His mouth is hot and anguished against mine. He kisses me hard, desperately, like the passion between our wet bodies can overcome my doubts, and for a moment, it feels like maybe it could. As our slick bodies press against each other and his hands tug at my hair, I try to find my way back to St. Clair, to believe the man I knew is still there underneath all the lies. His mouth devours me, brands me, and I sink into his fevered embrace.

I want him. Even after everything, my body aches for his touch. The slide of his muscular body against mine…the slow heat of his hands peeling my panties away…

He dips his head, kissing a trail down my collarbone before closing his mouth over the hard peak of my nipple. I moan, clutching him to keep my legs from giving way. I can feel him, hard against my thigh, and I ache to feel him thrusting deep inside me, the way he did last night, back when everything was perfect, and clean, and simple.

St. Clair makes a growling sound, then lifts me, wrapping my legs around his waist and pressing me back against the tile wall. His hand slides down between us, and I gasp as he curls two fingers up inside me, stroking into my slick, aching pussy. I moan, lost in the sensation of the water beating on our naked skin; his mouth, so hot and hungry at my breasts, and those fingers driving me crazy, thrusting harder, faster, exactly where I want them—

Damnit, Grace. He lied to you!

The daze breaks. I pull away from him, struggling down to my feet again. “I can’t do this,” I say backing away – out of reach of his hands, and lips, and all those things that cloud my judgment.

“Grace—” St. Clair looks broken. Like he really does care.

But how can I trust him anymore?

I hurry to the bedroom and blindly pull on my clothes, stuffing things in my bag before I hurry downstairs and out the front door.

I have to get away.

CHAPTER 3

The next two days are torture. I try to paint and work, to ignore the massive choice I have ahead of me, but nothing can drown out the voices of indecision in my mind. St. Clair keeps calling me, texting, sending flowers to the lovely little flat that I’ve been living in; begging to talk, to see me, anything I want. But I can’t face him, not yet.

I have no idea what I’m going to do.

St. Clair hasn’t said a thing about how much he’s done for me, not once mentioned anything that would suggest he thinks I owe him, but my dirty cocktail of emotions includes guilt for that as well. How could I turn him in after the opportunities he’s provided me? But then again, I can’t help wondering if that was part of the plan. Did he hire me, bring me to London, gift me that art studio, all just to keep me distracted and in the dark?

I force myself to go into the office on Monday, hoping to steer clear of St. Clair for another day, but of course, he’s the first one I see. He hovers in the doorway of my office, looking too good to be true in a perfectly-tailored navy suit, his skin tanned against the white shirt open at his collar.

“Good morning,” he says. “I wasn’t sure if I’d see you today.”

My heart skips a beat just seeing him again, but I force myself to play it cool. “I still have a job to do. Don’t I?”

“Of course,” he says, frowning. “Grace, you know I hired you because of your talent. I don’t want you to think you owe me anything because of this job.”

It’s like he’s reading my mind.

St. Clair moves closer. “If you’re not comfortable…I don’t want you to go, but if you want to leave, I won’t stop you. I can book you a ticket home,” he says softly. “I’ll write you references, find you another job—”

“No,” I stop him quickly. “I mean, I don’t know just yet.”

He nods, but there’s a hopeful glimmer in his eyes. “So you haven’t gone to Lennox’s side yet?” St. Clair gives a nervous laugh. “I wasn’t sure if I’d arrive this morning to find this place crawling with feds.”

“I told you, I need time,” I say slowly, still feeling so torn. “But I wouldn’t do that to you. Whatever I choose, I’ll tell you first. So you can…make arrangements.”

St. Clair looks about as surprised as I feel. “You don’t have to do that.” He pauses, quizzical. “Why would you give me that chance?”

I let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know,” I admit quietly. “I guess, after everything we’ve been through together…”

I trail off. I can’t explain it, how I still feel this connection to him. I want to believe our relationship hasn’t been a lie – I just don’t know whether that makes me a fool all over again.

St. Clair holds my gaze for a long moment. “Thank you,” he finally says. “I know you’re hurting, that you feel betrayed. Just tell me what you want from me, and I’ll do it. Whatever it takes to make it up to you. I promise, Grace.”

His expression is so sincere. I want to believe him. To forget this ugly revelation ever happened.

“I should get back to work,” I say abruptly, dragging my eyes away.

“Doesn’t your boss ever give you a day off?” he jokes, but it doesn’t have his usual zest behind it.

I shrug. “My boss does a lot of things I don’t agree with.”

St. Clair sucks in a breath, like I just hit him. “I guess I deserve that.”

He pauses a moment longer, and it takes everything I have to keep focused on my computer screen, to pretend I don’t want to rush into his arms. After a moment he nods, and retreats. “Let me know when you’re ready to talk.”

“It might be a while.”

Try a hundred years. I could spend a lifetime puzzling over the way I feel about him. I watch St. Clair’s back as he walks away, and feel my confusion grow stronger than ever. I know he explained it to me – that he’s righting wrongs with his thefts, more like a Robin Hood than a criminal – but he’s still stealing priceless works of art, still breaking the law for the fun of it. Still lying to me and everyone else. How can I ever trust him again?

Dammit. It always looks so cool on TV and in the movies: the charming rogue thief, breaking into galleries and making off with multi-million dollar artifacts. But it’s different when that thief turns out to be the man you trusted, and your whole future is on the line.

If I forgive him, if I go along with it, what does that mean? Will I spend the rest of my life panicked and on the run, waiting for the police to break down our door? St. Clair is good at what he does, there’s no question of that – he’s gone this long without leaving any evidence, and up until now he’s been getting away with it. But now Lennox has him in his sights, and there’s no way in hell that man is giving up.

He’ll hunt St. Clair, right to the end.

I shiver. I don’t want to see St. Clair go down for these crimes. Yes, they’re thefts, but he’s been doing them for the right reason. For justice.

But it’s still stealing. Still illegal.

God, I’ve never had such a hard time figuring out right from wrong. And my stupid heart is just making things even more difficult.

I need a distraction from this dilemma, so I meet Paige for drinks at a swanky rooftop bar that looks out over the Tower Bridge. It’s gorgeous, but my mood is about as bright as a black hole. It only takes a few minutes for Paige to notice.

“What’s wrong?” she says, looking concerned.

“I’m sorry I’m being so lame tonight,” I say, trying to will myself to be better company.

“Did Mr. Perfect finally crack his shiny shell and reveal that he has flaws like the rest of us?” she teases.

I look down at my cocktail. “Something like that.”

Her demeanor immediately shifts. “Aw, I’m sorry, love. What happened?”

I shake my head and sip my fruity booze. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Except I do. I’m longing to spill all the details, but I can’t. I pause, and try to think of a way to ask Paige’s advice without telling her everything. “What do you do if you find out someone isn’t who you thought they were? But you still feel the same? Or think you do…”