“It was all an act. I was freaking out inside.”

St. Clair tilts my face up to him. “I’m so, so sorry,” he says again, fervently.

“It’s okay. You came back for me.” I smile. “You could have left me and saved your own skin, but you didn’t.”

“Never,” St. Clair vows. He kisses my palm, sending a little batch of shivers down my spine. “I love that you can still surprise me with your strength, Grace. You were incredibly brave tonight.”

I look down, sheepish.

“You are unlike any woman I’ve ever known.” He kisses my forehead.

I can’t help but light up at his words, but there’s still something I need to know. “Why did you come back for me? You could have gotten away.”

He lifts my chin up to meet his eyes, those always shifting shades of blue like a painting of an ocean. Right now it’s a sea of love, and I am going to dive in. “I will never leave you, Grace. Not for a painting or anything else. I will always return to you, always. You are what matters most.”

My heart swells at his words. “I believe you.”

He kisses me, his mouth fierce and hungry against mine. I sway into him, adrenaline rushing through me, my need for him growing stronger and more desperate with every insistent stroke of our tongues.

St. Clair pushes me back against the wall, his hands roaming, already tearing my clothes away. I grab at his shirt, pulling it open to reveal his sculpted chest. Buttons go flying, fabric rips, but I don’t care. All that matters is our skin, together, the feel of his hard body naked against mine. He grips my thighs and lifts me, wrapping my legs around his waist. I can feel his cock, ready and pressing against me, and I moan in sweet anticipation.

St. Clair carries me over and lays me out on the dining table.

“What a feast you’ll be,” he murmurs, peeling off my panties and tossing them aside so I’m spread out, totally naked in front of him.

My stomach twists, I shiver with lust.

“Don’t move,” he growls, placing my hands up above my head, and nudging my legs apart. “Just hold on.”

I curl my hands over the edge of the table, bracing myself, but St. Clair takes his time. He circles the table slowly, like an animal, his eyes devouring me.

God, he’s sexy.

I wriggle, impatient. I can feel his gaze like fire on my skin, and with every passing second my heart pounds faster, my body aching for his touch. I’m naked, completely exposed, but in this moment I feel powerful.

He needs me.

I arch my back, jutting my breasts higher, and hear an appreciative groan.

“You belong in a gallery,” he breathes, trailing one hand over my breasts. Pleasure ripples through me, but it’s not enough. “A masterpiece, for the whole world to worship.”

“You mean, like this?” I lift my head and give him a teasing smile.

He chuckles. “No, this view is just for me.”

He grips my ankles, and suddenly pulls me down the table toward him. My breath comes out in a rapid pant. He lowers to his knees, cups my ass, and buries his face between my thighs.

“Oh, God,” I moan as his tongue finds me, caresses me, teasing my clit and flicking into the hot aching heart of me. I lay back, totally at the mercy of his devouring mouth. He reaches for my tender breasts, stroking me, squeezing me. He traps my nipples between his fingers and pinches lightly, then harder, the pain making the pleasure between my thighs even more intense.

“Charles,” I whisper in between my shallow breaths, coming undone.

He licks deeper, harder, and fuck, I can feel my orgasm rising. But before the waves can crest, he lifts his head. I almost sob in frustration, but he just smiles.

“Darling, we’re just getting started.”

He lifts me from the table, and crosses to the bedroom in a few short strides. He places me face down on the bed, landing a swift spank on my ass. I gasp at the brief pain as a shiver of desire runs through me.

“Tell me, my sweet Grace…how do you want it?” St. Clair is behind me, his voice a seductive growl in my ear. I can still feel his hands on me, soothing, caressing.

“I just want you,” I try to twist around to see him, but he pulls my legs down to touch the floor so I’m bent over the bed now, my ass in the air. He spanks me again, sharp and sweet.

“Do you want me here?” he murmurs, sliding a hand around to lightly stroke my clit.

I moan.

“Or how about here…” His fingers dip deeper, skimming just inside my slick entrance.

“Yes. Please,” I beg.

“Ask nicely,” he orders me.

“Please, Charles,” I thrust back against him, wanting his fingers deeper. “Fuck me.”

He curls them higher, and it’s good, so good, but not as good as his cock.

I squirm, impatient. “Charles.”

“My sweet, dirty girl,” he chuckles. “You want me, don’t you? You need my cock, driving deep, giving you everything you need and more.”

“Yes.” Yes, a thousand times yes.

“Yes what?”

“I need your cock,” I beg, wanting him inside me more than I’ve ever wanted anything. “Fuck me, Charles. Fill me up. Do it hard. Please—”

He grabs me by the hips, turning me over onto my back on the bed, and then slams inside me in a single devastating stroke. “Fuck!” I yell, burying my face in his chest. He pauses, and I pull his ear close to my lips. “More,” I demand. “Don’t stop.”

St. Clair obeys, filling me with that thrumming hardness, and I push back in rhythm with him, both of us gasping for breath.

“God, Grace,” he whispers, his heart beating so strong I can feel it pounding against mine as my nails scrape the skin of his flexed back. He plunges into the deepest parts of me and then slides out slowly, slowly, before pushing back along my slick and ready skin. We’re staring into each other’s eyes and it’s so intense, the connection, the heat, the moment, as he thrusts, his steady pace building faster and faster, until I close my eyes and the world fades away.

He pounds me into the covers, thrusting over and over until I’m sobbing, begging for more. And he gives it to me, all of it, exactly what I need.

“Charles!” I scream, writhing under him as the climax rips through me. I think I might explode, my whole body vibrating and raw as he thrusts one last time and collapses on my chest, spent.

“I love you, Grace,” he says and kisses my shoulder.

I fall asleep feeling safer than I’ve felt in years.

CHAPTER 11

The next morning, St. Clair leaves me to go to some meetings – keeping up the charade that he’s just a successful businessman on a trip for work and play. He tells me to relax, go get a spa treatment or take in the Parisian sights, but the moment he’s not around to distract me anymore, all I can do is worry.

I go over our night a million times, wondering if there’s something we missed – something that will give the game away and broadcast our guilt. I keep checking the online news sites, the art blogs, the industry chat rooms where art news is often first revealed for word that our heist has been discovered, but there has been nothing so far. I refresh and refresh like a crazy person, waiting for them to find out that the real painting has gone missing, and there’s a forgery hanging in its place— but all day, it’s nothing but radio silence. Or rather, just excited chatter about the opening tonight and the two exquisite (and rarely seen) paintings on loan from two of Europe’s most important art donors. It should be good news, but I can’t seem to shake this edgy feeling, like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to plummet into the unknown.

I know we were lucky. I was lucky. If those alarms hadn’t been malfunctioning, the sirens would have brought the guards, the police and the media raining down on both of us. I’d be sitting in a prison cell right now instead of a luxurious apartment, dressed in an institutional uniform instead of preparing for a fancy gala event.