Page 4 of It Takes a Thief (Ring of Thieves #2)

I s she joking?

Slightly stunned, I wait for her to laugh it all off and tell me she’s only kidding. But she doesn’t. In fact, she’s never looked more serious.

“Well?” she presses, leaning forward, blue eyes hopeful. Her jasmine scent makes me breathe the air in a little deeper. For about half a second, I consider what she’s saying, then I scoff.

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. We just met.”

“I’ll pay you. However much you want.” Desperation laces her voice.

Okay, now she has my attention, and I’m wondering how much a fake relationship goes for these days.

No, it doesn’t matter. Pretending to be engaged to a woman I just met—a woman whose parents are my client—is absurd.

“I don’t want your money—”

“Would you rather be paid in jewels? Property?”

How about sex?

I give my head a hard shake. “Stop,” I order, raising my hand. And I’m not sure if I’m talking to her or myself. I need to get my shit together here.

I focus fully on her. “First, you’re a job.” I don’t mean to sound so cold, and her pretty face falls then hardens.

“Thank you for reminding me,” she snaps.

“You know what I mean. Your parents want me to keep you safe, and that’s what I intend to do. This is a business arrangement, nothing more. And second, you apparently already have a fiancé.”

“Jeffrey isn’t my fiancé, thank goodness.”

“Then what is he?”

“He’s nobody.” She waves a dismissive hand through the air. “Most of the time, I think he’s more interested in courting my parents than me.”

“Well, I have zero interest in marriage,” I gruffly inform her.

“It doesn’t matter because we’re not really getting married. You’d be my fake fiancé for a certain amount of time. Eventually, we’d go our separate ways.”

“And you’d be right back to square one.”

“No, because it would help buy me time.”

I pull back, eyes narrowing. “Oh, so while we’re engaged, you plan to go out and meet other men?

” I can’t help my jealous tone. And I’m not sure which of us it surprises more.

But the idea of her calling me her fiancé then fucking around behind my back isn’t something I’d ever agree to. Not in a million years.

“I’ll give you an obscene amount of money,” she promises.

A muscle twitches in my cheek, but I shake my head no.

Eight or ten years ago, I would’ve jumped at her offer.

Back when I was struggling to make ends meet and fighting underground for the big pot of prize money at the end of the rainbow.

But now? Now I do what I want, and my decisions aren’t based on or motivated by money.

I’ve got plenty stashed away to keep me comfortable for the rest of my days.

I shake my head then smirk when a pretty little curse flies out of Her Royal Highness’s delicate mouth. Fuck . Hearing her swear makes me hard. I’m not sure why it’s such a turn on, but a flood of desire washes over me.

“You have a girlfriend.” Not a question, a statement.

“No, I don’t,” I respond easily.

Her brow furrows. “So, you’re saying you don’t find me attractive.”

“Never said that.” The truth is I find her far too appealing—dangerously so—and I’d like nothing more than to roll her onto her back and slide my hands under her dress.

“Dammit, then what’s the problem?” she cries.

It’s the first time I’ve seen her long hair down, and the breeze catches it, whipping it up around her face.

She looks fucking magnificent, all fiery, and exuding an irresistible incandescence.

“I offer money, jewels, property, whatever you want, and you turn me down.”

I sit back, amused by her outburst. “Are you having a temper tantrum, Princess? Trying to convince me you really are a brat?”

In response, her arms cross and she huffs out a breath. “Don’t you dare goad me. If you won’t agree, then maybe I can find someone else who will.”

A clear threat. I don’t fucking appreciate threats.

“You’re drama,” I say simply. “I don’t do drama in any way, shape or form. It’s one of my rules.”

“Rules?” She quirks a brow. “What’re you talking about?”

“I have three very specific rules when it comes to women.”

She tilts her head, giving me her full attention. Getting involved with Merritt Fontaine would smash all three of my rules to smithereens. Hence why I need to keep her at arm’s—and dick’s—length.

“Well? What are they?”

