Steal Me (Short Story) Read online

  STEAL ME

  BY

  TINA FOLSOM

  * * * * *

  Steal Me

  Copyright © 2010 by Tina Folsom

  CHAPTER ONE

  The auction was almost over, and Marcus Moncrieff had acquired what he’d come to Christie’s for.

  He was satisfied for the first time in weeks. The priceless artifact, a gold armband said to have belonged to one of the Vestal Virgins of Rome, would be delivered to his home under heavy security the next day. Priceless? Not quite. He’d paid a high price for the item since he’d had to bid against another avid collector of Roman art.

  The armband was said to hold certain powers. However, Marcus didn’t believe in legends or magic. Rather, he was fascinated with everything Roman and even more so with anything connected to the story of the Vestal Virgins, the keepers of the fire of Vesta. No amount of money was too much to add to his growing collection.

  “Good grief, Marcus, don’t buy the whole lot!”

  At the sound of the familiar voice behind him, he turned and stared at his old friend. Thomas Fairfax stretched out his hand and grabbed Marcus’s in a fierce shake.

  Marcus gave a surprised laugh. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  He hadn’t seen Thomas since his friend had left for Peru a couple of weeks earlier. He hadn’t expected him back so soon.

  “When did you get back to London?” Marcus asked.

  They shifted to the rear of the packed auction hall where their chatter wouldn’t disturb the remaining patrons still bidding on the last three items.

  “Got into Heathrow last night. Can’t say I enjoyed the flight—first class was booked solid, so I had to slum it in business class. Dreadful,” Thomas complained.

  Spoiled upper class twit.

  Marcus smirked and let his gaze drift past his friend. Before he could make a comment, something caught his attention.

  Or rather, someone.

  A woman.

  She stood off to the side, her torso bent down. Her elegant hands smoothed over her pantyhose as she twisted its black seam back into place so it centered at the back of her calf. Inch by inch she adjusted the garment until she reached the edge of her black skirt.

  Her face was shielded by long hair the color of the ravens guarding the Tower of London.

  Marcus’s eyes burned as he watched her. He wondered what her shapely legs would feel like wrapped around his hips, and his balls tightened when he saw her continue her movement. As he witnessed her hitching up her skirt by a couple of inches to correct the seam of her pantyhose, his brain begged for a correction: she wasn’t wearing pantyhose. They were stockings!

  Silk stockings with lace tops, held up by a black garter belt.

  Bloody hell!

  His breath came out in a hitched huff at the same time as heated blood surged to his cock. Suddenly his trousers felt too snug. Not that he minded the feeling.

  “Anything wrong?” his friend asked and turned his head to follow Marcus’s gawk.

  As if the woman noticed the two of them staring at her, she pulled upright and turned her head toward them, finally revealing her face. Exquisite, just as Marcus had thought.

  If he’d imagined she would be embarrassed about being caught in her intimate action, he was proven wrong.

  Instead of looking away, her eyes held his gaze, ignoring Thomas as if he didn’t even exist, at fact that pleased him immensely.

  Her eyes were as dark as chocolate. Did her skin feel as smooth as it looked from a distance? Would her red lips taste as sweet as strawberry jam?

  Her sensual mouth opened but a sliver, enough of a temptation for any man with a pulse and even more so for one with a bulging erection. In slow motion, she smoothed her skirt over her hips then broke eye contact.

  When Marcus felt Thomas move beside him, he stopped his friend with a hand on his arm.

  “Don’t even think about introducing yourself,” Marcus murmured under his breath, before giving Thomas a scolding look.

  “Nothing wrong with a little competition,” Thomas countered and grinned unashamedly.

  Suddenly the arrival of his old friend was not quite as welcome an event as he’d thought only minutes earlier. Maybe it would be better if Thomas jumped onto the next plane to God-knows-where, coach class for all Marcus cared. He needed no interference from a womanizer like Thomas right now.

  “Don’t you have some unpacking to do?”

  His friend smirked. “That can wait.”

  “Keep your paws to yourself. She’s mine,” Marcus claimed and turned back to the mystery woman.

  But she was gone.

  Shit!

  Leaving Thomas without another word, Marcus stalked out of the hall and into the almost deserted corridors of the auction house. The sounds of his footsteps were absorbed by the luxurious rugs underneath his feet as he hurried along trying to find her.

  It had been a considerable while since he’d met a woman who truly excited him. And this woman excited him. Whether it was her soulful eyes, her graceful figure, or her seductive movements, he didn’t know. Most certainly it was many things. But what had definitely set him off to go after her was the lure of her lips, the way they had parted when she’d looked at him, directly, without embarrassment, provoking him.

  He felt his cock twitch at the thought of what those lips could do to him. Quickening his steps, he reached the door to the exit seconds later. As he peered outside into the night, there was nothing. Light traffic, several waiting limousines, a few pedestrians, but no sight of her.

  A limo driver was leaning against the hood of his car and straightened up when he saw him approach.

  “Have you seen a woman exit from here in the last couple of minutes? Dark hair, petite, black skirt.”

