Page 82 of Stolen for Keeps
I checked the hallway. It was quiet. Baby Dylan had settled, his parents nowhere in sight. The whole house felt wrapped in its own hush.
“Hey, come on out. The coast is clear,” I whispered.
I took her hand and led her to my room.
She unwrapped the towel from around her head and passed it to me. She was fully dressed now, her damp hair clinging to her back. She sat without a word.
“Let me,” I offered, stepping behind her.
She tilted her head, then gave it a shake, sending her hair spilling over her shoulders. That color of midnightespresso never failed to seduce me. When she glanced up at me from beneath her lashes, she knew exactly what she was doing.
I started drying it. It was freshly washed, thick and fragrant, the kind of hair you could get lost in. God, it was lush. It slipped through my fingers like something I wasn’t supposed to touch.
I could’ve stood there all night, just tending to her. Who needed a bed when touching her felt like this?
Before long, I heard Elia and Claire shifting in their room at the end of the hall. The house was old, and sound carried too easily.
I brushed my hand over her back. “Sorry. Next time, we’ll be in our own place. With a bed.”
She traced a lazy path down my chest, her smile full of promise. “All right. And when that time comes, I’ll do a lot worse to you, Noah Lucas.”
A groan coiled low, my stomach tightening with the threat of it.
But then came the louder movement next door—Elia and Claire, no doubt, wrangling little Dylan.
Just like that, all hope of anything wicked vanished like smoke.
I patted the mattress. If we couldn’t tangle bodies tonight, we could still tangle hearts. And sometimes, that was the riskier kind of naked.
“Tell me everything, Maya.” I reached over, brushing my thumb lightly over her knuckles. “Who’s the little girl?”
“Cleo.”
Just one name. I didn’t know its significance yet, but the way her voice wavered was kind and caring.
“She’s six and battling with a failing liver. Her parents couldn’t afford the transplant that could save her.” Her voicewas tight now. With anger and a helplessness I knew she hated. “And I could.”
“I knew you had a good reason,” I said, staring at her as the truth hit square in my chest. “That’s why I needed to hear it from you. If it had been something ugly, I would’ve let you go.”
She continued, “The first time was personal. As you know, my family lost everything because of my uncle, his wife, and Annamaria. I wanted to take back what they stole.” She laughed a bitter laugh.
“Then you risked everything again.”
“Yeah. And I didn’t think twice,” she replied. “My cellmate in prison…Katy. She told me about her sick niece. And I knew, I knew then, exactly what I’d do.”
Thou shalt not steal, the commandments said. But nothing was ever that simple. Was she wrong? I didn’t think so. She was brave, and I was proud of her. That much I knew. She had put everything on the line for a little girl she didn’t even know.
She reached into her bag and pulled out the necklace. It was beautiful, intricate, and unmistakably antique. But a few stones were missing, leaving visible gaps in the setting.
“I took them out, sold them, and then donated the money anonymously to her.”
I reached for her, but she pulled away, shaking her head. “Don’t…don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m some hero.”
Whatever lines she’d crossed, whatever rules she’d broken, none of it touched the way I felt about her now. I pressed my lips to the top of her head, once, then again, sealing something sacred between us. She wasn’t a thief to me. She was the woman who’d risked everything for love. A hero, in my book. In my world. In my heart.
