I moan in return as he plunges steadily back and forth, a fresh wave of heat pulsing between my legs with his every expert move.

God, yes.

I clench around him, arching my back to take him in even deeper, and even as I moan at the ache he still feels so good pounding into me that I think I’ll lose my mind. We find our rhythm, the ecstasy building stronger, and I lose myself in him, giving myself up completely.

All my doubts are wiped away. Nothing else matters but the two of us, right here.

And then his strokes turn faster. Harder. Deeper.

“So good,” I moan. He dips his face to nip at my breast with his teeth, sending a shock straight through my entire body.

“Grace,” he groans, rubbing his thumb against my slick clit as he thrusts. It’s too much.

“Charles,” I cry out, throwing my head back as my climax overtakes me, ripping through me with a fierce intensity. He echoes my moan, and I feel his body explode before he relaxes, spent, into my arms.

I hold him until I fall asleep.

When I wake, it’s dark outside. My body is still humming with pleasure, that bone-deep satisfaction. I smile, reaching for St. Clair to snuggle close again.

But there’s nobody there. The bed is empty.

CHAPTER 14

Where did he go?

I’m disoriented for a minute, trying to get my bearings in the dark. Then I hear St. Clair moving around the bedroom. In the dim light, I can just make out his silhouette in the shadows. He’s opening drawers, getting dressed, but really quietly—like he doesn’t want to wake me.

“Yes, everything is set. No problems,” he whispers into his phone. “Be there in twenty.”

I shut my eyes fast, laying absolutely still as I hear him approach the bed. I feel the soft brush of a kiss against my forehead, and then the sound of the door clicking shut behind him.

Where the hell is he going?

I quickly scramble out of bed. My weekend bag from our visit to his parents is still here, so I pull on a T-shirt and jeans, then grab his coat and pull it over my top. I tiptoe down the stairs just as the front door shuts, then wait ten seconds before peering out.

He’s walking down the block, towards the busier main road.

I scurry after him, keeping to the shadows. I know I’m acting crazy right now, but I can’t help it. After everything we just shared, I have to know the truth.

St. Clair turns onto the main street ahead of me, then flags down a taxi. Damn!

I look around and catch sight of another black cab. I practically hurl myself in front of it to make it stop, then tumble into the back.

“Follow that cab!” I exclaim.

“Seriously, luv?” the driver asks but he pulls into the road. “Americans.” He shakes his head but I don’t care. I’m too busy running through thoughts of what St. Clair could be doing out here at three in the morning. I quickly come to the conclusion that there are no good options.

St. Clair’s cab leads us through London into Fitzrovia, the neighborhood that’s an eclectic hodgepodge of old and new, with stone, brick, and wood buildings and a square in the center of the main intersection that Paige told me has a farmer’s market on weekends. The other cab stops on the side of the road and St. Clair gets out. My own cab pulls over half a block behind. “What now, luv?”

The streets are dark and I hesitate. “Is this neighborhood safe?”

“It’s 2 am, lady. You’re alone. What do you think?”

St. Clair is walking away, and I have to make a decision fast. This whole thing is crazy—I can’t believe I’m following my boyfriend-slash-boss through the streets of London in the middle of the night. But I have to know the truth.

“Thanks,” I say and pay the driver, and then follow St. Clair’s path onto a side street. The street is narrow and paved with cobblestones so I watch my step as I hurry along, but when I turn a corner, he’s gone.

I lost him.

I pass several alleys that he could have gone down, but I’m too scared to pick one and start walking. It’s creepy out here alone, and I suddenly feel foolish.

What am I doing?

I force myself to keep going until I reach a wide, empty square. Nothing but quiet storefronts, a café and a bakery, a gallery.

A gallery.

My blood goes cold. It can’t be where he was headed.

The street is eerily quiet as I approach the front entrance. It’s all locked up. Silent. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Maybe I’ve got it all wrong. Maybe Lennox has just made me irrational, and paranoid enough to sneak out in the middle of the night in pursuit of St. Clair. But if he’s sneaking out of bed in the middle of the night, something is definitely going on. And even if there was some perfectly reasonable explanation for why he needed to leave at this hour, he clearly didn’t want me to know about it. Shouldn’t that be reason enough to worry? And then another possibility strikes me: maybe there’s another woman. Maybe I’ve been a fool in more ways than one.

I head back across the square, the yellow streetlights casting long shadows to match my mood. I decide to catch a cab home and try and forget about this whole thing. What was I doing playing Nancy Drew, anyway?

I retrace my steps down the alley, hoping I’ll be able to find a cab home again, when suddenly a movement in the shadows makes me yelp.

I leap back, my heart racing, as someone emerges from a hidden side door.

St. Clair.

He stops short when he sees me. “Grace? What are you doing here?”

I take in his black pants and black turtleneck- clothes made to disappear in the dark. The expression on his face is grim. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He shifts on his feet and glances back nervously and I notice what he has tucked under his arm: a carrier tube. Just like the kind you would use to transport a painting without a frame.

I feel a chill spread down my spine.

St. Clair. In a dark alley. With a painting.

My mouth goes dry. It doesn’t get clearer than this.

St. Clair follows my gaze.

“This isn’t what you think it is,” he says.

Suddenly, alarms sound from down the street, the shrill sound reverberating through the night. The gallery. We both turn our heads as a light flips on above us in someone’s apartment.

St. Clair grabs my hand. “We have to get out of here.”

I pull away. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell is going on!”

“We don’t have time!”

More lights turn on above us as the sirens continue their shrieking.

“You better explain fast, then.” Hot tears are burning behind my eyes but I refuse to let them fall. “Because if this is what I think it is, then you’ve been lying to me all along.”

St. Clair comes toward me, his face creased with worry but still agonizingly beautiful, his features exaggerated by the shadows and looking more statuesque than ever. My heart is pounding with hurt and fear, and the alarm bells are piercing, but he reaches his hand out to me and I have to fight hard not to take it. “I’ll tell you everything, Grace, I swear, I’ll explain. But we have to leave right now, it’s not safe.”

I waver, torn. I need an explanation. I need to know he hasn’t taken me for a fool. Because right now, everything feels like a fraud: my dream new job, this incredible opportunity, everything we’ve shared up until this point...

The love of my life.

“Please,” St. Clair whispers, his gaze darting around intensely before returning to meet mine. “Just ask yourself one thing. Do you trust me?”

TO BE CONTINUED …

What happens next? Grace and St. Clair’s whirlwind romance continues in THE ART OF STEALING FOREVER - Available October 28, 2015

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