Page 16 of It Takes a Thief (Ring of Thieves #2)

I have no idea what’s prompting this sudden need to open up and expose myself to Merritt. Maybe because I’m having a crisis of conscience. Because even though I seriously want to fuck her, I want her to want me . Not the man she mistakenly thinks I am.

Because I’m no hero. No knight in shining armor and certainly no prince. I’m a washed-up fighter and a thief. I suppose the best way to extinguish her wanting me is to tell her that. But my lips stay sealed. I guess on some level, I crave her approval, and I don’t want her to hate me.

Because like I said, there’s nothing noble about me. And the selfish bastard inside wants to taste her again.

Her question reverberates through my head. Who am I? She’s waiting for my answer, and I merely shrug a shoulder. “I’m the guy hired to keep you safe, Princess. And that includes from myself.”

She scoffs. “You would never hurt me.”

“Not physically, no. Never.” Emotionally, though? That’s a very good possibility. If I crawled into her bed and used that sweet body in every possible way I’ve imagined, there’s no doubt in my mind she’d end up paying the price.

“You mean you’d break my heart,” she says quietly.

“I’m the guy who walks away after one night,” I remind her.

“I didn’t forget your rules.” She sits up straighter, blue eyes locking with mine. “I’m even willing to play by them.”

I inhale swiftly.

“In twelve days, I’ll be on my way back to Arcadia, and my parents expect an engagement announcement.

We can continue dancing around each other”—she waves her hand back and forth between us—“or we can spend that time enjoying each other. Either way, I’m leaving, and you’ll be free to go on your merry way. ”

Her offer is so goddamn tempting. But I don’t make impulsive decisions. Not about something like this. I’m a planner, and I’ve survived this long by thinking through various outcomes thoroughly before making a final decision.

“Think about it,” she murmurs, as though reading my mind as she takes a sip of coffee. “Oh, and I’m meeting my friend Charity for lunch.”

I frown but know I can’t keep her locked up like a prisoner. “If you insist.”

“I do. Besides, it’s tradition.”

“What is?”

“We go to Serendipity and get frozen hot chocolates on our birthdays,” she tells me.

“I thought your birthday was in twelve days?”

“The big party my parents are throwing is, but my actual birthday is today.”

I’m not sure why that knowledge affects me so much, but my throat tightens. “Happy Twenty-Fifth Birthday, Mer,” I say, my voice sounding a little rusty.

“Thanks. If it wasn’t for you, I might not have made it.” She stands up, then pauses. “I suppose I should be happier, huh?”

Her luscious mouth tilts in a sad, little smile and then she walks back inside, leaving me to ponder a lot more than when I first came out here.

Like her offer, which involves spending the next twelve nights in her bed. Because fuck one night only. Although, I’m not sure I’d survive. There’s a very real possibility I’d die from orgasmic bliss. But if I die in the saddle, riding a royal princess, that’s not a bad way to go.

“Fuck me,” I ground out. Am I insane for not immediately pouncing on her?

Be a fucking professional, Decker. Keep your dick in your pants where it belongs.

Easier said than done, though. The fucker is rebelling, and I don’t think either of us is going to be happy until I’m balls-deep in the princess’s sweet, tight pussy.

∞∞∞

Merritt and her friend Charity meet at the Serendipity located on the Upper East Side.

I guess they have a couple of different locations, but I’ve never been to any of them.

The UES is a posh residential neighborhood known for its fancy restaurants, designer stores and wealthy residents who live in a mix of classic brownstones and luxurious high rises.

Definitely a place I never frequented when I lived here.

Back then, I would’ve been noticeably out of my element.

The proverbial sore thumb. Since I started working with Addie at A-Squared, however, I’ve learned to blend in and become a chameleon.

Despite my size, I’m good at becoming just another face in the crowd.

We walk into the restaurant and Charity is already there. She and Merritt hug, and her attention shifts to me, eyes widening. Mer gave her a heads-up that her bodyguard would be accompanying her, so I’m not sure what she’s surprised by.

“When you said bodyguard, I wasn’t expecting Tom Hardy’s bigger, better-looking brother.” She bats her lashes at me, and Merritt tugs her toward a table, mumbling something I don’t quite catch.

I try to remember what Tom Hardy looks like and fail. Other than a handful of old Kung Fu action flicks, I don’t watch a lot of movies and much prefer reading the latest thriller or Jack Reacher book.

They start whispering furiously, and I sit down at an adjacent table, positioning myself between them and the front door. I scan the room, checking exits, looking over the other customers. Nothing appears suspicious, and I relax slightly.

I hate when people think being a bodyguard is all about the muscle.

It’s not. In fact, the muscle element is just an intimidation factor.

A visual cue to back the fuck off. Honestly, some of the best personal protection agents out there don’t even crack six feet.

Because this job is about having a keen sense of situational awareness at all times and being able to recognize potential threats.

It’s about remaining calm and composed under pressure, making decisions quickly and being able to handle stressful situations.

Luckily, all those same qualities are necessary to be a successful fighter. And a thief. Fortunately, I thrive under pressure. It helped in the ring when I was younger. And now I love the challenge of cracking a safe. Patiently and methodically breaching that barrier when time is of the essence.

