Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
I reach for the Rolex first. I’ve had my eye on since it came into the shop. It’s a vintage piece that will fetch a great price on the open market. I run my fingers along the rose gold bracelet, knowing that it was in Nash’s strong hands only hours ago.
Normally, I’d grab the pocket watch too. But something about this particular heist doesn’t feel right. It has nothing to do with Nash’s blindness, and everything to do with how close I feel to him. I’ve never had family or friends that I could count on, but something tells me the way to form close ties doesn’t involve stealing from others.
This is ridiculous, I remind myself. I don’t even know Nash despite the hours that we’ve spent together.
It’s the self-lecture that does me in. It’s why I don’t hear him move from the bed or realize he’s near me until his hand is grasping my arm. It’s a groping grasp, a man trying to judge where I am.
Of all the ways I imagined officially meeting Nash, this wasn’t on the list. Not him catching me red-handed with his stolen watch in my pocket.
Without answering his question, I take a swing at him. It’s instinct from years of rough foster homes and living on the streets. When someone grabs you, strike back fast and hard. It’s the only way to survive.
We’re in the dark but I have the advantage of the moonlight peeking through the panes of his bedroom window. At least, I thought it was my advantage. But Nash ducks the blow and has me down on the floor in one smooth motion.
“Fuck,” he murmurs. His voice is still groggy from sleep but now there’s disappointment as well as outrage mixed into his tone. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I was on my way to grandma’s house,” I answer, my cheek against the scratchy braided rug. Another advantage of being a thief is that I’ve learned to always have an explanation at the ready. I’ve had to sweet talk more than one security guard. “I think she’s your neighbor, May Weatherford.”
I struggle to sit up, but he’s easily pinned me with my hands behind my back. He’s applying just enough pressure to keep me from moving. I don’t know why I like the sensation of being held down by him or why it sends a thrill through my body.
He snorts and leans close, pressing his body weight against me. He’s crushing me into the floor, and I love the feeling. I love that I feel caged in and safe at the same time.
When he speaks, his breath stirs the strands of hair that have come loose from my low ponytail, “Nice try, sweetheart. May has three strapping grandsons.” He runs his big hand along my body, cupping one of my breasts. “And you most certainly aren’t one of them.”
My nipples harden to sharp points and there’s a hitch in my breathing when I say, “She’s never mentioned me to you.”
“And let me guess, you were bringing her a basket of home baked goods.” His hand moves lower, skimming my curvy hips. He’s searching for what I took, but even knowing that doesn’t stop my body from lighting up at his touch.
I press my lips together to suppress a moan, but a whimper still escapes.
His hand moves to the pocket of my skin-tight yoga pants, and he pulls out the treasure he’s been seeking. His lips brush the shell of my ear when he speaks, “You just tried to steal from the big, bad wolf, little girl.”
I shiver at the dark promise in his words. I’ve never understood relationships or sex. I’ve never known why someone would want to give their heart and body to another person who will just crush it. Because of that, I’ve purposely avoided any romantic entanglements. But this man makes me wonder if I’ve been missing out on something.
He misunderstands my shiver, I think. He lifts his weight from my body but still manages to keep my arms pinned behind my back. Instantly, I miss his weight. I miss the feel of his solid chest against my back.
“You can’t keep me here against my will. That’s kidnapping,” I tell him. The line worked on a low-level security guard when I stole a priceless violin. In my defense, the man who currently “owned” the instrument stole it first. I was just returning it to the rightful owner. A frail little old lady who’d pined for her missing instrument for two decades.
He snorts. “You’re right. That would be kidnapping. But this is a citizen’s arrest.” Before I can respond, he calls out and it takes me a moment to realize he’s talking to his phone, “Dial the sheriff.”
“You can’t detain me without probable cause,” I tell him. It’s not like I haven’t been in jail a time or two. But nothing ever sticks. I’m good at finding loopholes and ways out of bad situations. “Besides, you’re opening yourself up to civil liability. I could sue you for this.”