CHAPTER ONE #2
She couldn’t have gathered that from my casual attire.
In order to blend in tonight, I abandoned my usual black suit or even a button-up and dress pants that would point to my traditional dealings.
And I don’t think she knows who I am. So, she either notes the innate duplicity in my eyes or she’s reaching.
A group of ten guys who are trying to stay together bump into her back, which has her stumbling toward me.
I wrap my arm around her waist to hold her steady and address the college-aged kid who jostled her. “Watch it, man.”
He raises surrendering palms to me, so I return to my little thief. And little she is. She has to be at least a foot shorter than my six-three stature. Maybe more. And she smells sweet, like vanilla—even over the stench of piss and beer from the carnival days.
“Let’s get back to that moral compass slam.
” I wink at her because she’s clearly livid that I stole her loot, but I’m intent on weaving that transgression with my irresistible charm until she views it as the best pickup of all time.
“Since I fail at morality, I also fail to grasp why you’d settle on such a meager prize. ”
We’re boxed in on all sides now, and I think she’s into it.
She doesn’t like me. Yet. But I’m not taking that personally.
Thieves tend to be irritated when they’ve been out-thieved.
But she can’t deny the electricity zipping between us.
My fingers itch with the urge to pull her closer.
And the way her chest heaves suggests I stole more than the NOLA heirloom from her. I think I caught her breath.
Her glossy lips tilt into a flirty smile as she thwarts my hold on her hip and maneuvers around human obstacles toward an overfilled bar, calling over her shoulder, “Greed equals ruin.”
Interesting perspective for a cat burglar.
She doesn’t slow down. And the unwavering confidence that I’ll follow her when I’m in possession of her pilfered treasure is intoxicating, but I wait until we’re past a roaring band and dancing jesters to express that.
“I’m intrigued.”
“I’m annoyed.”
“Both are common issues on Fat Tuesday.” I grab her hand—damn, her skin is soft—and drag her down the sidewalk to a pop-up bar cart since every other place is at capacity.
Releasing her to pull the money out of my front pocket, I flash it at the old man taking orders, never faltering on our conversation.
“Lucky for you, I know some great escapes.”
“Very astute.” She beams, like she’s in on a secret. “If you return my belonging and take one of those escapes, I will be less annoyed.”
“You’ll also be unsatisfied. And sated always trumps annoyance. It’s really a no-brainer as to whether you should come with me.”
Her eyes narrow. “Really?”
So fucking pretty. And … familiar. Maybe?
“Again”—I shake my head in feigned disappointment—“that’s on you. I’m referring to a good meal and crowd control.”
With that pronouncement, the guy waits on us despite the long line because he knows who I am, but she doesn’t bat an eye at that. She agrees to a Jell-O shot and refuses a soft pretzel, which pretty much sums up our options since it’s slim pickings after ten p.m.
“See? I was just trying to feed you, and you had to make it sexual.” I hand her a shot before doing mine. “I gotta say, it’s really forward when we just met. You haven’t even given me your name and number yet.”
“You’re right.” She throws back the spiked Jell-O and leers at me. “My apologies. I will never think about you and sex in the same … lifetime. In fact, I will never think of my Mardi Gras clinger again.”
“All that forgetting talk makes it obvious that you won’t be able to. But we’ll address your obsession on our next date.”
“Our next date?” Her eyes gleam with wild resolve. “Great idea. I have the perfect spot.”
I wasn’t expecting that, and I’m not exactly buying it. But it’s rare that I can’t charm a woman—practically unheard of actually—so I stay in step with the tiny bandit, accepting her change of lust.
The noise level is overpowering, and despite her height disadvantage, she’s quick, so we don’t chat en route to this date spot. After a minute, it’s evident that she’s headed back toward the museum.
“You’re returning to the scene of the crime?”
She peers over her shoulder with an expression that hovers between vexation and flirtation. “Not my scene. Not my crime.”
She’s up to something, but I’m in too deep, and she’s so goddamn cute. I can’t imagine not trailing her, so I play along.
