Page 26 of The One-Night Heist

Rowen waved a hand dismissively. “Oh please. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Moneybags, but I don’t really have manners. So you don’t need to worry about that kind of shit around me.”

I pressed my lips together, annoyed that I couldn’t—shouldn’t—insist.

The truth was, I did want to worry about it, not just because politeness was how I’d been raised, but because I wanted to be nice to him. I wanted to feed him, spoil him, then figure out where he lived so I could determine if it was adequate. And I was painfully aware that all of the above was not only wildly inappropriate but completely unnecessary.

Because he doesn’t want any of it.

But I can’t help myself…

I took a single step closer, desperate to make contact again. “This is who I am, Rowen.”

He squinted at me. “Mmm… I don’t think it is.” When I glared, he threw his head back and laughed, seemingly uncaring how it echoed off the marble. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve seen your Luxford persona. The way you made polite small talk with the guests at your party and how you got all snooty with Westcott at The Andervelt….”

Snooty?!

“But I’ve also seen you flustered when I checked for a wire.” He closed the distance between us and yanked me closer by the lapels, recreating the moment in question. “And I know you’ll do anything to sell those paintings for the highest possible amount.”

“Anything,” I whispered with my mouth centimeters from his, feeling as if I were making a deal with the snake from the Garden of Eden.

Knowledge gained in exchange for a fall from grace.

There was no danger of eternal judgment—especially now that my mother was gone from this earth—but even if there had been, I would’ve still wanted a bite.

“Let’s go eat,” he continued, sliding his hands up and over my shoulders until his thumbs brushed the skin above my shirt collar, making me shiver. “And we’ll make polite small talk over fancy apps at your special reserved table. Later on, once we’re behind closed doors in a hotel room, we can discuss all the things we don’t want anyone else to know about us. All our dirty secrets…”

“Yes…” I murmured, hypnotized by his calm tone, the way he was caressing my neck, the thought of having secrets that only belonged to me and him. “I want all of that.”

“Of course you do.” He smiled in a way that didn’t quite reach his eyes before patting me on the chest and gesturing in the direction we’d been headed. “Okay, Luxford, lead the way. I’m ready to be fed.”

Nine

Giancarlo

My table at the Grille Room was ready when we arrived—as expected—tucked into a private alcove on the second level, overlooking the main dining room below.

“Is this a kink of yours, Giano—to lord over peasants from various mezzanines?”

I chuckled at Rowen’s teasing, instinctively knowing it was good-natured compared to how he spoke to Agent Markel.

Fuck, it’s hot when he bosses people around.

I wonder how to get him to boss me around…

“It’s more that I like my privacy and personal space,” I confirmed, even as I wished we didn’t have a table between us. “I’ve never been particularly social.”

Rowen observed me thoughtfully, waiting until the maître d’ walked away to rest his elbows on the table and lean forward. “You seemed like you were in your element while schmoozing at your party. Again, you had me fooled.”

I sighed. Just as before, he wasn’t accusing me of anything, simply trying to figure me out—exactly as I wanted to do with him.

And I will gladly tell him anything.

Almost anything…

“While I was given alone time in my childhood, my mother made it clear there were expectations,” I carefully began. “Especially with how I presented myself in public. The Luxford name holds a certain amount of… importance in old money circles, and whether or not it held the same importance to me was inconsequential. On behalf of my family, I have a reputation to uphold.”

Rowen’s dazzling eyes lit up with interest, no doubt picking up on my sour tone and recognizing he was receiving insight I rarely gave to others.

I can only hope to earn the same confidence from him.