Page 26 of Sticky Fingers
He doesn’t even bat an eye. It’s like he’s been waiting for me to make this declaration.
“That’s very high and might of you, Sonia Sawyer,” he whispers. “And it fits with everything I’ve read about you.”
Now he has me reeling back all of a sudden.
“Read about me?” I ask. “Where?”
He shrugs nonchalantly. “In a file.”
Game. Set. Match.
But I’m not bested yet.
“What you call high and mighty might just be having standards of decency for other people,” I say to him.
“Last I checked you weren’t so innocent either, Sonia.”
Boom. Playing the art thief card.
“The difference is that I don’t use others or their misfortune to make me money,” I growl at him, pulling my hand free from his grasp. “A couple swirls of paint missing that only a very small number of very silly rich people care about isn’t going to hurt anyone.”
“You like the thrill,” he declares.
I can’t help it. I giggle and nod my head yes.
“You like avoiding getting caught,” he reinforces.
I smile.
He’s smirking again, the tone of his voice a confident one. He knows that he has me, that my feet are glued to the floor, and that it doesn’t matter how despicable I find his method of going legitimate…I simply can’t resist that magnetic pull he has on me.
Point for Malcolm.
“What exactly are you trying to run from?” he asks me.
Slowly, I let the words out—I never admit to him that I was the one behind the Picasso robbery, but I tell him all about my past life. He listens intently, taking in every single one of my words as if my voice was silk and my words were gold. Swear to God, I didn’t know that just having a man listening to you could be this fucking sexy.
We chat and eat for the next two hours.
And, God, I’ve never had such delicious food. It all melts in my mouth and sends me straight into heaven. And the wine…it’s getting me dangerously tipsy.
The kind of tipsy that makes me have a lot of wicked thoughts.
As Malcolm speaks, every once in a while, he touches me in some way. A touch on my hand or arm, or a graze against my legs, either with his own or even once with his hand.
The sneaky bastard. I guess I’m not the only one who knows how to play that game.
By the time we’re ready to leave, my blood is boiling and my thong is soaked. I may need to bust out the battery-operated boyfriend tonight. It’s kind of a shame I promised myself nothing would happen between us…because I’m definitely in the mood for it.
But a promise is a promise. Right, babe?
Slightly tipsy, I let him lead me out of the restaurant. We leave in his limo and head back to Clarendon Tower, my heart hammering away as I try to ignore the desire coursing through my veins.
Once the limo pulls up to the curb, I turn to Malcolm and kiss him on the cheek.
“Thank you for dinner,” I whisper then get out of the limo as fast as I can.
I don’t want to tempt fate. He follows after me fast, and I turn around to meet his hard—and panty-melting—gaze.