“That argument will hold up well in the court of law.”
“Probably not,” she sings. “Better work on an alibi, Cash Noire.”
For a beat, I assume she recognizes me, but if she had, she’d have mentioned it sooner.
Shit.
I smack my back pocket. “You swiped my wallet?”
Spellbound into becoming a chump. I’m never off my game enough to be the object of a con.
“You swiped my mask.” The pretty little thief spins, walking backward, her whole face glowing from the full moon and her victory. “Trade ya.”
We’re on the outskirts of the crowd, still within yelling distance, but she shouldn’t take risks like this.
What if I were a creep? There are plenty out tonight.
Being a daredevil is obviously in her blood since she’s goading me a block from the site of her robbery with several dozen cops patrolling this area alone.
And lecturing her will not bode well for me as far as gaining her number or my wallet, so I skip it. For now.
“Let’s settle this civilly. You’ll give me your name since you have mine. Then we’ll swap items.”
“No.” She hums, teasing payback, as she launches herself into a string of back handsprings that lands her at the mouth of the alley, leading to the museum. “We do this my way, or your wallet gets dropped at the scene.”
Swindling and blackmail.
Dear fuck, I might be in love.
“Fine. Your way, but I have another proposition.” I cup my hand to beckon her back to me while moving myself into full view of the streetlights and the crowd, in case she did those back handsprings as a precaution to keep distance between us.
She saunters closer, haughty and unaffected.
There’s no way she’s giving in to me tonight, nor should she since her fine ass and a hundred grand are on the line.
But I get another flicker of familiarity, which spurs me on.
I’ve seen this girl before. If part of her face wasn’t covered by that mask, I’d likely know where.
“How about this?” I keep my voice low and lead her back to the heart of the ruckus. “We’ll swap. But if I figure out your name, you owe me the honor of buying you dinner the next time I see you.”
She pauses, probably assessing whether I could have snatched something that would divulge that information, though it’s unlikely she has anything identifiable on her while working a heist. With that realization, I’m hit with a sudden notion of her truly not being interested.
Nah. Must be the bad timing.
“Sure.” She holds out her empty palm while her other hand clutches my open wallet so it’s clear the contents are still there.
My stomach is slightly queasy. I know the second we trade, she’ll be gone, but I’m thirty-two, and I have never been hung up on a girl, so this shouldn’t be any different.
Besides, there’s that whisper of remembrance inside me.
And I covertly snapped a picture of her as she was wandering back from the alleyway.
I can figure out who she is. If I decide I want to.
Still, it couldn’t hurt to stack my odds. “You should write your name and number on a dollar bill and buy something with it. If it gets back to me, you won’t be able to deny that we’re destined.”
Her lips pop open with an indignant gasp. “Did you just Serendipity me?”
“That’s not a verb.”
“It’s also not an option.” She blows out a breath like she’s embarrassed for me. “And it’s kind of desperate. Not a good look, blondie.”
Desperate is a fair assessment, which is not at all my take-it-or-leave-it style. I watched that movie with my younger sister, Rena, ages ago, so who the hell knows why it sprang to mind tonight? But most games have some dead hands. I can turn this around.
“Fear isn’t either. Fate is the opposite of desperation. It’s letting the chips fall where they may.” I shove my hands in my pockets and furrow my brows at the lunacy of her reproach. “Are you afraid to let destiny play this hand?”
“No fate or fear here. Just two cons making a deal. Pass it over.”
I don’t hate that either. One deal often leads to another. And I wouldn’t mind staring into those amber eyes again. Maybe from a different vantage point.
“Don’t blame me when you’re kicking yourself, thinking, If only I’d written my number on that damn dollar bill.”
She tries to conceal it, but her mouth twitches with a hint of mirth as she waggles her palm. “We’ve already established that I’m a risk-taker. I’ll chance it.”
Reluctantly, I remove the mask and place it in her small hand as she tosses the wallet to me.
And then she’s off. “Have a nice life, Noire.”
Against my better judgment, I can’t help uttering a vow. “See ya soon.”