The Billionaire's Caress (5 page)

Finally he pulls away. “Okay, now where were we…?”

“I’m not a helpless damsel in distress.” I grab his still-upright cock, now wet with my juices, and squeeze playfully.

“Ow – okay, okay!” he laughs. “Let up, Supergirl.”

“Super
woman.
”

“Whatever you say, just leave the family jewels intact.”

We kiss a minute more. Then he zips himself away behind his fly, I pull on my panties and smooth my clothes, and it’s like nothing ever happened. As we rearrange and get dressed again, it’s back to business.

“So how did he find out who you are?” I ask.

“Who knows.”

“You’re sure he didn’t see your face?”

“No, I had the ski mask on the entire time. Do you think he took some kind of photograph with the security system and then used – I don’t know, some sort of facial recognition software, but just on my eyes?”

I remember Epicurus’ words in the gallery.

You’re probably trying to backwards-engineer my plans, aren’t you. Trying to outthink me. That’s… amusing. And utterly futile.

I
so
want it not to be futile.

I SO want to beat this bastard at his own game.

I begin to ask questions.

What did Epicurus know after the break-in?

He knew that someone had broken into his rented house and entered a supposedly impenetrable safe room. He knew that the intruder had also disappeared into a closet, through what appeared to be a hidden passageway.

But who would know how to do that?

The owner. Yes, the owner. Maybe.

Or someone who was involved with the creation of the house…

“He reasoned it out,” I realize. “Who else would know about the safe room and that door in the closet, and how to get inside?”

“Shit,” Grant mutters, then rallies. “But that’s a hell of a leap to go from there to coming after me. I mean, there wasn’t any
proof.
”

“He’s a psychopath,” I say. “I don’t think he
needs
any proof to do whatever he wants.”

“Touché.”

“But you’re right – he would have demanded proof, because he wouldn’t have wanted to waste his
oh
so valuable time in getting revenge on the wrong person.” I think for a second, then it hits me. “He might have done the same thing I did.”

“What’s that?”

“To make sure I had your phone number, I looked at the historical record of your GPS coordinates the night we… uh…
met
at the Dubai Hotel.”

Grant grins at the sexual innuendo, then looks puzzled – followed by alarm.

“Wait, they store that shit?”

I nod. “That was how I knew it belonged to you, because the GPS records showed you were at the Dubai on Saturday night. Epicurus could have done the same thing – trace your GPS coordinates after the fact. Then he would have
known
you were the burglar.”

Without warning, the lights in the room go out. Tiny little emergency lights click on, though they were as bad for seeing as the lights in the art gallery earlier.

The art gallery…

Every hair on the back of my neck stands up.

I have a bad, bad feeling.

And then my worst fears are confirmed.

A voice booms from speakers somewhere in the penthouse.

“Very good, Ms. Saunders. You are correct. I reasoned out his identity within minutes of his intrusion into my inner sanctum… and then I confirmed it just as you suggest. And that, Mister Carlson, is how I found out exactly who you are. Finding out where you are now took a good deal LESS effort.”

“Oh shit,” Grant whispers, and my heart stops in my chest.

The Billionaire's Caress (A Billionaire Alpha Romance Part 3)

Copyright 2015 Olivia Thorne

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

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Edition: August 2015