Caden
The moment I see the necklace around the wrong sister’s neck, I’m infuriated.
Pissed.
Mad as hell.
Yeah. All that.
I had a plan and I hate deviating from the plan. I thought Lily Fowler was coming to this premiere. This is one of the biggest moments for the Fowler family and their business. And their oldest daughter isn’t even here with them at the freaking Cannes Film Festival, so what the fuck?
Not that I thought Lily would be wearing the necklace. I figured it would be Violet. The quiet sister who’s the true force to reckon with at Fleur, the driven one who’s taking the cosmetics company and pushing it forward. I hadn’t considered the new boyfriend, though. That guy never leaves her side and glowers at whoever looks at her with even halfhearted interest.
It’s freaking Rose Fowler wearing the damn necklace instead. The baby sister, who’s barely old enough to drink legally. The gorgeous-as-hell and completely untouchable sister is wearing a necklace that I heard from inside sources would be featured in the documentary. I have connections. Hell, I have someone who would pay me top dollar if I bring the necklace to him. I’m here in Cannes at his insistence and he sent me here to grab it. We both had a hunch it might be seen tonight, and that’s why I’m here.
Considering I’d known Lily Fowler in my previous life, I figured I might have an in. Though saying I “know” Lily is a slight exaggeration. We went to school together but I’m younger than her; I was a sophomore when she was a junior. It was my final year there, before the last of the money ran out and I had to finish high school in the public school system, much to my mother’s horror and disgust.
We never talked, but back then I had a small crush on Lily. I wanted to get close to her for more reasons than one and we hooked up at a party. She was drunk and we clicked instantly, but that wasn’t hard since I’d been in full hustle mode. We talked, we flirted, and next thing I knew, we were making out in a dark corner at the party.
I would’ve gotten into her panties, too, if she hadn’t passed out in my arms. My crush died a quick death when I realized what a mess she was.
So I plucked the giant diamond earrings from her lobes instead. Earned a fat amount of money for those stones, too.
Not that she ever knew. And if she did, she certainly didn’t say anything. There were no news reports, no gossip sites talking about Lily Fowler’s missing diamonds, no police report filed that I know of.
It was as if the entire matter … never happened. We even spoke a few times after that incident and she acted like she didn’t have a clue what really went down. Confirmation I got away with it.
Wild.
That was the first time I’d stolen anything of real value and the high I got from it, how easy it had been, knowing I could give Mom money to help put toward the overdue bills …
I was hooked.
And I had an in. I’d grown up with the rich kids. Hell, I used to be one of them. A rich kid, a spoiled-rotten only child who got whatever he wanted from his daddy, with time to kill and money to burn. Until everything was taken away from us, bit by bit, dollar by dollar. Until we were left with nothing.
So I had to go out and fend for us by helping Mom, because fuck all if my father stuck around and took care of the one woman who stood by his side through everything. All the scandal. All the heartbreak. All the devastation. She never walked away from him—and she had good reason to do so. Instead, she told him everything was going to be all right, as long as they had each other. Yet he still left her.
Deserted her.
Abandoned us both.
Not having Lily here tonight might have thrown me a little, but I ran with it. That’s what I do. If I let every little hitch hold me back, then I would have stopped long ago. Or I would have ended up in prison.
But nothing keeps me down. I’d come all the way to Cannes to pick up a few items. Came on my friend’s private jet, this asshole I’ve known since we were ten and in private school. I gave him his first joint and that was it. We were bonded for life.
The guy has so much money he probably shits hundred-dollar bills. But I won’t take from him. I have standards. I don’t steal from my friends.
People I don’t know? They’re fair fucking game.
Tonight is open game. The security is loose. The jewels are large and everywhere. The owners of said jewels are careless. More intent on showing off than protecting them, which is fine by me. I’m like a kid in a candy store—I don’t know which way to turn, what to check out next. I want to sample it all, take it all, too, but I need to be discreet. Particular. I need to make the most of this visit and choose the pieces that’ll take us the furthest.
Like the Poppy Necklace curled around Rose Fowler’s beautiful neck. I want it. So does my contact, an old client I haven’t worked for since forever. I’ve been warned off this guy, but the payout is too large to resist. My fingers literally itch to snatch the necklace off Rose’s neck. But how? It’s not a subtle piece and this won’t be easy.
