The Temptation (Filthy Rich Americans 5)

Vance took it from me, slipped it back in his pocket, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

I went in for the kill. “Oh.” I feigned innocence. “Would you like your watch back too?”

Vance’s focus flew down to his wrist to make sure his expensive timepiece was still there, and was both horrified and amazed to discover it wasn’t. He couldn’t believe I’d taken two items off him without him knowing—

And how I’d done it so quickly.

“It might be the nicest one I’ve ever lifted,” I added, holding up the watch to examine it. It had a modern, industrial look to it. Inside the square-shaped face, gunmetal gray Roman numerals and the Cartier logo rested over the exposed cogs inside. The band was a rich black alligator leather.

He glared down at his wrist, mad at it for failing to alert him it was now bare. “Seriously,” he demanded, “fucking how?”

I passed the elegant watch back to him. “Put this back on and I’ll show you.”

He took it and kept his gaze fixed on me as he slowly redid the clasp, watching me like he was sure I’d steal something else if he so much as blinked. It was silly, though.

When his focus was on my face? That was when he was the most vulnerable.

“Ready?” I asked, resetting to stand a few feet away.

He nodded.

“I start with a plausible reason to touch you.” I strode toward him. “Let’s say I trip on this rug.” I repeated the same ‘trip and fall’ from before, landing suddenly in his arms and with my palms on his chest. The first time, he’d stared at me with worry, but this time his eyes were clouded with suspicion.

Which was warranted.

“I just grabbed your wallet during your scramble to catch me,” I announced. “You can’t tell it’s not in your pocket because my hands are inside your jacket, hiding it. You still feel it where it should be because I’m holding it there right now.”

He considered my statement critically, and then accepted it. Interest flared in his eyes as he took hold of my hips like he had last time.

I spoke in a sultry voice. “Because you’re such a gentleman, your concern is on me. You’re looking at my face, checking to make sure I’m all right. You don’t notice the wallet in my hand as I slide it up.” My eyes hooded while my hands went up onto his shoulders and I leaned in, bringing our lips closer. “You’re probably thinking about kissing me right now—not how I’m passing your wallet from my dominant hand to my other behind your back.”

He exhaled, and I got the feeling that for the briefest of moments he’d rather just kiss me than learn how I carried out the rest of my ploy. But then his haziness cleared, and he refocused.

“Sneaky.” It was hushed, perhaps not wanting to interrupt my flow.

“Now, the watch.” I grabbed his wrist like last time, covering the face of his watch with my palm, leaving my fingers free to manipulate the clasp. “My pinky goes into the loop and undoes it.”

I moved slower than I normally would, but kept my gaze locked on his. I didn’t need to see what I was doing. I’d practiced this maneuver thousands of times, in a dozen different ways with my father. He’d shown me how to block the mark’s view. How to draw their attention back to where you wanted if it began to slip. Ways to use the environment to my advantage.

“I keep my middle finger and thumb pressed against the band,” I said. “This holds the watch in place, so you don’t feel a weight change or realize it’s been unclasped. When I’m ready, I pull your attention somewhere else.”

“You tell me my wallet is gone,” he said.

A smile teased the corners of my mouth. “Which makes you look down, open your jacket, and check for it.” When he performed the same movements as before, I continued the demonstration. “This makes you pull away, which is key. You believe you’re in control, which lowers your awareness and lets you do the work for me. I stop holding the band on your wrist and the watch stays in my hand as you leave.”

“Shit,” he said, impressed.

“And now I’m done. I pocket the stuff while you’re distracted and searching for your missing wallet.” I brought the black leather billfold down behind his back where he couldn’t see, and let my hands hang at my sides, concealing the items in the fabric of my dress. “Well,” I added, “I would if this dress had pockets.”

My act complete, I lifted my hands and presented the stolen items to him. He acted like he was going to take them out of my hands, but instead he simply held on to them, his fingers overlapping mine.