Stealing Valentine

But, I ain’t here for the steaks, or the expensive wine, or the nauseatingly boring conversations about future commodities trading. And I could give a shit about who’s buying what new car after this quarter’s bonuses. Well, except for the car I’m going to buy after this particular bonus. What I’m here for is shiny, covered in diamonds, once owned by Al Capone’s mistress, and currently owned by none other than Martin McCue.

It also happens to be worth just north of two-hundred and forty million dollars, and it’s in this room. The Whistler necklace and matching earrings should be in that very display case she’s leaning against, too. But I can see even from here that the velvet stand it sits on is empty.

You sneaky little brat.

She’s got it. I don’t know how, but I know she has it. Every gut instinct I have says so.

Making a scene is the last thing I want to do, but this tempting little tease just gave me no option. I don’t know who the fuck she is, but she just muscled in on the wrong job. I’ve worked too hard for this. I’ve put in way too much time to get my prize taken from right under my nose by this little brat.

“Well, anyways,” she says offhandedly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to head back downstairs before they serve dinner—”

“The fuck you are.”

I move fast, and the girl gasps as I grab one of her arms and yank her away from the door. She hisses, swearing at me as I drag her across the room towards Martin’s big wooden desk.

“Dinner, huh?” I growl, my jaw clenched tight as I move in close. Our eyes lock, fire blazing between them as she snarls at me defiantly.

We’ll see how defiant she is in a second.

“Hand it over.”

“Hand what—”

“If you’re looking for a strip search,” I mutter under my breath. “Keep on playing this game.”

Her face pales.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me,” I hiss back, the beast inside of me roaring and raring to breaking free.

Shit. I’m losing control of this situation. And I’m losing control of myself. Her body writhes under my grip, and my pulse thunders in my ears. She gasps, twisting against me, and my cock fucking throbs.

“Three seconds,” I say tightly, my jaw tense and my muscles clenching.

“Go fuck your—”

“One.”

Her brows shoot up, her eyes wide as she darts them over me, like she’s trying to figure out how serious I am.

Spoiler: I’m two-hundred and forty million dollars’ worth of serious.

“Two,” I growl.

“I don’t have your stupid neck—”

She bolts, taking me by surprise as she half breaks free of my grasp. I growl, my hand reaching for her again, but I miss her arm, and when my fingers hook into her shirt, right between the top two buttons, she gasps as the garment rips open. The top couple of buttons go scattering, and she cries out as she comes yanking right back into my arms.

Holy shit.

And there it is. Right there on her neck, hidden under that high-collared, buttoned-up shirt, and right above the tempting swell of her cleavage, is the gleaming, glistening, diamond studded Whistler necklace.

“Get your damn hands off—”

“Where’re the earrings.”

She goes still, her lips pursing as she glares daggers at me, her eyes all full of fire and vinegar.

“Don’t make me ask you again. Where—”

“I swallowed them.”

I blink, staring at her.

“You what?”

Her lips curl, grinning like the cat who’s caught the canary.

“I swallowed them.”

“Bullshit.”

She shrugs. “If you say so.”

Goddamnit.

The necklace I could take from her. I could force her to take it off. Worst case scenario, I break the clasp and tear it off of her. But the necklace and earrings are a set. Sure, the necklace is worth money—and damn good money—on its own. But it’s the set all together where the real payout is. That’s what a collector will pay for.

“Here’s the thing,” I growl lowly. She’s writhing and squirming against me, and I’m having a real hard time keeping my control in check. My blood roars in my ears, and as that tight little body grinds into me, and as her hair brushes across my face and the scent of her shampoo invades my senses, my cock aches between my legs, throbbing to break free.

…Hungry for her.

“You can kick and squirm all you want, sweetheart.” I mutter, grunting as my hands tighten on her. “But the thing is, I came here for that necklace and the earrings, and I ain’t leaving without—”

There’s the sound of running footsteps coming down the hallway, and before she can react, I have. I whirl, yanking her with me as I move across the room. I’ve poured over the blueprints to this place for so long, I probably know the floor plans to the Hamptons mansion better than Martin himself, which means hidden behind a hidden door in the wall or not, I know all about the panic room built into the study. The girl gasps, twisting in my arms as I yank her after me into the dark little closet of a room. The panel door slides back just in time, enveloping us in darkness as the sounds of footsteps tumble into the office.