Dirty Thief Read online

  “Come here.”

  Again, she follows orders, walking slowly. My gaze travels up her legs to her sweet center to her perfect breasts, lifted but barely covered by the half-cups of her bra. Beaded nipples peek over the tops, and my gaze lingers a moment before moving higher.

  Our eyes meet. Hers are dilated and darkened, and when she stops in front of me, her legs are so close to mine, I can feel the heat radiating from them. The heat from my skin radiates out to her. Our longing is thick in the air. Leaning back in the chair, still holding my cock, I want to do so many dirty things to her.

  “Sit on my lap.”

  The corner of her luscious mouth quirks up in a half-smile. Her eyes twinkle, and she reaches for the arms of the chair, sliding her knees on either side of my hips, straddling my legs. She scoots closer, pushing up so that beautiful pussy is almost mouth-level. I reach out and caress it, circling her clit with my thumb and plunging two fingers deep into her slippery-wet core.

  “Yes,” she gasps, bracing herself.

  Her hips move in time with my thumb over her rigid clit. Her eyes close, and she rocks on her building waves of orgasm. I feel her inner muscles contracting around my fingers, and the pressure in my pelvis is almost too much. Wrapping my arm around her waist, I pull her closer to my torso. Her soft body rises and falls on my hand as she rides.

  Sitting straighter, I lift my chin to capture her lips. They’re heavy and full, and she kisses me back, holding my cheeks. Her tongue touches mine, her lips pull mine. Her hands go to my shoulders, and she lets out a whimper. My erection aches.

  She tastes like cherry lip gloss and salt. She’s delicious. Her little noises of pleasure heat my brain, and I massage her clit faster. I want her to come hard, but I want to be right there, to slip inside as she breaks apart.

  “Rowan!” Her fingernails cut into my skin, and her body stiffens.

  The lightning strikes, sending tremors through her pelvis and legs. Her body bows forward, and I quickly replace my fingers with my cock. She drops on me, and I groan loudly. She’s so hot and tight and wet, and I have to grip her skin to keep from coming.

  “Fuck!” My head presses back as she moves. Her body goes faster, up and down, and she’s saying words I can’t understand as her inner muscles pull my dick. My mind is blanking from the pleasure. My arm is loose around her waist, and I slide my fingers up and down the line of her ass in time with her rocking.

  “Yes…” she gasps, going higher and dropping faster.

  Every muscle in my pelvis is painfully tight. I’m holding out, doing my best to prolong this ecstasy, but she’s hot, wet heaven. My ass tightens, and release simmers in my veins.

  I can’t take my eyes off her. Her dark hair swishes all around us, and her breasts bounce right at my mouth. I catch a tight nipple with my lips, sucking it in and giving it a little bite. I’m rewarded with another cry of pleasure.

  My fingers are wet from her pussy, and I find her ass and slip one inside. With a loud cry, she breaks again, falling forward against my chest in shudders. I’m still rocking her, guiding her by that tight hole up and down my cock.

  She arches, and her head drops back. Her mouth is a circle, and a loud moan fills the thick air around us. Her body is shaking, and her insides grip and pull me until with a shout, I come hard, throbbing and deep.

  Pleasure so intense pulses out of me, filling her to overflowing as we fly through the stars on a mind-blanking orgasm. I remove my finger and wrap both arms tight around her as our movements slow. She’s no longer gripping my shoulders. Now her slim arms are loose around my neck. Our bodies are slick with sweat and pressed flush together as we gradually come down.

  Another little clench, another little whimper, another pulse of my cock. It’s so fucking perfect. Every second of this shitty day is far, far behind me, burnt up in the fire of my passion for this beautiful woman. My wife.

  Eventually we’re calm, holding each other in a warm embrace. Our breathing is starting to quiet, and she turns her head to kiss my cheek.

  “We didn’t make it to the ocean,” she says, and I love the lazy smile in her voice.

  It causes me to laugh gently, and I relax my grip on her waist so I can slide my palm up her back, under her silky hair.

