Page 19 of Heist in Paradise

Eager to prove him wrong, I stepped into his space and watched his eyes widen in surprise. I plucked the cigarette straight from his mouth.

“You forgot head cheerleader,” I said sweetly, taking a hard drag. Truthfully, I did smoke occasionally, usually after a delightful dinner with my parents, so I didn’t do something drastic, like set the house on fire. But I hadn’t had a cigarette in a few weeks, and it showed. My throat burned. “So, what are you going to do with me?”

He recovered quickly, looking bemused. “What do you want me to do with you?” The innuendo was thick.

I rolled my eyes. “Knock it off. It’ll never work.”

His answering grin was full of mischief. I should’ve known he’d take it as a challenge. “Never say never.”

“Not in a million years.”

He laughed and looked up at the sky, swiping his hair from his eyes. He went quiet for a moment, thinking.

“I have a proposal for you,” he said, and my brain shorted, smoke clotting in my throat and making me cough. Stupidly, my mind went to a fantasy of him on one knee. Idiot. Not that kind of proposal.

He fished out another cigarette and lit it up.

“What proposal?”

“I want to buy you.”

“Are you—what the fuck?” I choked again and decided the cigarette was too much of a hazard. I’d made my point anyway.

But when I tried to flick it away, his hand snapped out and caught my wrist. I watched in bewilderment as he stuffed the butt, still warm, into his back pocket.

“It’s how it sounds,” he said.

“Why did you just do that?” I waved my hand at his ass. It was a nice ass. Firm, muscular—stop.

He hesitated. “It’s… nothing. Just a habit.”

“Are you worried about DNA?” I knew that couldn’t be the case since I was pretty sure he had already thrown up in the bathroom.

“I don’t want to litter,” he said, but he avoided my eye.

I laughed, because what? “How very eco-conscious of you.”

“Shut up,” he groaned.

“Do you also recycle? Invest in renewable energy?”

His shoulders tightened defensively, and I knew I should stop. He wasn’t someone you wanted to push too far.

He took a deep breath, tension bleeding away bit by bit.

“I’ll be blunt,” he said, sounding calm even as his hand tightened on the railing. “We work for a dangerous man. He sent us here to steal a painting worth a hundred million.”

“Okay,” I said.

He looked at me expectantly. Was I supposed to be impressed? I shrugged. That much money was probably shocking to someone who didn’t grow up like I did.

“We usually receive a portion of the loot. It’s dependent on the big guy’s mood, if he’s feeling generous. Usually it’s around ten percent.”

He watched me for another beat. “Ten percent of a hundred million is ten million. We split the money between us after we launder it. Use what we need when we need it.”

“Wait a second.” My eyes bugged out as it finally sank in. “You are a millionaire?”

He smirked. “Didn’t think we were in the same tax bracket?”