Page 43 of The Protégé

I pressed a button, and as the window slid down a whiff of his cologne slithered into my nose. Warmth churned in my stomach and the muscles in my inner thighs flexed. I’d never responded to any man like this. But then again, I’d never met anyone as mysterious or intense as him.

“Hi,” I said. “Thanks for lending me this car.”

“You’re welcome.” Orion crouched and studied me. “Are you missing anything?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

He waved a fifty-dollar bill in between his fingers. “Is this your tip?”

I gasped and checked my back pocket. The money was gone.I got out of the car. “I guess I dropped it.”

“You didn’t.” He handed it to me.

I furrowed my eyebrows. “Explain please.”

“The guy who bumped into you. He created a distraction while his friend extracted the money from your pocket. They’ve been watching you.”

And so were you.

But I kept that to myself.

“Gosh. I’ve never been robbed before. I guess that’s how professional thieves steal.”

His eyes twinkled as though he knew something I didn’t. He stood beside me, looking relaxed, like when he’d been at my house enjoying my sandwich.

“They’re amateurs.” A smirk slid onto his face. “You were busy and weren’t paying attention.” He turned to look at me, and I almost melted into a pool of goo in my seat. The high sexuality of this man was beyond anything I’d ever experienced. It made me yearn for the intimacy in a relationship.

“And you know that because . . .”

My stomach growled, and I slapped a hand over my stomach.

“Because I stole the money back for you. And I also got this.” He pulled out two wallets from his pocket.

“No way!” I grabbed one wallet, flipped it open, and recognized the guy on the driver’s license. “I can’t believe it.”

“Believe that I got your hard-earned money back?”

“More like I can’t believe I’m employed by athief.”

I didn’t know why, but excitement thrummed through me. Orion had so many sides that fascinated me. There was something wrong with me to find theft interesting.

I considered him. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why steal?” I leaned in and whispered, “You’re filthy rich. You don’t need the money.”

His stomach growled, and an idea sparked. “I’ll treat you to dinner if you let me interview you.”

He arched an eyebrow. “What do you want to know?”

“I’ve always been fascinated by the art heists in history. I want to write an article for Musepaper, but I’ll keep your name out.”

Amusement gleamed in his eyes. “Okay. You pick aplace.”

“One more thing. I should have asked this before I agreed to work with you.” Though the money we’d agreed to was great, I didn’t want the job if I had to commit a crime. “The job you hired me for...does it require committing crimes?”

“No,” he said. “How many jobs do you have?”

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