Three
CHARITY
Sliding off my seat, I squeeze my mark’s bicep and try to look impressed. “Oh my gosh, Paul, are you a bodybuilder?”
He chuckles, a crimson flush staining his cheeks. “No, but I was voted ‘most athletic’ in high school.”
I blink through an eye roll.
Yeah, forty years ago.
Men are so simple. Give them an emotionless compliment while touching any part of their body and they turn into circus monkeys. Paul is no exception. The man has biceps like wet spaghetti noodles, but he eats up my gushing like it’s his last meal.
Which after tonight, it just may be.
I press against him, letting him look down the front of my dress as I lift his wallet out of his pocket and shove it in my boots. “Keep my seat warm for me. I’ll be right back.”
He nods enthusiastically, the hearts in his eyes almost bigger than the stiffy in his pants.
I make my way toward the bathroom, but not because I have to go.
My hasty exit is so that I can take all the valuable shit out of his wallet, wipe down any prints, and get rid of the evidence.
Paul seems like a solid businessman, worth at least a gold card or two.
Another couple hits like him and I can make an early night of it.
I’ve elevated stealing to an art form. I should teach a class and charge street kids for tips on how to survive.
Just as I round the corner, a shadowy figure closes in behind me, and I quicken my pace.
I could scream, or run, but that’d call attention to myself, which is the last thing I need.
Especially since Paul is probably realizing his error in judgment right about now.
A couple more steps and I’ll be in the ladies’ room anyway.
I don’t make it.
I catch the scent of sandalwood just before a hand grabs my elbow from behind and shoves me into a darkened alcove. “Get your eyeful, or do you want seconds?”
Shit.
I grunt as his body weight pushes me further into the cinder block wall. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“You were staring pretty hard, baby.”
“Crash and burn victims always catch my attention, Spence.”
A mix of whiskey and mint fans over my cheek as he presses the other one against the concrete. “The only thing burning is you, baby,” he taunts. “For me.”
Still holding my clutch in my free hand, I press it against the wall.
The move shifts my back hard against his front, leaving nothing between us but sequins and determined will.
“If that’s the kind of line you used on your picks tonight, you’ll be sleeping on a park bench next to the hookers on Biscayne Boulevard. ”
“Oh?” He exhales roughly and shifts his body closer. “Is that the corner you’ll be working later?”
“Spence,” I chide, back at him. “Is that’s the best you’ve got? What a shame.”
A low laugh rumbles in his chest, and he pulls my wrist tighter, causing my back to arch and my head to fall against his shoulder. I fight a strong instinct to close my eyes and melt into him.
No.
Knocking me off my game is exactly what he wants, so it has to be the last thing I’ll allow.
As the hallway fills with the sound of our labored breathing, Spencer dips his free hand toward my hip and traces his fingers across the Italian words written on my ribcage. “Still no regrets, huh?”
I stiffen. “I don’t do regrets.”
“You will tonight if you don’t stop fucking up my targets.”
“I don’t need to fuck up your targets, Spence. You do a good job of that all by yourself.” Shit. That sounded way too breathless. I squeeze the clutch purse in my hand, weighing my options of going for the pepper spray inside or just hitting him across the face with it.
I feel a slow, wicked grin pull across his mouth. “Maybe you can’t see past your own loss tonight, baby, but I’m killing it.”
A part of me wants to twist away from him while the other part wants to wrap my free arm around the back of his neck and devour him. Risking a glance up at him, I graze my cheek against the rough stubble of his squared jaw.
It’s unfair how angelic his face looks when sin seeps out of every pore in his body. Especially when I know what hides beneath that boyish grin—an icy ruthlessness that lives for the chase and gets off on the win.
Jerking out of his hold, I twist to face him and meet the challenge in his eyes head on.
“Killing your own profits maybe. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m the one cleaning house out there.
” I glare at him and throw out my burning question through clenched teeth, “What are you even doing here? This is my scene.”
Spencer studies me for a few seconds before his face breaks out in that infuriating smirk. “Cleaning house, huh?” His grin widens as he motions his thumb over his shoulder toward the bar. “First hit of the night, right?”
I nod begrudgingly.
He holds up the last three fingers on his hand. “Mindy was my third. Diamonds, cards, wads of cash—you name it, and I’ve got it.”
“Bullshit.” The challenge leaves my mouth before I have a chance to swallow it back down.
Spencer chuckles, his posture casual but dominant. “You want to put your money where your mouth is, St. James?”
I match his smirk. “Not especially. See, I know where my money’s been. Not many places to stash goods in this outfit, Spence. A lady has to get creative.”
Just to fuck with him, I lick my lips and run my eyes down the length of my dress, dragging his stare along with mine. When I stop at the apex of my thighs, he curses under his breath and clears his throat.
If I wasn’t trying to prove a point, I’d fist pump the air.
He cocks an eyebrow. “Scared?”
“Of you? Hell, no,” I balk, a defiant edge to my tone—almost too defiant. “I’ll bet you a hundred dollars my lifts are double yours in the half hour I’ve been here as opposed to however long you’ve annoyed every female in the club.”
One-hundred dollars? Have I lost my mind?
Of course, I’ve lost it. I lost it eight years ago when a handsome smooth-talker in a bar tried to pick me up.
Had I known then what I knew now, I would’ve either walked away or chosen a different target.
I’ve honed my instincts since then and can pick out ignorance in the flash of a watch or the wave of a card.
Unfortunately, Spencer seemed like any other guy that night.
That’s a lie.
