Free The Art of Stealing Kisses (Stealing Hearts Book 2) by Stella London Page B

theft.
    I
get to my feet. “I’ve
heard enough. You have no reason to accuse him. If you really think
it’s
St. Clair, why haven’t
you arrested him yet?”
    Lennox’s
expression slips. “I
don’t
have any proof—”
    “Ha!”
    “Yet.
But I will.”
    “You’re
reaching. The reason you haven’t
found any proof is because there isn’t
any.” I
shake my head, remembering what Paige told me. “I
know the case is getting colder. Are you really this desperate?”
    His
eyes narrow. “I’m
not wrong, Grace. You can help me get the evidence—”
    “Not
a chance,” I
snap, turning to walk away. But Lennox takes my arm and pulls me
back.
    “He’s
guilty, Grace. And a criminal. And eventually I’m
going to catch him. It’d
be a shame to see you go down too.”
He holds out
his card. “I
hope you’ll
reconsider.”
    I
can’t
believe he’s
threatening me. I don’t
take the card. “You’re
the criminal, smearing his good name.”
    He
leans in, makes his face look concerned. “He’s
not so perfect, you know.” Lennox
slips his card into my purse. “St.
Clair’s
got you fooled. You don’t
know him at all.”
    “Yes,
I do! And you don’t
know what you’re
talking about. He’s
a good man. The best,” I
shoot back fiercely.
    “Maybe,”
Lennox
replies. “But
on the other hand, maybe he’s
too good to be true.”
His words strike me, and I can tell from his smirk that he knows it.
“Think
about it. And when you realize what a fool he’s
made of you, come find me. Because I won’t
stop until I bring him down.”
    He
releases me, nods, and then strides away, leaving me alone in the
park with the first seeds of doubt beginning to grow in my mind.

 

CHAPTER 9
     
    “You
okay?”
St. Clair asks as he pours me a glass of Sauvignon Blanc to go with
the fish sizzling on the stovetop.
    “I’m
fine,” I
say, for the tenth time this week when he’s
caught me in a moment of doubt, a moment of wondering if Lennox could
be right, which always turns into a moment of guilt because St. Clair
has been so affectionate and wonderful the last few days: cooking me
dinner, walking me home, kissing me goodnight—
passionate and tender—and
not expecting more.
    “You
seem distracted.”
    Maybe
because an Interpol agent informed me that you are a major criminal
last week, I
think but then he reaches out to squeeze my shoulder, his beautiful
blue eyes concerned, and I feel bad for even giving the accusations a
second thought.
    Lennox
is on the edge, out of leads, and probably facing a lot of pressure
from the agency—there’s
no way his suspicions could be true.
    “Just
thinking about the student art pieces.”
I force
myself to smile.
    “Any
good ones? From what I saw, it’s
going to be a tough choice.” He
flips the filets in their garlic butter sauce and checks on the
broccoli roasting in the oven, his biceps flexing in his gray
T-shirt. I think I like him best like this: after hours, out of that
suit, his hair messy and falling into his face. My breath catches a
little in my throat.
    “It
really is,” I
agree. “There’s
a lot riding on my choice for them, and I don’t
know which way to go with some of the artists.”
    “You
follow your heart, of course,” St.
Clair says and I wonder if he can read my mind.
    “Is
that how you make your business decisions?”
    “Most
of the time. Heart, or gut,” St.
Clair shrugs. “You
can weigh the options over and again, but at the end of the day,
every choice is a risk. Our heads just get in the way sometimes.”
    "You
make it sound so easy.”
    He
grins. “Don’t
you know by now that anything easy isn’t
very interesting? But I prefer to make my decisions on instinct, the
thrill of the deal.”
    As
he plates our food, I flash back to what Lennox said about St. Clair
enjoying the thrill of the heist. Reckless, he called him. Idle rich.
St. Clair has never been idle, but now I wonder about that rebellious
streak…
    “How
are things going with work?”