Page 27 of It Takes a Thief
Maybe after that amazing kiss. Talk about memorable, and it had only been one kiss. Arguably restrained, too.
The thought catches me completely off guard. Because I never remember kisses. I’ve kissed a lot of women during my life, and they’ve each been enjoyable in the moment, but not one has stood apart from the others and lodged itself in my mind like this one. I can’t stop thinking about how soft her lips felt, about the moment they parted and invited me inside.
“Fuck.” I slide a hand over my head and down to squeeze the back of my neck. This whole thing could turn into a really big problem. Or a really pleasant diversion. Because if I can’t stop thinking about one kiss, what would happen if we did more?
Giving my head a hard shake, I climb the rest of the way up and head down to her room. It’s pretty and feminine just like her. Standing in the doorway, I rap my knuckles against the doorframe.
“Mer?” I call.
“In here!”
I cross her room and stop right outside the bathroom. She’s messing with her hair, and I take a moment to appreciate the long brown locks streaked with gold. So full and thick. My fingers curl into my palms, wanting to slide through that massive waterfall of lustrous hair.
“I’m almost ready,” she announces. “I just can’t get this side to cooperate.”
Mesmerized, I watch her trying to maneuver the curling iron behind her head and wrap a long strand around the wand.
“Let me,” I grunt, reaching for it.
With a surprised look, she allows me to take it. “Careful, it’s hot.”
“I figured.” My fingers slide through her soft hair and section off a smaller piece. Very carefully, I wrap it around the iron, wait a few seconds and then release it. A perfect spiral falls down her back and, of course, my attention drops to her perfect ass encased in a pair of fitted jeans. That outstanding backside is giving me all sorts of filthy ideas. Like sinking my teeth into a firm cheek and marking her.
“Wow, thank you.” She turns, checking out her hair in the mirror. “Can you do this piece, too?”
She lifts another strand, and I take it, my fingers brushing against hers. That simple touch sends a jolt through my body. Trying to ignore it—yeah, right, as if I could—I curl that piece. My hands might be big, but my fingers are nimble. Very agile when it comes to a delicate job. And that applies to cracking a safe, pleasing a woman and, apparently, curling hair.
“Hang on,” I murmur, and re-do a few more. She leans her head back, and although I’ve never done this before in my life, I’m enjoying it. A strange sense of intimacy passes between us. I draw it out as long as possible, toying with a few more strands, then step back before it gets weird. “Okay, all set.”
She lifts a small mirror and turns, checking out my handiwork. “I think you may have missed your calling” —I arch a brow— “as a celebrity stylist.”
I laugh. “I don’t think so, but if you need help again, just let me know.”
“Thank you, Linc.”
“Welcome,” I return gruffly. Suddenly, the bathroom feels incredibly small, and I shift from one booted foot to the other. “We should get going.”
“Okay.” She unplugs the curling iron, and we head to the stairs.
“After you.” I make a sweeping gesture with my hand, and she gives me a little smile as she passes. Am I being a gentleman? Sure. Am I also checking out her very tempting ass again? You bet. I also need to discreetly adjust myself because, yeah, her posterior is a thing of beauty.
After setting the newly-upgraded alarm and making sure the security cams I rigged are feeding directly to the app on my phone, we get in the elevator and go down to the car. No one is getting in her place without me knowing.
The drive to the warehouse should take about twenty minutes or so, depending on traffic. It’s not in a great neighborhood, but that’s all a part of its charm. It’s also where the paying customers are located.
“What time does it start?” Merritt asks.
“Doors open at seven, but the fight won’t start until eight or so. They’ll wait until the warehouse is packed.”
“Anything I should know?”
“The fights can get rowdy. Just stay with me and you’ll be fine.”
Since the fights move around, I doublecheck the address to make sure I know where I’m going. It shouldn’t take us long to get there, and Merritt takes control of the radio. She keeps flipping around, unable to settle on a song for longer than a minute.
“That was a good song,” I grumble after she turns the station yet again.
“Which one?” She starts backtracking, and I lay a hand over hers.