  “We can go out to the ocean after dinner.” My voice is low compared to hers.

  She sits straighter, resting her cheek on her hand, her elbow on my shoulder. A dark lock of hair falls over her eye. “I asked Nesbit to serve our dinner here in the suite.”

  For a moment I can only stare at her. Her beauty takes my breath away, especially now, with her messy, just-fucked hair, flushed cheeks, and shimmering eyes. All of Reggie’s sins are forgiven for bringing this amazing creature into my life.

  “I hope she knocks before entering,” I tease.

  Ava laughs, and my smile grows wider. She’s infectious, and I imagine taking her away, following my younger brother’s lead and secluding her all to myself on our own private island. I imagine her barefoot on the sand, the wind twirling in her hair. I imagine her in a bikini, her stomach round, a dark-haired baby playing in the surf. The only thing that would make Ava more beautiful is if she were carrying my child.

  A gentle tapping on the door interrupts my fantasies. “Speak of the devil,” she says with another laugh.

  “Hmm…” I glance down at the cups of her bra pushed below her breasts. Telltale red marks scuff her otherwise creamy skin, and satisfaction warms my stomach. “I wonder if she’ll know what we’ve been doing?”

  “Rowan!” She quickly straightens her bra, and she’s off my lap.

  I don’t rise. I sit with a grin and watch her sexy body moving quickly around the room collecting her black cami and what’s left of that thong. Her thighs are still wrapped in thick black lace, and when she returns, she’s wearing a red silk robe. It has festive, tropical flowers and ends just above her knees.

  “Is that new?” I say, liking the wrapping on my favorite present.

  “Zelda sent it to me.” She scoops up my pants and briefs and hands them to me. “Wait in the bedroom while she sets up the cart.”

  A heavy sigh, and I stand. Ava starts to move away, but I catch her and pull her to my chest again. Her hand goes around my neck, and she slides a finger through the hair at the collar of my open dress shirt.

  “I love you,” I say holding her chin.

  She blinks up at me. “I love you.”

  Satisfaction warms my chest, and I feel like a schoolboy. I release her, and stepping into our bedroom, I muse, “What have you done to me?”

  * * *

  Glasses of red wine are in our hands, and we sit on the small sofa facing each other. Our dinner of lobster and asparagus is gone, and Ava is thoughtful, swirling the dark red liquid in her crystal globe.

  “What’s on your mind?” I slide my palm up and down her calf.

  Her brows quirk, and she takes another sip of wine before answering. “I don’t want to spoil our evening.”

  Lifting my hand, I cup her jaw and trace my thumb over her cheek. “Tell me what’s troubling you.”

  A tiny smile. “It’s nothing I can’t figure out. I might need Freddie’s help, though… if that’s okay?”

  One of my most trusted guards, and the most technologically savvy, Freddie Arnaud has been at my side for years—along with his partner Logan Hunt.

  “And what do you need Freddie to do?”

  She exhales a light sigh. “A few of the children… the refugee children… I want to track down their families—or at least someone who knows them.” Her voice goes quiet, and she looks down. “I hate for them to be alone, and they’re surrounded by such hatred.”

  The familiar anger burns in my stomach. In part, because I know Ava’s past as an orphan, losing her family and being alone with only her sister Zelda to look out for them. On the other hand, I’m angered by the fear sweeping the continent, causing good people to pull away and demand alienation from countries we’ve been frie
ndly and cooperated with for generations.

  “We’re fighting enemies who hide among our friends. Everyone is paranoid.” I take a sip of wine. “Even Reggie is demanding I do something.”

  Worried eyes meet mine, and she places her glass on the end table before moving into my arms on the couch. Our chests press together, and her cheek is on my shoulder. We’re wrapped in a comforting hug. I slide my hands along her back.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, lifting a thick coil of hair off her neck. “Now I’m the one spoiling our evening.”

  “It’s why you were so tense earlier.”

  “How could you possibly have known?” I’m smiling now, thinking of how amazed I was at her intuition about my mood.