  The man shook his head. “Auction isn’t over yet. Nobody’s come out in a while.”

  Marcus turned and went back inside, muttering a curse under his breath as he reached the lobby.

  “Looking for somebody?” a female voice addressed him softly.

  He jerked to his left and discovered her standing in an alcove near the main foyer. Her face was in the shadows, but he recognized her legs and her skirt.

  Had she been waiting for him?

  Only one way to find out.

  He took the few steps to bridge the distance between them, stopping only inches from her. Too close for a stranger, but she didn’t back away. She couldn’t; the wall was at her back.

  He bent his head toward her. “I’ve just found what I was looking for,” he breathed into her ear.

  “What now?” she asked and sought his eyes, leaning her head backwards, exposing the graceful column of her neck as if offering it up for a sacrifice.

  Bold. He liked that in a woman.

  Her lips beckoned to be kissed, smothered, crushed.

  “A kiss.”

  To his surprise, she shook her head. Why else would she have given her location away? She’d seen his hungry look in the auction hall, he was certain.

  “Tomorrow night,” she promised, her voice a silky trickle, rendering him breathless.

  His heart skipped a beat. She wasn’t turning him down completely. He could wait twenty-four hours, couldn’t he? His throbbing cock indicated a clear no, but his brain overrode his baser needs.

  “Tomorrow night?”

  She nodded and traced her index finger over his lower lip. The touch startled and aroused him at the same time. Keeping his eyes on hers, his tongue snaked out and lapped against her finger. Her eyelids dropped to half-mast as she held her breath. Encouraged by her reaction, he pulled her finger into his mouth and sucked on it.

  Her skin was delicious, tasting of citrus fruit and vanilla blossoms. He saw her chest rise
as she took in a breath and filled her lungs.

  He reached forward and touched her silky blouse, stroking lightly over her breast. The absence of a bra surprised him, making him release an involuntary moan. Another second of this and he’d come right in his trousers.

  She withdrew her finger from his mouth. “Eight o’clock at Claridge’s. You can buy me dinner first, and afterwards . . .”

  She left the sentence hanging, sending a tingle of anticipation through his groin.

  He knew the restaurant in Mayfair. In fact, he was a regular. And it wasn’t far from his home. Convenient. Ten minutes after dinner, she would tumble into his bed.

  “I can pick you up.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll meet you there.”

  “I’m Marcus M—”

  “I know who you are,” she interrupted.

  It didn’t surprise him. His face was known all over London and beyond. For a split second he wondered, whether that was the reason she was interested in him. What if? He decided that it didn’t matter. If it made it easier to get her into bed, even better.

  She stepped past him, her braless breast brushing against his arm, sending another lightning bolt through his body as she walked toward the exit.

  “Wait! Your name.”

  She turned briefly. “Olivia.”

  Then she was gone. Her scent and her touch lingered, the natural perfume of her skin impregnating the air around him, rendering it heavy with desire and promise.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Olivia Hall pulled on her black boots, tucking the ends of her tight black trousers into them. She felt much more comfortable wearing those than the skirt she had donned the night before.

  She hated skirts. They constricted her movements and were impractical in case she had to get away quickly. Neither did she like the stilettos she’d worn at the auction house.

  But she knew men were suckers for high heels. Especially when they were on the end of legs clad in black stockings. So predictable. Really.

  Funny, how men turned out to always react the same way. Almost boring. She hadn’t met a mark yet, who hadn’t come after her when she’d adjusted her stockings. Maybe she should come up with a new hook next time, otherwise things might get dull. On the other hand, why introduce something new into the mix when the old tricks still worked and worked every time?

  This man wasn’t any different. Marcus Moncrieff, the wealthy art collector and entrepreneur. Olivia had watched him during the entire auction. She’d done her research on him. If she was anything, she was thorough. Before the bidding even started, she knew what he would bid on. That was why she was there.

  At some point, Olivia had thought the older gentleman who’d bid against him would win the prize, but Marcus hadn’t disappointed her. He’d outbid the man every time and it was clear he wouldn’t give up until the vestal armband was his.

  She liked that. A man who knew what he wanted. She understood it when she’d done her research on him. And he’d done exactly as predicted: Marcus had bought the artifact. As soon as the bidding on the item had ended, she’d gone into action.

  When he’d walked toward the back of the room with his friend, it had only been a matter of a few minutes until he’d noticed her. She’d virtually felt his hungry eyes all over her body when she’d adjusted the stockings, which really didn’t need adjusting.

  The moment his eyes had met hers, she’d felt an unknown sensation in her, but had attributed it to anticipation. His dark hair was a little shaggy, with waves suggesting it naturally curled under the hot steam of a shower. Eyes the color of moss implied hidden depth. Even in his elegant suit, he couldn’t hide his athletic figure, his broad shoulders, and his muscular chest.

  Yet, despite his elegant clothing, there was something rough about him. He was a self-made man, not like his blue-blooded friend. Without a doubt, Marcus was attractive. More than that. He oozed sex appeal. She hadn’t seen a man in quite a while who looked this potent. Almost as if he was forbidden fruit.

