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

T he next morning, my crew sits down with Alain and Eliza Fontaine, the King and Queen of Arcadia, and we discuss the fake heist. If Merritt hadn’t crashed my escape, I would’ve gotten away.

Had it been a real scenario, she could’ve been hurt or kidnapped.

From what I’ve learned, the Princess is bold as brass.

Utterly fearless. Last night is a perfect example of why she needs a bodyguard—so I can make sure she doesn’t do stupid shit like confront a burglar.

After going over their security system one last time and installing a final update, it’s a wrap. Another job in the books. The royal books.

Three of my partners—Addie Mills, Ryder McKay and Brighton Leroux—prepare to go back home to Denver, while Knox Beckett—another member of our team—has already left with his new woman, Hunter McGrath. They’re currently heading to Chicago to meet his family.

Knox is The Charmer of our little group.

He’s pretty-boy perfect, and his devil-may-care attitude and signature smile are designed to disarm.

They met when Hunter flew in to rescue him from a job gone wrong.

She put up a good fight, but my boy always gets the girl.

Despite initially resisting, Hunter is now head over heels for Knox.

And saying he fell first and hard might be the understatement of the year.

My good friend already confided in us that he’s going to propose to Hunter in Chicago.

I’m happy for him, truly, but I’m also a pessimistic bastard.

Better him than me.

Thinking about getting married is enough to give me hives, and it definitely breaks all three of my well-established rules. No, thank you.

While everyone else is preparing to leave, I’m not going anywhere. Or, at least, I go where the princess goes. Right now, she’s safely tucked in her room, getting ready for bed. Maybe taking off her clothes and stepping into the shower at this very moment.

An image of her naked body teases my senses, and I palm my dick through my cargo pants. Poor guy thinks it’s go time. Not now. Not ever. Merritt Fontaine is off-limits. Strictly forbidden. Completely out of my league.

And fuck all if that doesn’t make her even more attractive.

Releasing a frustrated sigh, I march downstairs to say goodbye to my team.

I don’t need to stay glued to Merritt’s side while we’re here because the royal estate is swimming with guards.

I know she’s safe. It’s when we step outside the gates that I need to be on high alert.

She was nearly kidnapped a couple of weeks ago, and it’s my job to make sure that shit doesn’t happen again.

Of course, I’m also trying to figure out if it was merely a random incident—a crime of opportunity—or if an enemy might strike again.

I can hear suitcases rolling across the fancy parquet floor in the foyer and then Addie’s voice carries above the din. She sounds upset, and I instantly go on alert as I step into the large entranceway.

“What’s going on?” I ask, walking over to her, Ryder and Brighton.

Along with Knox, they’ve become my family in every way, the only family I have, and I’d do anything for them.

So, if someone is causing problems, hurting a woman I consider my sister, you better believe I’ll put an end to it fast. Nobody messes with my crew without the severest of consequences.

And that more or less means putting my foot up the offender’s ass.

“Same old, same old,” Ryder says. “The very persistent detective is at it again.”

Ryder, AKA The Diamond Man, is our gems expert, tech geek and all-around funny guy. His family owns diamond mines, so he knows the gem biz. I’ve never met his parents, but I’ve heard stories. They sound stuffy as hell, so I’m not sure where Ryder gets his easygoing personality.

Addie rolls her cobalt-blue eyes and runs a hand through her long, sandy-blonde waves. “Vaughn is going to be the death of me,” she declares.

Known as The Boss, Addison Mills is an antiquities expert. She cofounded A-Squared Enterprises with her mother, Alma “Angel” Mills, who passed away years ago. I never had the pleasure of meeting Angel, but I’ve heard all the stories and know she taught Addie everything about the art of the heist.

In a weird sort of way, I feel like I do know Angel. Like, sometimes she’s in my ear, acting as my own mother, who I lost a long time ago.

“He’s more tenacious than a pit bull,” Ryder mutters in exasperation.

Detective Cole Vaughn has been hounding us—well, mostly Addie—for months now. He’s doing his best to connect us to thefts in the Denver area. Sure, we might’ve been involved in some. Allegedly. But the man has no proof, and we’re always three steps ahead of him.

“We’ve been laying low,” I say. “In Denver, at least.” Can’t say the same for Colombia or Spain. But that’s not his jurisdiction, so he can fuck right off.

“Maybe Cole has a more personal interest in our Addie,” Brighton murmurs, her red lips curving in a smirk. With her striking jade eyes and sultry personality, Brighton is our secret weapon—The Sex Bomb. She could seduce a eunuch with a single flip of her raven hair.

“Yeah, he’s interested in throwing my ass in jail.”

“I have no doubt he’d be up for cuffing you,” Brighton says, and I snort back a laugh.

“I said the same thing to Knox!” We bump knuckles.

“It’s not funny.” Addie frowns. “I just talked to The Man, who said Vaughn is stirring up trouble. Now I have fires to put out.”

The Man is our mysterious handler who finds us jobs. Lately, our jobs have been a little different. More legit.

“I’m sure Vaughn will let you use his hose,” Ryder says, and Addie’s eyes practically bulge out of her head.

“What?” she chokes.

“His hose. You know, to put out all those fires,” Ryder clarifies, and we all crack up.

Well, Addie doesn’t. “Keep it up and you assholes can all swim home,” she grumbles, grabbing her suitcase handle.