  Her head tilts, and she looks up at me. “When you’re frustrated by a problem, your brow lowers.” She lightly touches between my eyebrows with her fingertips. “Your shoulders seem broader.” Her hand moves to my shoulder, down my arm to my hand where she threads our fingers. “Your fists tighten.”

  I can’t help a laugh. “Who knew I had so many tells?”

  “It’s part of how I grew up. Reading body language.”

  My arms surround her again, and I press my lips to her temple. “Of course you can work with Freddie. Tell him I said to give you access to whatever you need.”

  She lets out a contented sigh and kisses my skin. “Thank you. It means more to me than you know.”

  “You mean more to me than you know.”

  Chapter 2

  Ava

  My heart beats too fast. I’m nervous, and I hate not being completely honest with Rowan. Still, I have to do this on my own. It’s a secret I share with three other girls, and I don’t have the right to bring anyone into it without their permission.

  Also, the last time I obliquely mentioned my childhood abuse to my husband, he got so furious, I was afraid he might declare war on America… or at least the state of Florida.

  “Rowan doesn’t need to worry about this,” I whisper to myself, alone in our quiet bedroom at the palace. “I’ll handle it myself, and then it will be over.”

  The wallet is in my hand. The aged leather is cracked at the seam, and the exterior is faded black. Lifting the side, I pause at the photo holder. It contains three aging photographs I’ve looked at so many times, I have them memorized. Still, the pen is in my hand, and I write their information on an index card I’ll take when I meet Freddie. I don’t want to make any mistakes.

  The first is a little girl with huge, haunted blue eyes. A sprinkling of amber freckles dusts the bridge of her nose, and her stringy blonde hair is parted down the middle and styled in two skinny braids on each side of her head. Emily Farther, third grade, is written on the back.

  The second is also blonde, only her hair is tinged with ash. It’s a color people used to call “dishwater blonde.” She has thick shag bangs that stop at her eyebrows, and instead of looking haunted and afraid, she’s smiling as if nothing is wrong. Grace Hawkins, fifth grade.

  Third is a brunette girl with olive skin. No freckles, no smile, she stares at the camera as if she has nothing to smile about. She isn’t sullen, but she isn’t happy. She isn’t optimistic like a child should be. Ramona Lewis, sixth grade.

  The fourth is Ava Wilder, ninth grade.

  My hair is a short bob I’d cut myself. I’d been trying to make myself look unattractive, but like a defiant child, my hair simply curled in thick waves around my ears. The caramel highlights made my sapphire eyes glow, and even though I’d been scared as shit, you’d never know it by this photograph.

  As I’m copying down their information, it dawns on me… We were getting older. He was growing braver. I’m sure I wasn’t the last of his victims, but I have no way of knowing who else is out there. I have to stick to these three.

  Turning the billfold to the side, I check the long pocket. The note is there. It has always been there, waiting. When I’d taken Dwayne Vega’s special wallet, I’d only wanted my picture back. My plan had been to retrieve my property and throw his in the canal like a piece of trash.

  Everything had changed when I saw that piece of paper.

  On the front it looks just like a normal ten- or a twenty-dollar bill. It has the same, scrolling black and white font surrounding a picture of an old man with a high forehead in an oval frame. I now know the man is Salmon P. Chase, and this piece of currency is legit.

  “Fifteen Thousand Dollars in Gold” is printed below the portrait, and when you turn it over, the words “The United States of America, Fifteen Thousand Dollars” are printed in garish, orange-yellow ink.

  Fifteen thousand dollars… backed by gold. I still don’t quite know what to do with it. I’m not sure if I can take it to a bank and turn it in for smaller bills. Not that I’d do that—today this antique note is worth far more than its face value. I’ll have to cross that bridge once I have their current addresses.

  I hold it the same way I’ve done only a handful of times. It looks fake, like Monopoly money. At first, I believed it was fake. I’ve never told Zelda about it. She’s not greedy or obsessed with money. She only ever wanted us to be safe and have food to eat. I’m not greedy or obsessed with money either.

  Yes, I steal, but only small things. It helps me feel calm, and these days I always return whatever I take.

