Roxanne St. Claire - Make Her Pay

He gave a quick nod and spoke into the phone. “We’re going to stay put for now, Captain. I’ll keep you posted.” He ended the call, then stood to stretch, his gaze on her. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Why?”

“You’re looking at me funny.”

“Am I? I was just trying to hate you.”

He laughed softly, dropping down on the bed next to her. “Anything I can do to help that along, just let me know.”

“That’s just the problem,” she said, scooting to lean against the headboard. “You do everything to help.”

“I didn’t come along to be a hindrance, Lizzie.” He reached over, closed his hand around her ankle, pulling one bare foot and then the other to straighten her legs. “Although you probably hate me because the room only has one little bed.”

He applied pressure with his thumbs on the balls of her feet, making her toes curl with the wonderfulness of the simple, strong massage.

“And a floor,” she said.

“You’ll do fine on the floor,” he teased.

“Right. You’d never make me sleep on the floor while you’re on the bed.”

“Who said I’d be on the bed?” He grinned. “And I might make you sleep down there, but I’ll give you the comforter.”

“No, you wouldn’t-and that’s just the problem.”

His fingers stilled as he frowned. “Not following, Lizzie. Why exactly is that a problem?”

She wiggled her toes and he got the message, rubbing again. “It’s really hard to hate someone who is so…” Thoughtful. Competent. Protective. Gorgeous. Smart. The list was laughably long, so she went for the obvious. “Good.”

He shook his head. “Just think about Judd and you’ll hate me fast enough.”

“I tried. Then you go and do something like sit on the back of the bike so you can take a bullet for me. How am I supposed to hate that guy?”

He chuckled. “I see your dilemma.”

“Anyway, I thought the job for Paxton was done.” Lord, was she that pathetically attracted to him that she could forgive him already? He worked his way up to her ankles, his fingers melting her feet with each touch. Yes-she was that pathetically attracted to him.

“The job on the ship is done,” he said. “We’re here and the job is to help you track down your sister, and get the information you need and want regarding your great-times-many-grandfather.”

And she had to admit, he was going after that mission with determination and direction. She could never have done this alone. Not this quickly and efficiently.

“And deep down, to the bone, Paxton out of the picture… you really are one of the good guys.”

Something darkened his eyes. Pain? Regret? Longing? “No, I’m really not, honey.” But he looked like he wanted to be. “And let’s be honest; Paxton could never be out of the picture.”

“If he were…” When she let the words trail, he looked up from her feet to catch her gaze, his own suddenly smoky.

“If he were,” he finished for her. “We’d share this bed.”

Somehow, nothing could have been as flat-out sexy as that simple, straightforward statement.

The power of it shot right through her and rattled her nerves. She tried to swallow, but her mouth went dry, her heartbeat steadily increasing with each roll of his thumbs under her foot.

“But he is in the picture,” he said roughly. “I won’t lie to you about that again.”

Taking a slow breath, she held his gaze. How could she say this and save her pride? Could she say this and save her pride? Did she even give a damn about her pride anymore?

“What if we…” The words lodged in her throat and his fingers moved slowly, intently, as though he could coax the words out of her. “What if I were willing to forget about him? To put the whole Paxton thing aside. Temporarily.”

He released her feet and placed his hands flat on either side of her calves. Slowly, deliberately, he got onto all fours, then started moving forward, his eyes locked on hers like she was prey and he was a starving animal.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away. His body was right above hers now, his face dark and set in an expression of control and intent. Breath caught in her chest, she lifted her head to hold his gaze, not certain what to expect, but knowing that whatever it was, she’d let him do it.

“Then…” He lowered his face, kiss close. “You…” One more inch, the heat rolling off him. “Would still be…” He put his mouth over hers. Not a kiss, just a whisper of a touch. “Very wrong… about what you think I am.”

“I don’t care.” She let her lips move against his, putting the words right into his mouth. “Right now, this minute, I don’t care, Con.”

He completed the kiss, sucking in her admission and her tongue. Instantly, she wrapped her arms around his neck, trying to pull him down, wanting all of him on top of all of her.

He resisted, breaking the kiss. “You will care tomorrow, Lizzie. You will. And you have no idea how not good I am.”

She searched his eyes, looking right into the depths of them. “I want to know.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I want to know you .” She put her hands on his face, the whiskers scratching her palms. “I want to climb right inside your head and figure you out.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Would you ever let me? Would you ever let anyone?”

He opened his mouth, clearly ready to say no, but then he stopped.

She seized his hesitation. “Would you, Con? Because if the answer is yes, I want it to be me.” Tears burned behind her lids. “I want to know who and what you are, and why you think it’s so critical to hide it from me.”

“Who I am?” Under her fingers, his jaw clenched. “I am Constantine Xenakis. What I am?” His eyes narrowed. “For the past six years I’ve been a professional thief.”

Pain splashed in her chest, but she didn’t move. She had to know this.

“And why it’s critical to hide it from you? Because you deserve better.”

He rolled off her and stood, leaving her cold and bereft and confused.

A professional thief. It fit perfectly. At least it fit with what he was able to do, but not with what he was doing right now.

And she did deserve better.

“Then what are the Bullet Catchers?” she asked.

He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “It’s exactly what I told you-the best security and investigation firm in the business. I’m trying to join the company.”

“And they hire former thieves?”

“They might. That’s what I want.”

“Why? To clean up your act?”

“So to speak.”

A million questions formed and she went with the first one. “What did you steal?”

“Whatever people like Gerry Dix wanted. Art. Information. Jewels. Money.” He lifted one eyebrow. “Treasures.”

The word punched her chest. “Why? Just for money?”

“Because I could,” he said gruffly. “Because I learned how as a kid, and after my brother Alix died, I left the SEALs, and the first thing I did got screwed up by somebody else. I got accused of stealing, because that’s what I was, so that’s what people thought I would always be.”

“So you thought, what? Can’t fight ’em, then be one?”

He shrugged, his defensive walls up so high Lizzie could practically see them. “More or less.”

“I suspected something,” she admitted. “Not that, exactly, but you know an awful lot about stealing stuff.”

“I know everything about stealing stuff. I’m wanted in four states, and well connected to some of the people you hate most in the world-Judd Paxton and others like him, private collectors rich with money and greed.” He gave her a sharp look. “You wanted to know, Lizzie. And now you do.”