But I love a good challenge. I’ve kept my eye on her from the moment I spotted her at the party. Always staying in the background, calculating every which way I could get the necklace from her.
Then I go and make the biggest mistake of all—becoming heroic and telling that piece of Eurotrash to get his paws off her. I’d been tempted to kick his ass but Rose had stopped me, thank Christ. I don’t know what the hell got into me.
Fine. I know. Seeing the marks on her skin from his slimy fingers pissed me off. I don’t know her, don’t care to know her, but I get all caveman and ready to defend her honor? Makes no sense. She’s pretty, yeah. Sexy as hell in that damn dress, her long, hot-as-fuck legs on blatant display and fueling my imagination.
Which I have no business fueling. I’m here for one purpose—and sex isn’t it.
So I ignored the look we shared when I caught her staring at me from across the room. I broke eye contact first, turning away from her and stepping up to the bar so I could order us two glasses of Champagne. I then made my way across the room, ignoring everyone, not making eye contact. I don’t want a single person to remember me tonight.
Yet here I am approaching Rose once more, drink in hand, extended out toward her so she can take it. Her delicate fingers slide against mine when she accepts the glass and the shock I feel at first contact shoots through me like a bolt of lightning.
White hot and electrifying.
Her eyes widen the slightest bit and her hand trembles as she lifts the glass to her lips, taking a long swallow. “Thank you for the Champagne,” she murmurs.
“You’re welcome.” I tip my head toward her and lift my glass, my gaze scanning the room. I see a woman I recognize as being the young plaything to a wealthy film investor wearing a bracelet lined with some of the biggest diamonds and sapphires I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen some pretty damn big stones in my time. She’s waving her arm around, the gems catching the light, mesmerizing me.
That would be a nice catch. I have a solid inside track with my usual guy who can get me decent cash for high-end stolen goods, no questions asked. It’s amazing what you can make happen when you go looking for it.
“Do you know her?”
Rose’s voice breaks through my thoughts and I flick my gaze to her, schooling my expression. “Who?”
“The woman you’re looking at.”
Fucking hell. I need to get away from Rose Fowler quick. She’s just too perceptive and during a night when I want no one to notice me, I’m with a woman who’s seeing every little thing I do. Stupid. “No. She just …” I’m grasping for an explanation. “… She reminds me of someone I used to know.” Lies. I need to change the subject quick. “Great movie.”
“Ah.” She nods and smiles, her gaze wistful. “Thank you. I’m so proud of my grandmother tonight. So you enjoyed the documentary?”
And now she’s engaging me in conversation. I study her face, the clarity of her light brown eyes as she studies me, her creamy skin, the way her lips move when she talks.
“I did. Your family has accomplished much in a short amount of time.” My gaze zeroes in on those pretty lips. They’re full, the bottom lip bigger than the top, and the shape reminds me of a sexy pout. Her lips are slicked in this perfect red shade, stark against her otherwise natural appearance.
“My grandma is a very determined woman.” She smiles, her teeth white against the deep red of her lips. “No one messes with Dahlia.”
I have the distinct feeling no one messes with Rose either, but I keep my mouth shut. Instead, I let my gaze drop to her throat, the necklace that hangs from her neck and rests against her chest. Her skin is impossibly smooth, her bare shoulders, the hint of cleavage the neckline of her dress offers me …
Hell. She’s unbelievably gorgeous. Prettier than Lily. Prettier than any other woman I’ve ever seen. She has the face of an angel. Innocent and sweet, yet with a body that makes me think of all the sinful things we can do together …
It’s a sexy contradiction. One I can’t even consider.
I’d like to consider taking the necklace, but how the hell can I get my hands on it without her noticing?
“Does anyone mess with you?”
She smiles blithely. “Only sleazy Europeans who don’t know how to keep their hands to themselves.”
A chuckle escapes me and I shake my head. I shouldn’t react to what this woman is saying to me. I need to get away from her.