It’s all in good-natured fun, and she doesn’t stay mad for long. After exchanging goodbyes and promising to keep them updated on my current job, I watch them walk out and get in the waiting SUV. This is the first time I’ve officially been alone and on my own with Merritt. Should be interesting.

“Linc?”

My head turns, and speak of the devil. Merritt stands there looking every inch the royal princess she is.

Her hair is pulled back in some kind of fancy twist, and gold, strappy sandals peek out from beneath the hem of a long floral-print dress.

My head-to-toe perusal stalls at her small, pink-painted toenails and desire hits me like a punch in the gut.

I want to lay her down on the nearest piece of furniture and suck each lovely one.

“Hmm?” I manage to croak.

“We’re having a late supper on the patio, if you’d like to join us?”

Normally, I’d say no. But I’m hungry. And when royalty extends an invite, you accept. Basic courtesy 101.

“Sure. Thanks.”

I walk beside Merritt through several rooms until we reach the back of the house where large glass doors have been pulled back to allow the warm breeze inside.

We step outside and the back veranda glows with soft lighting.

Her parents are already seated, each with a glass of wine in front of them.

The table is covered with a spread of food, and I’m definitely hungry, but as I look from one strange dish to the next, my appetite cools off fast.

I automatically sit down next to Merritt, and when a server walks over with a bottle of wine, I lay a hand over my glass. “No, thank you.”

I never drink on the job. And when I do indulge, it’s not on some fruity sour grapes. No way. I’m a Heineken man through and through.

The atmosphere feels stilted as I wait for Merritt to take some food. But she doesn’t, so I hesitate, not wanting to seem rude or uncouth. Besides, I’m wary of trying new things. Ryder teases me about having the palate of a ten-year old.

“Please, help yourself, Mr. Decker,” Eliza finally says, and I slowly reach out and serve myself a heaping side of fresh fruit. Seems safe.

When it comes to eating, I’m a fuss-ass.

Give me a burger and fries or a pizza any day over whatever exotic local dishes I’m seeing.

They eat a lot of fishy stuff here, and I’m not about to start eating seafood despite being on an island.

I do grab a piece of flatbread, though. It’s covered with some sort of nuts, possibly oranges and what looks like raisins. Seems palatable enough.

“Did you call Jeffrey?” her mom asks, and my gaze snaps up in the middle of flicking a raisin off my flatbread.

Who the fuck is Jeffrey? My gaze slants over to Merritt, who shifts in her chair.

“No, I didn’t,” she calmly states, sliding her plate forward and folding her hands on the table.

“It’s rude not to reach out to him while you’re home, Merritt. Especially since you’ll be engaged soon,” her father states.

I choke mid-swallow and slam a closed fist against my chest. Why was I never informed she had a boyfriend? And where is this so-called, soon-to-be-fiancé?

Merritt sends me a concerned look and lightly touches my arm. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I mutter. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s beautiful, and a goddamn princess. Why wouldn’t she have a boyfriend?

Her touch sends a tingle of awareness up my arm and through my body. Straight to my desperate dick. Down boy.

“I still have two weeks until my birthday,” she says, removing her hand from my arm and trailing her fingertips around the base of her wine glass.

I have no clue where this conversation is going, but I’m intrigued. The tension between Merritt and her parents just skyrocketed, and I look back and forth between them.

“And you think you can find a man, fall in love and get engaged within two weeks?” her father asks doubtfully.

“Stranger things have happened,” she says softly.

“Merritt, honey, you haven’t found anyone in five years,” her mother says.

“The deal was I could live my life in New York until my twenty-fifth birthday, right? That means I have two weeks left.”

Deal? I have no idea what they’re talking about, but I find myself leaning forward, my fork hovering above my plate.

Her father sighs, and I get the impression they’ve had this conversation a hundred times.

“Let’s call it what it is, Peach. A good time in the States, going to school, making friends, spreading your wings.

But now that you’re turning twenty-five, it’s time to start thinking about the future and your role here. ”

Merritt’s fingers wrap around the stem of her glass. Tightly. “And what if I don’t want that?”

“You have responsibilities here,” he father reiterates in a firm voice. “Whether you like it or not, you’re the Royal Princess of Arcadia.”

“I never asked to be!”

For the first time, I see the princess’s cool, elegant composure crack. This conversation is clearly upsetting her. And I don’t fucking like it.

“I’m sorry, honey, but you had a chance,” her mother reminds her in a stern, but understanding voice. “We gave you five whole years. You agreed to return home if it didn’t work out.”

I look from her mother to her father, who nods in agreement. Then my attention shifts to Merritt, whose pretty, doll-like face crumbles.

“I don’t want any of this,” she exclaims, shoving back from the table and standing. “Not a palace or a title or a crown. And certainly not a lifetime with a man I don’t love!”

Right before she spins around and races from the table, I see the tears.

And my chest tightens. Only one other woman’s tears have ever had the power to affect me like this—my mom’s.

A lady I miss so damn much. It’s been twenty-two years since she died of a broken heart—no thanks to my piece of shit father—and her loss still hurts.

“Excuse me.” My chair scrapes back as I stand and turn to follow a fleeing, very distraught Merritt.

But only because it’s my job. It has absolutely nothing to do with the tears falling from her blue eyes or the strange pang in my chest.

Nothing at all.