  Not that Olivia was going to sample any of it. She never did when it came to business. It was too risky. The only thing she had allowed herself was to touch his lips. The sensation had almost overwhelmed her, especially when he’d sucked her finger into his mouth. His tongue had played with her in a most seductive way.

  Coupled with his hand brushing lightly against her breast, it had made her virtually forget her modus operandi: never mix business with pleasure. At that point, she’d almost regretted that he was the one who’d bought the artifact. Had he not, maybe she would have spent a night with him and satisfied the hunger in his eyes. A mirror image of her own for sure.

  But as it happened, he had bought the artifact, the same she’d been hired to steal. And she would do it tonight while he was waiting for her at the restaurant for a date she would never have with him.

  A kiss she would never give him.

  His London residence was a two story home on a quiet Mayfair street. By the time she reached it, darkness had already descended upon the city, and foot traffic was at a minimum in the residential area in the center of London.

  Olivia had no problem breaking into the property despite the security system. She’d learned from the best: good old Dad. Picking a lock was a task she’d mastered at the age of twelve, and disabling a security system had followed five years later.

  One of her specialties became opening safes. She was old school. Anybody could open a safe with explosives, but to tease the lock open the same way one teased a lover? Now, that was finesse.

  By the tender age of eighteen, she was a pro. Now, at twenty-nine, she was close to retirement.

  Olivia had even squeezed in four years at the University to obtain a degree in art history—something she found came in handy when negotiating her fee with the various art enthusiasts who engaged her services.

  Her decision to become an art thief had not been a conscious one. She’d simply followed in her father’s footsteps and joined the family business. Just as her school friends joined their family’s accounting firms or clothing stores.

  She was good, she was efficient, and she was a professional. Her real life and all the fun would start once she retired from her profession. In the meantime, her spotty sex life didn’t bother her too much. What were vibrators for? At least they didn’t ask her what she was up to when she left the house at night all dressed in black with a small backpack of tools slung over her back.

  Olivia’s eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness in the house. She knew she was alone. A glance at the clock told her that Marcus would be arriving at the restaurant right now. He would wait for her. All men did. At least for thirty minutes, but most likely longer. By the time he was back at the house, she would be gone, and with her the vestal armband.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Marcus cursed the driver of the black cab as it almost ran him over when it swung around the corner of the narrow street. He lost his footing on the slippery street and fell against a heap of old household items somebody had left on the sidewalk for the rubbish collector.

  Perfect, now his immaculate outfit was dirty. As he lifted himself from his undignified position on the sidewalk, he heard a rip that sounded suspiciously like a piece of cloth tearing. He twisted his head.

  “Bloody hell!”

  That was just what he needed. With ten minutes to spare to meet his hot date, his trousers had ripped along his thigh. A wire sticking out from a discarded mattress was the culprit.

  Now what?

  Looking the way he did, there was no way he could show up at Claridge’s, particularly since the lovely Olivia was there waiting for him. It would be too embarrassing. If he hurried, he could make it home, change in a minute or two and be at the restaurant only fifteen minutes after their agreed time.

  Marcus pulled out his cell, and while he rushed through the narrow streets of Mayfair, dialed the number for the restaurant.

  “George, Moncrieff here.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Moncrieff.�
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  “My reservation at eight. There’s a slight delay. Would you be so kind as to inform the lady once she arrives that I’ll be fifteen minutes delayed?”

  “Of course, sir!”

  “And please serve her the best champagne.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  “Thank you!” Relieved, he disconnected the call.

  Minutes later, he entered his house and ran up the stairs toward his bedroom. All of a sudden, he stopped in his tracks in the upper hallway.

  Something was different. Something was missing. It was too quiet. He instantly realized that what was missing were the familiar beeps reminding him to turn off the alarm system. Had he forgotten to set it before he’d left the house? Impossible. He was almost anal about setting the security system whenever he left.

  As he stood wondering, he noticed a faint light traveling underneath the door of his office into the hallway. Had he forgotten to turn his desk light off? He wasn’t the forgetful type.

  Then the ray of light shifted.

  Somebody was in his office!

  A burglar!

  The office was where he kept some of his priceless artifacts, including the one he’d acquired at the auction the night before. He was having a display case custom built for it, and in the meantime, it rested in his safe.

  Marcus crouched down to look through the keyhole. A chair partially obstructed his view, but he could clearly make out a figure kneeling in front of his safe. Hands clad in surgical gloves turned the dial, and it appeared the person was pressing a stethoscope to the door of the safe to listen to the interior workings of the lock.

  He took off his shoes and, as quietly as he could, he snuck into his bedroom and opened the top drawer of his nightstand.

  The 9mm semi automatic he retrieved from it felt cool in his hand. He wasn’t a particularly good shot; in fact, he had only shot the gun once or twice when he’d purchased it. It wasn’t even loaded, but it would do as a deterrent. The ammunition was locked in a cabinet in his office and therefore out of reach.

  After a few deep breaths, he turned the knob to the office and swung the door open, before pointing the gun at the intruder who instantly jumped to his feet.