I hesitate, but who cares if I share them? “No drama, one night only, and never mix business with pleasure.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say I’m drama just because I don’t want to be forced into a loveless marriage with a man I barely know,” she says carefully. “Under normal circumstances, I think I’m quite even keeled and a veritable joy to be around.”

I chuckle. “You are entertaining. I’ll give you that.”

“Back to your so-called rules. Are you telling me you’ve never dated either of the beautiful women you work with?”

Her question catches me off-guard, but it shouldn’t.

Addie and Brighton are gorgeous, sure, but getting romantically involved with someone I work with is beyond stupid and breaks rule number three: no mixing business with pleasure.

They’re smart enough to believe the same thing.

All five of us at A- Squared are firmly planted in the friend zone, which leads me right back to rule number one: no drama.

“No. We’re just friends. More like family, and I don’t date my sisters.”

“Hmm. You said one night only.” I incline my head, and she clears her throat. “Meaning if you spend the night with a woman, you don’t ever see her again?”

“Isn’t that what one night means?”

“But what if you have an especially, ah, good night? Wouldn’t you want another?”

“No repeats.”

“Why not?” She genuinely looks confused, so I clear it up for her.

“Because if you keep things purely physical, there’s no risk getting emotionally involved. Love is for suckers, and it’s important to be able to walk away and not look back.”

For a long moment, she doesn’t say anything. Just seems to be absorbing my cynical outlook on love. Thanks, Dad. He really showed me how it can fuck a person up. Specifically, my Ma. And that’s something I swore I’d never do to someone else or let happen to myself.

“That’s no way to fall in love,” she finally murmurs.

“Says the girl looking for a fake fiancé,” I drawl lazily.

“That’s different,” she insists.

“How so?”

“Because I’m backed into a corner, not because I’m scared I’ll find someone special.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Aren’t you?” she recklessly challenges. “Then why do you have all these silly rules?”

To protect myself.

I grind my back molars. I’m a fighter, a man used to being challenged. But it’s always been by other fighters, not some royal slip of a girl who lives in a damn bubble. “We come from two different worlds, Princess . I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

I expect a snarky reply; instead, she surprises me with a softly-spoken, “Try me.”

She’s echoing my earlier words.

Hell no. I’m not about to have a therapy session with her here on the edge of a cliff.

Besides, it would take weeks to unload all my baggage.

And I’d never dump my fucked-up past on her.

She still possesses hope and a bright light within her, while mine went out a long time ago.

The last thing I’d want to do is make her as jaded as me.

Because the truth is, she’s royalty and I’m a washed-up, former fighter. Our worlds will never mesh. She’s a job. I’m her bodyguard. After this ends, we go back to our separate lives and never see each other again.

When I don’t respond, she finally lets out a long sigh. “You’re very difficult, you know that?”

“Why? Because I won’t bow down to your every wish and command?”

“Maybe you should,” she suggests in a low voice. Our gazes lock. Oh, yeah, she’s definitely playing with fire now. “I am a princess, as you like to remind me, and that means you should follow my orders.”

“I’m not one of your subjects.”

“You’re on my island.”

My eyes narrow because she has a point. “And?”

“And you work for me.”

“I work for your parents,” I correct her.

“Same thing.”

“What exactly are you ordering me to do?” I ask in a low voice that’s suggestive as hell and totally inappropriate. Because, yeah, she’s getting under my skin.

At some point, we’ve moved closer, and the conversation has taken on a more…sensual tone. My focus dips to her full lips. They’re glossy and pink, and it’s so damn easy to picture them wrapped around my dick.

“Take me back to New York,” she announces, abruptly standing up and breaking whatever connection I mistakenly imagined. “If you won’t pretend to be my fake fiancé, then I only have fourteen days to find someone who will.”

I jump up, grab her wrist and spin her back around. “That’s crazy.”

“No, Mr. Decker, it’s a royal order .” She hikes a triumphant brow. “So, go pack your suitcase. We’re leaving. Now.”

She pulls out of my grip, turns on her heel and leaves me standing there. Clenching my fists, I fight the urge to grab her, hike up her dress and spank that royal ass until it burns with my handprint.