Stealing Rose (The Fowler Sisters #2)(14)
Not that I had a choice. I needed to get out of there. The lynch mob didn’t find me, thank God, and while I heard rumblings about the bracelet being stolen, there was no public notice made.
The rich do not like to talk about their goods being stolen—I discovered this early on in my so-called career. They’d rather sweep the embarrassing loss under the rug, collect their insurance payout, and move on. Dire stories on the local news about a jewel thief aren’t becoming, which is fine by me.
Their lack of talking to the authorities made my endeavors easier to carry out. Though I’m disappointed I didn’t get ahold of the Poppy Necklace. I’ve already heard from Dexter, my old contact who wants to add the piece to his collection. He’s displeased and has been urging me to go after it, but I put him off.
I stayed on in Cannes for a few days, cashing in the bracelet and collecting a hefty payment. Found out Rose Fowler left Cannes the day after I saw her, so that was a lost cause. I hung out on the beaches and flirted with various women, snagging a few gold pieces that were worth a decent amount. I garnered enough to pay for Mom’s expenses for the next five months at least, maybe six.
The relief of that is tremendous. I can finally relax and do something for myself for a little while.
“What brings you here?” Whitney hasn’t removed her arms from my waist or her hands from my ass, and I again have to pull myself out of her grip. I walk over to the couch and sit down, leaning my head back so I can stare up at the ceiling.
“I needed a vacation.” Not too far from the truth. Considering the bills are taken care of, I’m allowed a pit stop in London before I head home. My friend Mitchell, owner of the private jet, already planned to go to London and I decided to hitch a ride. Though I might end up staying longer, depending on what I find around here.
I need a change of pace, new scenery. Not only to get away from New York but also to lie low. I’d worked like a motherf*cker the last few months, getting more daring with every job. To the point where I was probably starting to look suspect, so I reined it in. Went to parties and actually didn’t steal a damn thing before I up and disappeared for good.
A new place means new people. New valuables. New jewels. Considering London is f*cking full of old money, this should be a field day. A summer in London sounded rather profitable. Don’t know why I never thought of it before.
“Well, yay for vacations. You’re always so busy. You never come to my side of the pond.” Whitney smiles and plops on the couch beside me, snuggling close, her head against my chest. She has no idea what I actually “do” and I’d like to keep it that way. I’m pretty sure she thinks all I do is f*ck around all day, which is fine. That’s all she does too. She lives off her daddy’s money. “I’m excited that you’re here.”
“Yeah, me too,” I say, my words sounding hollow. I’m glad to be here, thankful for Whitney’s hospitality and friendship. She doesn’t normally put conditions on it, but I hope she doesn’t think I’m going to f*ck her for a bed to sleep in.
When she rests her hand on my cock and starts rubbing, I know she expects me to f*ck her for a bed to sleep in.
“Whit.” I grab her hand and clasp it tight in mine. “I’m tired. I need to sleep before I can even think of doing … that.”
She smiles, flashing me her brilliant white teeth. “Exhaustion never stopped you before. I remember nights of getting high, getting drunk, and f*cking for hours.” Her throaty laugh is telling me she enjoys those memories.
I remember them too. Fondly. “I’m not high and I’m not drunk. I’m just worn out.”
“Too much alcohol usually deflates a cock,” she says, like she’s making some major observation.
“Not mine.” I let go of her hand and trail my finger across her cheek but she jerks away from my touch, her lips pushed into a pout that usually works on me.
But not this time. Instead of sucking up to her and letting her get her way, I rise from the couch and stretch my arms above my head with an exaggerated yawn before I settle my hands on my hips. “Where’s your bathroom?”
She waves her hand toward the short hall to my left, her gaze not meeting mine. She’s mad, but she’ll get over it. “Down there, first door on the right.”
“Got extra towels?” I go to the front door and grab my duffel bag. I always pack light so it’s easier to make my escape if necessary.
“Of course,” she retorts with a huff. “What sort of hostess do you think I am?”
Going to the couch, I place a quick kiss to her forehead and cup her chin with my hand, forcing her to look at me. “A great one,” I murmur with a gentle smile. I don’t want her on my bad side, but damn it, I’m not interested in a summer full of screwing Whitney, either. We’re rarely together for a long period of time, so having a quick one-off is normal for us.
Spending weeks on end together? Not so normal.
Her mouth twists into a wry little smile. “Go take your shower. I’ll be waiting for you.”
Hell. She’s not going to let this go until I get her off at least once.
Locking myself in her bathroom, I flick on the light and take in the room. It’s white, with chrome towel bars and handles, a three-tiered chrome-and-glass shelf right next to the white pedestal sink, the shelves overflowing with fluffy white towels. I go to the tub and turn on the water, shedding my clothes with quick efficiency before I slip into the shower, pulling the curtain shut and letting the water pour over me in a steady stream.