Page 37 of The Thief

I lean in and kiss him.

Antonio freezes, and for an instant, I wonder if I’ve miscalculated. Then a wicked light flashes in his eyes, and hemoves.With a growl, he pushes me against the stucco wall, and his tongue slides inside my mouth, hot and insistent. His fingers stroke my neck, tugging at my necklace, and I gasp softly as long-ago memories flood through me. Ten years ago, his thumb brushed against my neck like this. When I hissed with pain, he growled, hot and furious, and asked who hurt me, promising they wouldn’t go unpunished.

The remembered memories only serve to inflame my lust. I wrap my arms around Antonio’s neck and pull him closer. He fists my hair and sucks my lower lip between his teeth. Desire punches me in the gut, and my brain only has room for one thought.

More.I want more.

He wedges a knee between my thighs, and I part them as best as I can. Antonio makes a noise of impatience and yanks my skirt up to my waist before lifting my leg and wrapping it around his hip.

Oh wow.

His hips press into mine, and I can feel his erection against my lower stomach. My heart hammers in my chest. The feel of him, hot and hard and thick. . . It transforms me into a creature made of lust and want and need. I’m wound so tight I’m going to explode.

He unbuttons my shirt and spreads it open. “So beautiful.” His voice is reverent, but his eyes are hot, possessive, and carnal.

“It’s an ugly bra,” I breathe.

“I wasn’t talking about the bra.”

I squirm on his knee as he palms my aching breasts, squeezing them hard. He pulls the bra cups down and rolls my nipples between his fingers, making me arch in response.

“Please. . .” My nipples are tight, swollen, and aching. I need his mouth on them. I need. . .

He bends his dark head. His tongue circles my engorged nub, and I squirm again, desperate and impatient for more. He sucks them into his mouth, one after the other, and I whimper out loud. I felt the chemistry between us ten years ago and again on Saturday when he caught me stealing his painting and forced me to get into his boat.

But the reality . . . The reality is better than I imagined, better than I could have possibly hoped for. He takes a tender nipple between his teeth while his fingers pinch the other harder than before. Delicious pain winds down my body like a string, focusing on the point between my legs. My clit throbs, and I gasp out loud.

That sound breaks the spell.

What am I doing?It’s the middle of a workday. By now, everyone in the museum would have learned that I gave Antonio Moretti a private tour of the galleries. I left to have lunch with him, and I’m going to be late getting back. If I don’t get back at all, I’ll be the subject of intense gossip and judgment, and not just in Venice.

The art world is very small, and nobody will take me seriously again. I’ll be the woman who slept with the most notorious man in Venice. My skills and knowledge, everything I bring to the job, will pale before my notoriety.

I need to get out of here before I do something I’ll regret.

I squirm away from his grip. “I have to go.”

He lets me go immediately, his face expressionless. “I got carried away. My apologies.”

“You weren’t the only one,” I reply, smoothing down my skirt and finger-combing my hair into some semblance of order. “I was right there with you. But it’s the middle of a workday, and I need to get back.”

“If you insist.” He crooks two fingers at me, just like he did in my dream, and I move toward him before I realize what I’m doing. He buttons up my top, his touch making me shiver again. “After all, who am I to keep you from the Palazzo Ducale?”

“Finally realizing your importance in the scheme of things, I see.”

He laughs softly. “The antique market on Sunday,” he says. “I’ll pick you up at nine?”

I can’t afford new furniture, but maybe Antonio could come with me to my parents’ storage unit, the one I haven’t been able to open. If he’s there with me, if I’m trading barbs with him about the Titian and everything else, then maybe I’ll be able to face the daunting task of sorting through their possessions to find the furniture I need.

I open my mouth to ask Antonio, and alarm bells started to ring. What the hell am I doing? I’m letting myself get sucked in; I’m letting myself lean on him.

I leaned on my parents, and they died.

Never again,I vowed.

And I’m on the verge of breaking that promise.

“No,” I say harshly. All of a sudden, my heart is hammering with fear, and I’m sweaty and nauseous. “I’m not going to the antique market with you. Don’t call me, and don’t drop by the museum unannounced and ask me to show you around.” I look around wildly. “I have to go.”

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