Page 113 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

I’m still scared she’ll come to her senses and realize that I’m all liability, no reward. But I owe it to her to tell her everything and let her decide.

I wrap my arms around her and then loosen them—so she can pull away if she wants to.

“I used to be a thief, Anabelle.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

ANABELLE

Life-shaking revelations: 1

I’d expected something like this. I’d decided it was either theft or drugs. I always assume people are watching me for a reaction I don’t know how to give, but this time IknowRyan’s waiting for me to react. And he obviously thinks I’m going to react poorly or pull away from him, so I keep rubbing his back softly, my face pressed to his neck.

His clothes smell stale, but he still smells like Ryan.

When I don’t try to leave, he continues, “I…I was a dumb kid, and I wanted to get my brother and me out of our foster home, so I started pickpocketing people when I was thirteen. I wanted to get enough cash for us to find our own place. It was stupid. But I tried stealing from the wrong guy, and after he roughed me up, he offered to teach me how to properly rob people. He hired Jake and me. I was dumb in school, and I’d never been good at much of anything besides getting into trouble, so it felt good to have someone take an interest. It took me a long time to realize that it wasn’t because he liked us and wanted to help us. It was because—”

“Because you were twins,” I say, my heart hurting for him and his brother. I remember what it was to be thirteen and misunderstood. My middle school was so much bigger than my elementary school, full of people I didn’t know, and so loud and smelly and overwhelming that I used to fake stomachaches in the hopes my parents wouldn’t make me go in. They always did.

“He was using you,” I add, hating this man I’ve never met.

“He was,” Ryan agrees, speaking the words into my hair. “I was an idiot.”

“Stop calling yourself that.” I pull back enough to look at him, because he needs to know how serious I am about this. How unwilling I am to listen to anyone call him names, even if it’s himself. “You’re not an idiot. You’re not dumb. You’re not any of those things.”

“You may change your mind about that.”

“I won’t,” I insist, wrapping my hands more tightly around him and burrowing my face into his neck. I can feel his pulse beating fast, and I press a kiss to the pulse point.

“I was good at picking locks,” he says after a moment. “It’s the only real talent I’ve ever had.”

“That’s not true,” I insist, speaking into his neck. “You’re a wonderful cook and a better friend. And you’re very good at…pleasuring me.”

“Anabelle,” he says, his voice low and husky. “God…” I can feel his body responding to the feeling of me wrapped around him. “I…”

I want him. I want him so badly, but I sense he’ll never fully be mine if he doesn’t tell me his story. “I didn’t mean to get us off track. Tell me more.”

He pauses a beat, composing himself, then says, “I wanted to believe it was okay, what we were doing for him, because we were only taking things from rich people. They would hardly miss them, and it was steady work, even if he only paid us afraction of what he paid himself. And he was…” His pulse is racing along faster, and I know whatever he’s going to say next will hurt him. I rub his back and kiss him once, twice, five times, and finally he breathes out and says, “I fooled myself into thinking he was…you know…my dad. That he cared about me and was proud of me. I told myself it was no different than helping out with a family business.”

I kiss his brow and run my hands through his hair, needing the softness to anchor me as much as I want to give him comfort. I’ve spent the last month wondering what his story is and dreading it, but now that he’s finally telling me, my greatest concern is making him feel loved. What he’s sharing isn’t any worse than what my anxious whirlwind of an imagination has already conjured.

“It was his watch you got rid of,” I realize, having pieced together the clues. “Your boss’s.”

He nods against me.

“And what happened with your brother?”

He’s quiet for so long that I wonder if he’s talked himself out. I do that all the time and wouldn’t hold it against him. But finally he says, “Last year, Roark asked my brother to steal an antique watch from someone. Jake got cold feet. He liked the guy who owned it too much, and it had sentimental value for the man. But we didn’t have the kind of job you could just walk away from. So I took the watch for Jake, and my brother couldn’t forgive me for it. He cut me off and quit the business.”

I shift in his lap, earning a groan from him before he flexes his hand against my shirt and then slips it under. His palm presses to my skin.

“I’d treasured that dumb watch my boss had given me,” he continues. “It had seemed like proof that he gave a shit, you know? But he obviously didn’t. So I tried to give it back to Roark out of spite, but he told me he didn’t want it. That he’d neverliked it, and if I didn’t want it either, I could throw it away. So I did.”

I can tell the memory’s a bitter one, so I continue my ministrations, rubbing his back, pressing kisses to him.

He sighs and says, “By then, I wanted to quit too. I finally saw our boss for the man he really was. But he said he’d only leave Jake alone if I did exactly as he ordered.”

He’s shaking slightly, his breath quickening, and I know what he’s about to say. I’ve considered this too.

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