Page 38 of Thief

He thought about logistical needs. It was mainly the motorbike that pulled the plan together, but he also had his Swiss army knife tucked deep in his jeans pocket and plenty of cash in his wallet. So for now, he was resigned to playing the waiting game—he glanced at his watch—for another thirty-six hours.

* * * *

Kat was having a lovely start to her day. She’d had a long lie in, the first since John had arrived, another play with the vibrator and a long soak in the bath without being disturbed. She’d carefully blow dried her hair so it hung perfectly straight down her back and covered herself in a luxury jasmine skin softening lotion. She had no plans to go out or get all sweaty in the gym, so she pulled on her softest pale blue jeans and a thin light grey cashmere sweater.

She wondered idly if she could get to her own remote control. She hadn’t caught any of her soaps all week. John had totally commandeered the television since he’d hunkered down in her living room. It was a shame he couldn’t go out for an hour and leave her alone with Anal Virgin Takes It All.

She wandered out of her bedroom into the kitchen and popped a single slice of bread into the toaster. She reached for the full pot of hot coffee John had left sitting in the coffee maker.

As she was pouring, John’s deep voice broke into the quiet of the kitchen. “So, why are you so tired?” he asked from a few feet behind her.

“Bloody hell,” she said, spinning round and sloshing black coffee onto the kitchen work surface. “What are you sneaking up on me again for? I told you not to do that.”

“I wasn’t,” John said as though affronted. “I just walked in here normally.”

Kat frowned. “No, you didn’t. You sneaked…and I’m not tired.” She reached for the cloth and dabbed at the spilt drips.

“You said you were.”

“Well, I’m not now.” Kat lifted her cup to her lips. At the same time, the toast flew up, and she jumped again, sloshing more hot coffee onto her hand. “God, what is it with me today?” she said, shoving her hand under the tap.

* * * *

John studied her. He knew he would never really understand women, but Kat was a whole new breed. Tired one minute, not the next. So cool and calm about sleeping with strangers for their cars but then jumping out of her bones when toast pops up. And the way one minute she could be scowling at him and the next smiling really threw him. Why couldn’t she be consistent with her moods like he was?

“So there’s nothing doing today?” he clarified.

“Nope.” She flicked off the water and dried her hand. “Tomorrow, I’ll get the details of the hit from Carlos through the post.”

“Snail mail?”

“What can I say, he’s old school.”

John nodded. He got that. “But until then we’ve nothing planned.”

“No.” She turned and spread a thick layer of butter on her toast.

John couldn’t help studying her from behind. Her hair looked super soft and shiny today, like a black cloak floating over her slim shoulders. Her pale grey sweater nipped in neatly at her waist, stopping just short of the waistband of her blue jeans, giving a hint of the soft flesh he knew lay beneath. Her jeans weren’t as tight as some of the other things she’d worn that week, but still, they fitted her perfectly, touching the roundness of her bottom and the outline of her thighs just right. It was a shame she was such a lying, self-obsessed, delusional thief, he thought with an inward sigh. Otherwise, she could have been his perfect woman.

“Anythingyouwant to do today?” Kat asked as she leant against the counter and crunched her toast.

After his leisurely gaze down her body a few moments ago, several hot and sweaty suggestions came to mind. That would certainly help pass the time. Make the most of an otherwise wasted day. But instead of voicing those thoughts, he found himself once again shoving down his libido and saying, “Yeah, I’ll give you another present. I’ll teach you to cook.”

Kat choked on her toast. “You’ll do what?”

“Teach you to cook, because if all goes to plan tomorrow night, I’ll be out of here and you’ll be back to your God-awful microwave meals by Saturday.” He pulled open the cupboard he’d filled after their trip to the supermarket.

“I like my microwave meals.”

“Oh, come on. No one likes the rubbish you eat. Here, look.” He pulled down a box of Arborio rice. “I’ll show you how to make a risotto, real easy…kid’s stuff.”

“You’re not Jamie-bloody-Oliver, you know?”

John frowned. “Look, I’m offering to show you. It’s obvious you haven’t a clue in the kitchen, and…well…I do. Take it or leave it, but I’m happy to teach you.”

Kat dropped the crust of her toast in the bin and sighed, “Oh, alright then, but only a risotto, nothing else.” She shoved her sleeves to her elbows. “Show me where to start.”

John let a smile stretch across his face as he snapped the fridge door open. He pulled out chicken breasts, mushrooms, an onion and a block of parmesan cheese, dropped them onto the counter then stuck his hand back in for white wine.

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