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Reaching over, he picked up a pink towel, shook his head at the dainty size of it, and dried off. He wrapped it around his waist, holding it at the side since it didn’t quite meet, and opened the bathroom door. Mumbling under his breath, he paused in the hallway. It smelled like…strawberries. Fucking A. Had she lit a candle, too?
As he walked into his bedroom, he called out, “Nice change in the bathroom. I kinda like it.”
No smart-ass remark came back to him. The house remained quiet.
Too quiet.
Son of a bitch, had she actually run away from him? Or had Soltese discovered where she was? Had she been taken against her will? The thought of her in danger sickened him. If Soltese dared to injure one hair on her head, he’d kill the fucker. He strode across the room and ripped his top drawer open.
Grabbing the first things he touched, he stomped into boxers and jeans. As he descended the stairs, he yanked a gray cotton T-shirt over his head and grabbed his spare keys off the hook. His main set was missing, which meant she’d left of her own free will.
And she’d stolen his car.
He threw the door open and froze. Tara stood there, holding a bag of takeout and a bottle of moscato wine. She watched him with amusement, her gaze dipping low over his body. “Going somewhere?”
His speeding heart slowed down to more human speed. She was back. She was safe. She hadn’t left him. “You were supposed to stay here,” he rasped. “Where the hell did you go?”
“I was hungry, and you were in the shower. So I ordered takeout and got some wine for us.”
“You have to be careful. What if Soltese was out there, waiting for a chance to—”
“He wasn’t. And he won’t be.” She shut the door behind her. “Do you think he’s the first tycoon asshat I’ve pissed off? Because he’s not. In fact, he’s a baby compared to some of them.”
He gritted his teeth. Fucking fabulous. That meant he had a numberless amount of angry men out in the world wanting to kill his Tara. And she didn’t care. “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“Well, suck it up, Buttercup.” She brushed past him. “It comes part and parcel with my job.”
He bit back a sarcastic remark at the loose meaning of job in this instance. But he had to know something. “You left, and then came back. You cracked my code.”
She laughed. “It was easy.”
He took the heavy bag from her. “You could have run this whole time, but didn’t?”
“Yep.” She lifted a shoulder. “What of it?”
He stepped closer to her. “Why did you come back?”
“Running would be dirty. Wrong,” she said, not quite meeting his gaze. “It would make me no better than the men I steal from. If I have to go to jail, then I’ll go. But I won’t run from my punishment like them. I won’t be them.”
His chest tightened. She was so damn brave. Too brave for her own good. He almost wished she had run, because then he wouldn’t have to turn her in. He wouldn’t be forced to do something that made him want to hurl just from thinking about it. “There is another choice.”
“Yeah. I know. Helping you.”
She opened and closed cabinets, probably looking for utensils and cups. He strode across the kitchen and grabbed them for her. Without missing a beat, she took down two wineglasses. She walked over to the table and plopped herself down in a chair, giving them both a glass.
“Is helping me so hard?” he asked, tightening his grip on the plates.
“No. It’s not you I don’t want to help. You’re a good guy,” she said. “Even though you’re an asshole sometimes, too.”
He blinked at the off-the-wall comment. “By your definition, you steal from assholes. Does that mean you’re going to take something of mine?”
She cast a glance around the room. “I already have. You don’t know what it is yet.”
“Seriously?”
She lifted a shoulder. “You’ll see eventually.”
What could she have stolen from him? He shook his head. “You didn’t take anything.”
