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Then my microwave gives a loud ping, and I choke back a panicked laugh. Some fucking burglar.
This is the weirdest conversation of my life. But it only gets stranger as she lets out a huff, collapsing back on the bed and resting her head on my thigh. I stare at her for what feels like an eternity, then smooth a cautious palm over her hair. It feels like warm silk. My burglar hums. She squirms closer, her hand still in mine.
“Is that how it works, Tabitha? Finders keepers?” Strong arms snake around my waist, and I hold on to them for balance. “It is in my world.” Spencer grunts. His arms tighten. “Well, I found you.” Oh, god. I’m not… I’m not shiny or precious. I’m not someone people want to collect, not really. Not once they get to know me. Because I’m a charming kleptomaniac who ate his treasured satay noodles, and he doesn’t even know about that betrayal yet. He will, though. He won’t hug me again after that.
In and out. Grab the sapphire and go. Yeah, right. This did not go according to plan.
Maybe if I bought more jewels and hid them around my apartment, she’d visit me again. Fuck. I need therapy.
It’s been so long since anyone touched me casually; since I was treated as an organic being and not just an email address. Tabitha’s hand in mine was a lifeline I didn’t realize I needed.
Mental note: cook large portions for Tabitha. I guess burgling is a calorie burner.
She’s very territorial for a thief.
I take a bite of her toast. Her eyes narrow. “If that was the extra buttery bit—” “It was.”
The sapphire. It hits me like a slap: the sapphire is the exact shade of Tabitha’s eyes.
Fuck. It is funny. And she’s so irreverent, so sly, that I can’t get enough of her. I just want to ply her with take out food for weeks on end and listen to every story she has. How long can I drag this deal out? How long can I keep her?
Next time? Hope and frustration war inside me as I trail her into the living room. This woman will drive me insane.
My favorite thing about Spencer Arnoult, though, is that he can’t keep his freaking hands off me. It’s like a nervous tic, or something. I’m his girl-sized safety blanket. Every second, he’s either rubbing his thumb on my ankle or massaging my feet; he’s stroking a palm up and down my shin or wrapping an arm around my shoulders.
“Tabby,” Spencer groans, pulling away to suck kisses down my throat. “Tabby the cat burglar. Shit. I just got that.” “Stop talking.” “You are very cat-like.”
I’m not good at impulse control.
I like picking my own meals, yes, but there is truly nothing more delicious than stolen food. A hot, salty fry swiped from someone else’s plate? Paradise.
“Order confirmed. Now don’t go thinking I’ll make it easy on you.” His mouth quirks, and he looks kind of evil as he drums his fingers on the counter. “I’m gonna fight you for that food.” I poke my tongue out, and when he turns away, I collapse forward on the island. Oh, god. This is it. I’m in love.
I’ve left my burglar needy for a long, long time today. I’ve been teasing her non-stop for hours, working her into a trembling, gasping mess and then leaving her unfulfilled, and I think if I do it one more time, Tabitha might actually kill me.
But if I give her everything she wants right now, what reason does she have left to stay? I might as well hand her the sapphire, pat her on the head, and unlock the door. And I can’t face that reality. Can’t handle the thought of her gone.
She’s such a brat.
Here are the things I’ve stolen from Spencer Arnoult since breaking into his penthouse: his chicken satay noodles. A Pac-Man t-shirt. A pair of platinum cuff links. My dinner. Two sets of fancy wireless headphones. Engraved chopsticks. A fountain pen. A first edition Asimov hardback. Socks. A small ornate vase. And here’s what he’s stolen from me: my freaking heart. So. He wins.
Tabitha, I know you’ve seen everything I’m buying. It’s all for you. Come and get it—finders keepers.”
I can’t believe you’re in love, Tabby Cat. This is so weird.”
Time to wait for my girl.
“You can have them sent somewhere else if you prefer.” “No.” A small hand finds mine. Links our fingers together. “No, I want to come home.”
“What happened to the shy nerd?” “You left him.” I’m guttural. Ruined. “This is what’s left, so tell me, Tabby. Do you still want me?” “Yes.”
Spencer Arnoult is kind of unhinged. The sweet tease of last week is long gone, and in his place is a new man. His face is harsh, his teeth bared, and his grip on my neck is rough. I love it.
“You’re such a little brat.”
“Don’t leave me again, Tabitha. You hear me? Swear it.” A rough hand finds my breast through my black top, kneading and squeezing. “I’ll buy whatever jewels you want. Hide them behind the best security. Just don’t fucking go.”