  In those days, when we had been struggling to survive, it was different. I remember the items I stole—onyx cufflinks, a money clip, a Rolex watch… They had balanced everything out.

  Men would want to touch me, brush the back of their hands across my breast, slide their fingers along the curve of my ass… So sorry. I didn’t mean to touch you there. Their lecherous eyes said otherwise.

  Only, as they would “accidentally” feel me up, I would take something from them in return. I would smile, accept their apologies, and walk away. Even.

  It has been a long time since Zelda and I were on the streets hustling to stay alive. I have the most amazing husband who loves me, and who I love. Rowan makes me feel so safe, and the vital difference? I want him touching me. I want his hands on me in every way. I crave his touch. A little smile, and my body heats just thinking about it.

  Those men and their dirty hands are far away in my mind. Now, standing in my opulent bedroom, I fold the wallet closed and push it to the back of my drawer. I don’t need this money. I’m a queen regent. I live in a palace.

  But those girls might need it. It will make the scales even for them. It will give them calm. I only have to find them. Then I’ll divide it evenly between them, and each will get an anonymous payment in the mail. I’ll include a note explaining how I know it will never be enough, but it’s a token for damage done.

  I push the door closed and smooth my hands down my Chanel dress. Calm.

  * * *

  Freddie waits for me in the large study across from the war room. It’s funny they actually call it that, even though Monagasco hasn’t been to war in hundreds of years. The study smells like a library and it looks just like every other room in the palace—dark wood, tall windows, heavy velvet curtains.

  A massive wooden table holds a laptop and a green banker’s lamp. Freddie leans against it holding his phone. His brow is lined, and the reflection from his screen is on his glasses.

  “Are you ready for me?” I pause in the doorway, clutching a manila file folder containing the index card.

  He lowers the phone and stands straight. “Your majesty.” He does a little bow. “You’re right on time.”

  I smile and wrinkle my nose. “We don’t really have to be so formal, you know.”

  Freddie was part of the team that rescued Zelda from kidnappers. For a little while he was my own personal guard. It seems silly for him to be so stiff.

  “Something about being in the palace, I guess,” he says, pushing the glasses farther up his nose.

  I lean in and lower my voice. “The queen mother is always lurking around.”

  That makes him smile, and that cute dimple pierces his che
ek. Freddie is a handsome guy, if a bit shy and nerdy. He steps back and slides a hand in the pocket of his dark pants.

  “The king… Rowan said to give you full access to the computer systems.” I watch him circle the large table to where the laptop waits. Two chairs are positioned in front of it. “I guess I just need to know what you’re looking for.”

  Joining him on the other side of the desk, I sit in the chair beside him and open the folder. “Taimaa Kurdi is six.” I take out a photograph of a girl with shiny black hair and huge brown eyes. “She talks about olives and trees. I think her parents are or must have been farmers?”

  Freddie’s dark brow clutches, and he wakes the computer. “Is that all you have?”

  “She came to us from Greece.”

  He does a short nod, and his fingers move over the keyboard. I watch as a database appears on the screen. “Which city in Greece?”

  “The volunteers think Thessaloniki.”

  He continues typing, and I watch as the long list grows smaller. His eyes are trained on the screen, but I’m watching his fingers, quickly looking back and forth.

  “What are you doing?” I say softly, not wanting to interrupt him but needing to know the steps involved.

  “The U.N. Population Fund is maintaining a database of the addresses associated with the areas of destruction. They’re doing a pretty remarkable job.” He glances at me with the admiration of a true tech geek. “I can cross reference it with the refugees registered to each camp, and from there I can see if we find a match in any of the other camps.”

  “You’re searching by name?”

  “Names can lead to addresses, to telephone records. Those are the jackpot. From there you can create an entire network of contacts.”

  My eyes widen. “That’s incredible.”

  He does a little laugh. “Now who’s turning into a geek?”

  “It’s hard not to be impressed by this.” I glance down at the next photograph. Suad Hadid is only four. She has the same dark hair but with brilliant green eyes.