Caught for Christmas (Stripped 3.50)

“How did you know?”

His lips firmed. “I didn’t.”

I let myself take stock of him, every muscled inch. His jaw is hard, more angular tonight. His skin is a beautiful darkness, as if he was born of the night itself. His body is strong, hanging back because he knows he doesn’t have to force me to make me do what he wants. If I ran, he could catch me.

In his right hand is a gun. I always knew the bouncers of the Grand were packing heat, but it’s a different thing to see the gun up close. He wouldn’t use it on me, would he? But then I didn’t think he’d suspect me either. I didn’t think he’d catch me. And I can’t afford to test him on this.

“You’re waiting in a basement,” I say, thankful my voice doesn’t shake too much. “And you don’t look surprised to see me. You must have known something.”

He gives a hollow laugh. “That’s why. You’re always watching me. Always observing. And you made it clear it’s not because you want to date me.”

I want to date him more than anything, but I wouldn’t even know how to date. It’s not something you can do when you’re constantly in between cons—not unless the boyfriend is a mark. “So I must have wanted to steal?”

He lifts one broad shoulder. “You’ve picked up extra shifts sometimes and then suddenly have to skip them. You’ve lost weight. You chipped in five dollars into the diaper pail.”

Guilt stabs me at the reminder. “So?”

“You usually put in more.”

I manage not to flinch, but barely. It hurts to know he saw me do that—and that he’d been watching me long enough to know what I usually do. It hurts to know he’s seen me lose weight, as if I’m breaking apart right in front of him. “You caught me,” I whisper.

His eyes soften just a fraction. “I made a guess. I hoped I’d be wrong.”

My heart clenches. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

For not being the girl you needed, a girl who would be good enough for you. “For proving you right.”

His expression is grave, his hands almost gentle as he takes the bag from me. I hold tight for a second, a fleeting rebellion, before letting it go. I feel almost naked without it, exposed.

West nods toward the desk—and the wing-back chair behind it. “Have a seat, Bianca.”

The chair is comfortable when I sink down into it, and I have no doubt it’s expensive. But it might as well be a prison cell to me, the wide leather wings blocking me in as effectively as steel bars. Especially when I spot the duct tape sitting on the desk.

My eyes widen. “Wow, you came prepared. You really are a Boy Scout.”

He gives a wry smile and sets the bag down against the wall. “Don’t think that means I’m going to take it easy on you.”

“Who are you going to call?” My voice is hoarse, exposing my weakness, but I have to know. “The cops? Or Ivan?”

“Neither,” he says simply.

Shock is a cold rush from my heart to my toes. I know what some men in his position would do. Most men, really. They would take advantage. I’m about to be in a vulnerable position. I’ll be at his mercy. He could touch me. He could fuck me. And no one would believe me—or even care.

I never thought he would do that to me. He wouldn’t…

Would he? I can’t be sure.

The sound of duct tape ripping from the roll snaps my attention to him. He places it over my wrist, smoothing the silver tape along the butter-soft leather. He’s taping me to the chair.

It’s over my black long-sleeved T-shirt, but tight enough that I can’t wriggle free.

He pulls another piece of tape out. “So what was it?” he asks almost conversationally. “Drugs? Gambling?”

My lips tighten. I hate for West to think of me like that, that I would have gotten myself into this mess. Maisie and Jeb are the ones crazy enough to steal from the fucking mafia.

But in another way I did get myself into this. I went along with this plan even though it was too soon.