Stolen Love (Beauty in the Stolen 3)

“I can stand my own,” she says. “You won’t even know I’m there.”

Right. As if I could ever be unaware of her presence.

“I’m doing this,” she says, meeting my stare with a challenge in hers.

“Wolfe framed me.” I dip my head, putting our faces on eye level. “Yes, he tried to use you, but you kicked dirt in his face. Why is this so important to you?”

“Because…” Her chest rises with a breath. “Because I need a purpose.”

I still. She’s just told me in so many words she’s adrift, and it pulls at my heartstrings. “There are better purposes, more honorable ones.”

“You once gave me a gun and let me walk into a hornet’s nest at your side. You didn’t hide me away. What has changed?” Pain flashes in her baby blues. “Is it because I’m damaged? Because I’m not whole? Do you think that makes me weaker?”

“Fuck, what?” I cup her jaw. “Of course not.” A muscle ticks under my eye. “There’s nothing fucking broken or un-whole about you. You’re as perfect as you’ve always been.” I can’t help the hoarseness of my voice. “Still as pretty as a doll.”

“Good.” She narrows her eyes. “I’m glad we agree. Besides, I already have a gun.”

This woman, I could never say no to her. As always, she’s wrapping me around her finger. Against my better judgment.

“This is how it’s going to work,” she says, twisting out of my hold and pacing the floor. “We’re not stealing anything. Wolfe is looking for us, right? He would’ve warned anyone who knows me to call him if they hear from me.” She stops by the window. “I go to see Mint with the ruse of needing money. He’ll call Wolfe. That’s how we trap the detective.”

Is she bossing me? I go hard in a second. It’s not steamrolling over my plan as much as that attitude of hers. I’ve always had a weakness for her sass.

She taps a foot and lifts an eyebrow. “Well?”

Inwardly, I grin. “This is your genius plan?”

She stands a little taller and lifts her chin. “Yes.”

“How do we know when—if—Mint makes the call?”

“We’ll have to hack into his mobile phone.”

My little hacker. She’s adorable. “What if he uses a landline? How many people work for him? What if one of them makes the call?”

“We plant a bug in the store.”

That grin I’m trying so hard to hide makes its way to my face. “You’ve got it all figured out, have you?”

“You have access to bugs and hackers. Plus, you have to admit, it’s less risky than stealing diamonds.”

I walk over, unable to maintain even the small distance she’s put between us. “But less exciting.”

“It’s safer,” she maintains.

She’s right, of course, but I can’t help messing with her. “I still think we should teach that stingy bastard a lesson. Mint was an asshole to you.”

“He already paid with his Porsche.”

I take another step closer, putting our bodies flush together. “His insurance would’ve paid out.” Untimely lust darkens my tone. “That doesn’t really count as a lesson.”

She backs one up. “If Mint doesn’t call Wolfe after I’ve paid him a visit, we do it your way.”

Reaching out, I trace a temple where her silver locks frame her face. “We?” Fuck, yes. I like the sound of that. We. Us.

She tilts her head away from my touch. “Ian, don’t.”

Don’t what? Don’t show her I want her? Don’t show her I care? Don’t touch her? She may as well ask me to lie to God while I’m on my knees, praying.

Leaning my palms on the windowsill behind her, I cage her in between my arms. My voice is low, betraying my emotions. “It’s been a while, Cas, a year to be precise.”

Her blue eyes flare. My celibacy shocks her. It shocked me at the time. If I’d known she was alive, I would never have fucked around, but even not knowing, my dick was simply not interested in anyone else.

I make sure she sees the intent in my eyes as I lower my head. She’s mine. I’ll prove it to her over and over, as long as it takes.

My lips are a hairbreadth from hers when she turns her face away. Rejection has a sharp sting, but suspicion has a bitter taste.

I don’t back away or give her space. I lean closer, pressing my question against her ear. “How many?”

She bites her lip, refusing to look at me. “How many what?”

The word sounds like a growl. “Men.” How many in one year? How many replaced me?

Finally, she meets my eyes. “Does it matter?”

Does it? “No,” I grit out.

Once upon a time, she told me there were none that mattered. One, ten, a hundred, the thought may kill me, but it makes no difference because I’m the only fucking one that matters.

She pushes me away with her palms on my chest. “There wasn’t anyone, but it wasn’t about you. It was about me.”