“Linc?”

I turn and meet Merritt’s questioning blue eyes. They’re so insanely pretty—bright and clear like the Mediterranean Sea—and I could happily drown in them. “Hmm?”

“Can I order you something?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

She hesitates. “Okay, well, then we’ll get you a burger to go.”

When she explains to Charity that I’m working and need to remain alert, my lips twitch. She’s too damn cute.

The women chat and laugh all throughout lunch, and I settle back in my seat, watching the room, but also listening to them.

When Merritt dishes about her date with Elliot the Assclown, I clench my teeth.

I think Elliot just became my least favorite name.

They lower their voices a few times, and I think it’s pretty obvious they’re talking about me.

What they’re saying, I don’t know, but it’s interspersed with a lot of girlish laughter.

Although that might have something to do with the frozen hot chocolates spiked with Irish Cream Liquor they’re downing through striped straws.

While they’re giggling about God knows what, the waitress hands me my plain cheeseburger wrapped up in a to-go box. I also ask her for the bill and discreetly pay it.

A few minutes later, they’re waving for the server when I stand and roll my shoulders back. “The bill is all set,” I tell them. “My treat, ladies.”

“Thank you!” Charity exclaims, then leans into Merritt and whispers a little too loudly, “He’s a keeper, Mer. A big, hot heartthrob. And if you don’t take advantage of all that, then I will.”

Merritt shushes her then sends me a smile. “Thank you, Linc. You didn’t have to do that.”

“My pleasure.” I arch a brow. “Ready to go?”

She nods, and I lead them through the restaurant and out the front door. After they say goodbye and exchange hugs, Charity gives me a big smile.

“Thanks again for lunch.” She turns a sly look in Merritt’s direction. “Hope the rest of your birthday is delicious. Don’t do anyone—I mean, anything—I wouldn’t do!”

Charity lets out a laugh as she walks away, and Merritt’s cheeks turn an adorable shade of crimson. “Just ignore her,” she murmurs, turning toward the corner grocery store. “I need to stop in the store real quick.”

I nod, trying not to grin as we walk into the store. “What’re you getting?” I ask.

“Ingredients. I always bake cupcakes on my birthday.”

“Sounds good. Chocolate?”

“Is that a hint?”

“Maybe?”

She laughs. “How about chocolate with mini chocolate chips?”

“Even better.”

As we walk down the baking aisle, I swipe up a package of birthday candles.

Growing up without my parents around to celebrate birthdays was hard sometimes, but my Uncle George always made sure I had some kind of dessert with a candle to blow out.

At the time, I was a rebellious shit who didn’t believe in making wishes.

Now, I can definitely appreciate the gesture.

Back at Merritt’s apartment, she starts baking and I sit down on a stool at the island and eat my burger.

It’s good, but I find myself getting hungrier as I watch her flit around the kitchen.

Her grace mesmerizes me, and when she innocently licks chocolate batter off the back of her hand, my balls tighten.

Dirty thoughts fill my head, and I shift my weight on the stool, unable to get comfortable.

She’s chattering away about some reality TV show where they bake, and I’m only listening with half an ear because I keep envisioning her spread out on the island, naked and open to me.

I want to bury myself in her sweetness, give her a birthday gift she’s never had before and will never forget—a long, hard ride on my cock.

Stifling a groan, I watch her bend over, slide the tray into the oven then fiddle with the timer. That ass of hers is sheer perfection, and I’ve dreamt about leaving my teeth marks in it since I met her.

“Okay,” she announces, blowing a strand of hair out of her face, “first batch should be ready in about sixteen minutes or so.”

She looks utterly domestic in an apron dusted with flour, and when she starts washing the pile of dirty dishes in the sink, I get up and grab a towel.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, handing me a bowl.

“No problem.”

We work in companionable silence, but the air between us seems heavy.

I can’t be the only one who feels this sexual tension.

It’s dangerous as hell, but denying it would be pointless.

Every time she hands me something to dry, our fingers brush, and we exchange long looks that are becoming increasingly heated.

By the time the dishes are done, I’m battling a raging hard-on and I’m seconds from tossing her on top of the island.

My fraying control is about to snap when the oven’s buzzer goes off, interrupting my lusty thoughts. Merritt spins away, bends over to pull the cupcakes out, and I question my life choices, wondering what I did to find myself in this torturous position.

You’re a thief, Decker. C’mon.

After setting the cupcakes on racks to cool, she starts whipping up the frosting. It looks light and fluffy, and I want to smear it all over her naked body then lick it off.

“I’m not sure if it’s quite right yet,” she murmurs with a frown.

“Need a taste-tester?” I offer.

“Would you?” She dips a spoon into the bowl and lifts it.

Instead of taking the spoon, I wrap my hand around hers and pull her forward. Her blue eyes blaze as I raise the spoon to my mouth and slowly lick it clean. Kind of like I licked her clean last night. But not nearly as enjoyable.

I don’t miss the way her lips part or how her chest starts rising and falling faster.

And I know I’m about to pounce. In fact, there’s nothing in this world that could hold me back.

“Well?” she asks breathlessly.

“Not as sweet as you taste,” I tell her with a wicked smirk, “but definitely good.”