You are a phantom, Charley, her father had said. They did not even know you were there.
It was only a few grand in jewelry from a political fundraiser in Sleepy Hollow, nothing like the multi – million – dollar art scenes she worked on today. But it meant something back then, after years of being treated like the cute team mascot by her father's crew, she'd finally impressed them.
At nineteen, it had made her feel like a superhero, like she would grow up to be this unstoppable badass in black leather and red lipstick, a woman who could crack a safe, defuse an alarm, and seduce a man into revealing his deepest secrets, all without breaking a sweat.
Now, her father had been dead five years and counting, it made her feel empty.
Glancing back at the ship in the painting, Charley shook her head. Guilt gnawed her insides. It was a familiar on – the – job companion, but now it was edged with anger, a red – hot blaze seething beneath her skin.
The anger swelled, and for a second she considered moving her someday to right now, taking Sasha and hitting the road, finding a real job, turning her back on Roby and her past for good.
No trace.
But as she studied the painting, the near – ruined ship, the jagged rocks, the sunshine, Charley knew she was not allowed to live by other people's rules. Society's rules. Legal rules.
She had been raised for this, apprenticed by a master thief and his best men. Aside from her mother who had left when Charley was a kid, she had grown up wanting for nothing, doted on and groomed by a loving, larger – than – life father who had promised her the world and tried his best to deliver, right up until the day he died.
By the time Charley was old enough to realize she did not want her father's world, it was too late. She had seen too much, got her hands too dirty. And now, with the last of her legal inheritance dwindling and Roby in charge of the crew she had once thought of as family, she was trapped.
Fuck you, Uncle Roby.
Turning away from the painting, Charley shoved the guilt and anger back inside, locking them in a box where they belonged.
She took a deep breath, trying to think through her next move. The study was her last shot, the Silverblade penthouse was a total bust. Which meant she was heading home empty – handed.
Again.
One thing was certain. Her next assignment, assuming Roby did not relegate her to cleaning his toilets, was going to suck.
With a sigh, she pulled out her phone, tugged off one of her gloves, and sent the dreaded text.
Nada.
It was the only word needed.
The three dots came quickly, and she waited for the undoubtedly furious reply, her stomach in knots, heart slamming against her ribs. But then the dots vanished, and her phone lit up with a call instead, his image filling the screen.
"Are you going to answer that, love?"
"Shit!" Charley dropped her phone and whipped around, trembling at the sight of her mystery man. He stood right in front of her, eyes glistening, mouth stretched into a deadly grin.
She felt like a mouse standing in the shadow of a wolf.
She had not heard his footsteps in the hall. Had not heard the door. Had not heard so much as a single breath. Yet there he was, right in her fucking space. Lurking. Looming. Intimidating. Tempting.
"My, my," he said, his voice as smooth as the expensive scotch he drank. "Someone's been a bad kitty."
You have no fucking idea…
On the floor, the phone blinked up at her, but Charley ignored it, reaching into her purse instead.
"Don't come any closer." She pointed Beyoncé at his chest. "Or I will fry your ass with…"
"Fifty thousand volts. I am aware." Ignoring the threat, he bent down and grabbed her phone from the floor, glancing at the screen. "Shall I tell this… Roby… you are otherwise occupied trying to fry the ass of an innocent man?"
"I would not. Not unless you want a side order of Jimmy Choo to the nuts." Charley lifted her foot to show him the spiked heel, then held out her free hand, gesturing for the phone.
The man obliged, but that damn smirk was not going anywhere.
"Twice in one night I find you sneaking around where you should not be. What are the chances?" His gaze trailed down her body, then back up, his eyes narrowing at the sight of her still-gloved hand. "And what in the devil's name are you doing?"
Panic rose in her chest, but she quickly tamped it down. Her little rebellion had made her careless tonight, drinking, flirting, not covering her tracks. She had gotten herself noticed, more than noticed.
But that did not mean she was exposed. Not yet.
"Not that it is any of your business…" Lowering the taser, she peeled the satin glove from her hand and stuffed it into her purse. "I needed some privacy. For the phone call."
"The one you still have not answered."
"I was going to, but then you interrupted."
"By all means." He nodded toward the phone, still blinking in her hand like a bomb about to go off.
Right. Because getting reamed out in front of the hot stranger who had busted her sneaking into the study at a fancy – ass auction sounded like the perfect way to wrap up her Friday night.
She sent the call to voicemail and shoved the phone and Beyoncé back into her purse.
"Does this mean my ass is safe?" he asked.
"For now." She replied with one of her brows raised and a lopsided smile.
"Perfect." His grin fell, his gaze turning cold and calculating. "Now tell me what you are really doing in here."
"I… I needed…" Charley shook her head, thoughts and words crashing together in her brain, her heart hammering.
"No alibi, love?" He took a step closer, his crisp, delicious scent invading her senses. "You'd better think of something. Security is right down the hall." He cocked his head as he pretended to listen for the guard's footsteps. "Getting close, I will bet. Maybe I should let him know we are…"
"Wait! I can explain."
The man took another step closer. Lowering his voice to a raspy whisper, he said, "I am on pins and needles."
Charley forced herself to stand strong, but inside, she was quaking like a prom-night virgin. Hundreds of jobs, hundreds of scenes, and she had never been so damn reckless, never come so close to blowing her cover.
Yet something about his intensity, his persistence, his very existence made her want to push past every boundary, to unlatch every safety mechanism, to risk it all.
What the hell is wrong with me?
"I don't like to be kept waiting," the man said.
Charley wondered how much longer he would play along, how much longer she could string him along until he finally turned her over to the security guard.
Or worse, the police.
God, she hated herself in this moment, but if she did not make a move, the only move she had left, this could become a bona fide, five – alarm emergency worse than any punishment Roby could ever dish out.
She cringed to think what Sasha's feminist theory textbooks would say about this scenario… about her whole life, really, but fuck it, survival instinct was a hell of a drug. And right now, Charley was hooked.
Use what you have got, girl.
Hoping she had read his earlier signals right, Charley placed her hand against his broad, firm chest, letting her fingertips brush the exposed skin beneath his collarbone, grateful he had left the top button undone.
His breath hitched, pupils dilating a fraction.
They were tiny tells, almost imperceptible behind the facade of his teasing, but all the confirmation she needed.
This man was totally turned on.
A seductive smile slid across her face, and she stretched up on her toes, bringing her lips close to his ear. "Can you keep another secret?"