’d imagined. The elusive scent of her perfume couldn’t disguise the wholly feminine feel and smell of her: hot coffee and glazed donuts on a rainy morning. Decadently tempting.

“No?” she teased.

I wish.
“No.” He shook his head slowly, caressing the slender column of her neck with his thumb. The blouse she wore was as thin and silky as the green one from the night before. It hugged her breasts and revealed the twin peaks stabbing at the fabric. She shifted against him, sliding a hand down to his hip, teasing the erection straining against his zipper.

“Sure? We have several hours before we have to say good-bye. It’s not dinner, but….”

He should be nominated for sainthood. Only years of discipline and training kept him from pinning her to the wall and stripping her naked—because really, they didn’t need the bed.

“Tempting. Very tempting.” He allowed himself the smallest possible pleasure and kissed the corner of her mouth and a gentle nip to her lower lip. “But I’m an old-fashioned kind of guy. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Her throaty chuckle went straight to his cock, and it stiffened hard enough he supposed sleep would be impossible. “You’re a rare man, Jarod.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment. Now”— he peeled her away from him, much to his own regret, turned her around, and gave her sweet little ass a pinch—“bed.”

“And pushy.” She tossed the last over her shoulder, hips swaying invitingly as she walked toward the bed. “Do turn off the lights on your way out.”

The little vixen was already unbuttoning her blouse. He overrode the primal need to follow and forced himself to leave. He stood outside the door, his determination wavering, but he managed the two steps to his own room and let himself in.

An icy shower.

Then phone calls.

He glanced at the wall separating their rooms. Thankfully, they didn’t have an adjoining door or he might have glanced in to see her tucked into bed.

Yeah,’cause looking is what I would be doing.
He walked into the bathroom and turned on the water. Emptying his pockets, he froze and checked all four again. “Son of a bitch….” Admiration and exasperation burst out. Grabbing the pair of room keys, he slid back out, but a quick look in her room found Kit Kat gone.

He ignored the elevators and jogged down the stairs. He expected it, but he still had to check.

No car.

She’d played him.

Upstairs, he went back into her room and flipped on the light in the bathroom. A lipstick kiss decorated the center of the mirror and written below it.

Make it three to two.

He laughed. She’d tempted him and taken the keys. Smart woman.

His ego accepted the blow better than his cock. He left her room and returned to his own. The tracking device he’d planted in her purse would go active in another few hours. The chip’s passive design helped it to bypass general sweeps, but if she made it more than fifty miles away, it would turn on automatically. He had assets he could activate, and he sent a message to one now, sending them to track duMonde. He couldn’t go after her, yet, but he could still watch her back.

Stripping his clothes off, he ducked into the icy spray and considered his options.

Banker, my ass.
Kit used her phone to GPS a route from the hotel to Hollywood. The backtracking made her teeth ache, but Jarod’s persistence set off one too many warning bells. He’d dropped Louis with almost no difficulty. Granted, she froze up when Louis had his hands on her, but not Jarod. His reactions, the shrewd assessment in his gaze, the way he moved—they all spoke of a physical confidence few men possessed.

Those who did had some kind of training.

Then there was his presence on her plane. The private jet parked at gates behind several layers of airport security. He needed passkeys and clearance to travel from the public access in the airport to the private terminals. Based on the time she left the limo and when she walked out to find him aboard her plane, he had to have followed almost immediately.

Traffic thickened in the city’s central areas, but she didn’t experience any slowdowns. Miles had intimated her father had something to do….

Wait, I assumed Daddy did it.
Miles stammered and hesitated and simply agreed with her.
Which correlates to Jarod’s assertion Daddy didn’t send him.

Tapping her phone, she dialed a number and checked for her exit as it rang.