Spencer was unlike any guy, ever. I just didn’t know how to recognize him for what he was at the time.
Although running away at fifteen and living on the streets of South Beach for three years taught me a lot, thievery didn’t come second nature to me. I stole to survive, not for sport. It took robbing Spencer blind and him tracking me down for that to change.
For me to change.
To learn from the best and become the best.
I’ve dethroned him. He just can’t accept it.
Spencer tucks one hand in his pocket, while placing the other one on the wall beside my head. “Ladies first. You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.”
Warmth floods parts of me it shouldn’t. “Everyone has seen yours, Spence. It’s not that impressive.”
More lies.
His wolfish grin steals any smugness I might’ve enjoyed. “We’ll see about that.” He dips his chin toward my boots. “Go on…”
Digging into the top of my right boot, I pull out Paul’s wallet and drop it open. “Four hundred in cash and a MasterCard.”
I’ve never owned a MasterCard, or any card in my life, but for a one-hit-score, I feel rather victorious. Maybe my stupid pride is the reason I don’t see the way Spencer’s eyes light up with excitement as he takes a small breath and nods.
“Well, now, that is impressive.”
“Told you.” I hold out my palm for his payment.
In a surprise move, he grabs my hand and slams my palm against the wall beside my head.
Leaning in close, he runs his nose down the length of my collarbone.
“But not as impressive as this.” Without looking away, he pulls a rectangular, black object out of his pocket and flips it up between two fingers.
Fuck.
AmEx Black.
Invitation only. Five-thousand-dollar initiation fee. Twenty-five-hundred-dollar annual fee. Unlimited charging. I heard a rumor once that one cardholder bought a Bentley on his card for the low, low price of four-hundred-thousand-dollars.
Cha-Ching.
“Where’d you get that?” I reach for the card in front of my face, but he jerks it over his shoulder and clicks his tongue.
“Going to have to be quicker than that, St. James. This is a one-man operation.”
And a one-woman recovery.
Again, men are simple creatures, and Spencer is no exception. Our close proximity tells me the path to getting my hands on that card leads south, straight to the impressive bulge in his pants.
“Surely you didn’t lift that off the idiot blonde you were bouncing around on your lap like a beach ball.” Spencer has a reputation for playing less than intelligent women, but I doubt that moron could balance her own checkbook.
He flashes a devilish grin. “Jealous?”
“Intrigued.”
“Liar.” He presses closer, his voice like a distant rumble of thunder. “You owe me a Benjamin, Charity.”
Grumbling, I jerk out of his hold and put enough space between us to clear my head. Once I can think, I let out a resigned huff and reach into my boot, pulling out a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill. “Fine, here.”
Easy come, easy go.
I hate losing, and the only thing I hate more than losing is losing to Spencer.
Staring at his shit-eating grin does nothing to improve my mood, either.
The night hasn’t been one of my most productive, and a reckless part of me can’t help but wonder if raising the stakes will push lady luck in my favor.
It’s worth a shot.
Slipping back into character, I shoot him a dazzling smile. “You’re almost jovial tonight, Spence. You kick a puppy on your way to rob me?”
He narrows his eyes. “That’s a little hypocritical, don’t you think?”
“Maybe. But you’ve interrupted my night and wasted”—I glance at the invisible watch on my arm—“at least twenty minutes of prime floor time. You owe me an opportunity to win my money back.”
“How so?”
I think about it. Paul is a dead end, as is Suede.
Spencer’s blonde bimbo has most likely moved on in his absence, so any shot he had at swiping more from her is gone.
We need to come to an agreement that involves a separate venue and a planned force of attack against the clueless idiots and their money.
“No more sabotaging each other for tonight. We go somewhere else and play our own marks while allowing the other to do the same. Whatever happens, happens, and at the end of the night, whoever has the biggest payout wins.”
“Wins, what?” The seductive lilt in his voice leaves nothing to interpretation. But this is my game. He’s just one of the many players.
I eye him cautiously. “Half.”
He tilts his head and stares at my mouth. I both love and hate when he does that. Having Spencer in such close proximity drives an ice pick into my hard exterior, leaving my insecurities to seep out of the cracks.
“No dice,” he says, moving closer. “Try again.”
It’s clear my terms aren’t going to satisfy him.
Sighing, I run a hand through my sprayed curls. “I don’t have time for this. Name your stakes.”
“You,” he says, matter-of-factly.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. If my payout beats yours at the end of the night, I want you naked and in my bed—no arguing, no smart-mouth, and no resisting.” When my jaw drops in shock, he grins and adds, “And you have to like it.”
“No.” Hell no. Who does he think he’s talking to?
One corner of his mouth lifts as he rocks back on his heels. “Scared?”
That does it. One word is all it takes to push me over the edge. Besides, until Spencer grows a pair of breasts and shaves his legs, a woman can still work magic a man can only dream of.
“You’re on,” I bite out between clenched teeth. “We meet in room five-twenty-six at the Fallon Hotel at two a.m. But be prepared to go down, Spencer. I never lose.”
Without warning, he takes my face in his hands and crashes his mouth onto mine in a demanding kiss. My senses are overtaken by whiskey and heat as his tongue slips past my lips and tangles with my own. I resist at first, then drunk off his command of my body, return his advance with vigor.
Spencer kisses like he’s a dying man and I’m the last sip of water on earth. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I’m not even sure I want to.
Finally, he breaks the kiss, leaving me dizzy and shaking. “Room four-thirty-two. And the only thing going down tonight, Charity, will be you.” With a wink, he releases me and disappears out the side door.
What have I gotten myself into?