Tilting her head back, she polishes her Champagne off in a couple of swallows, her eyes sliding closed as she drinks. I watch her, fascinated with the slim column of her neck, the light golden-brown hair pulled into a knot at the back of her head. I wonder what she might look like with her hair down. Wavy and falling about her bare shoulders, a sultry gleam in her eye as she approaches me …
“Let’s get out of here,” she says, her throaty invitation sending a shot of longing coursing through my body.
Say no. “Where would you like to go?”
She inclines her head toward a set of double doors not far from where we’re standing. “Outside. I hear there’s a pool out there.” Without another word she walks away from me, her skirt billowing around her legs, the scandalous dress causing enough of a stir that others watch her. I don’t follow her, turning to the side so I face the wall, my back to the curious onlookers, and when I glance in her direction, I find that she’s stopped. Waving her hand at me to follow her like an impatient mother dealing with a bratty child.
I hold up my still full Champagne glass, indicating I want to finish it first, and she rolls her eyes, shaking her head as she turns away to push through the doors, the black night sky appearing for a fleeting moment before the doors swing shut, swallowing Rose whole.
She’s gone. I should be relieved. I sip my Champagne, the alcohol crisp and cool as it slides down my throat, yet all I can feel is the crashing disappointment that she left me.
Ridiculous.
Downing the rest of my Champagne, I set the glass on a nearby table and descend into the crowd, staying close to the woman with the flashy bracelet. She’s oblivious to my presence. She’s also the perfect mark.
Absolutely perfect.
My gaze tracks her movements, the careless way she moves her arms about as she talks animatedly to the person standing next to her. She’s loud, speaking fast and furious French I can barely understand—and I took three years of French in high school. Of course, all I can remember are the most basic sentences and the occasional curse word.
Lot of good that will do me.
The bracelet loosens around her wrist and she clamps her other hand over it, laughing as she says something about the clasp being old.
My heart rate kicks up. Here’s my chance. She fixes the clasp with a quick flick of her fingers and continues talking, her movements more subdued, but I know that’s temporary. She’ll revert to her old habits quick.
And she doesn’t disappoint.
I adjust my position so my back is mostly to her and I engage in conversation with a beautiful woman standing a little off to the side of the circle that has formed around my mark. She’s older; there’s a wedding ring around her finger and I wonder how long she’s been married. Clearly her husband neglects her, because she is fully attuned to my flirtatious attempts at conversation. Her body language screams interest as she turns more fully toward me and I turn just a hair toward my mark.
The woman is gesturing wildly again, speaking of Dahlia Fowler—interesting. Her wrists are flying this way and that and I swear I can hear the jangle of the bracelet’s clasp the moment it comes undone. She doesn’t falter in her conversation, as her complaints against Dahlia are long and numerous and there is much nodding in agreement from her audience.
Even more interesting.
I turn my head as discreetly as possible, catching out of the corner of my eye her wrist and the bracelet I covet. It’s so close.
It’s so loose.
I plan the moment of attack. On three, it’ll happen.
One …
I laugh at something the woman I’m flirting with says, throwing back my head and putting every bit of acting skill I have into the movement, as if I’m overcome.
Two …
Stepping backward, my entire body grazes my gesturing mark, and I bump into her. She gasps, as does the other woman, and they both lean forward, reaching for me at the exact same time.
Three …
I reach for the bracelet and slip it off the woman’s wrist.
I slice my other hand into the air, knocking the glass of wine from my companion’s hand, creating the distraction I need. The glass falls to the ground with a tinkling crash, the glass scattering everywhere, remnants of alcohol spattering across our feet. I step back, the bracelet going into my coat pocket with a flick of my wrist, and the woman with the now missing bracelet reaches toward the other one as I step back, the both of them gasping over the spilled liquor and their ruined shoes.
“Chéri, did you …” The film financer’s mistress makes a motion across the top of her hand. “… cut yourself? Oui?” She nods toward my left hand.
I hold my hand out to inspect it. There’s a small slice across the tip of my index finger, which probably happened when I made contact with my companion’s drink. “I did. I’ll go look for a first aid kit.”
I duck out and leave them chattering among themselves, my heart racing like a kettledrum inside my chest the entire time. I don’t look back, keeping my strides even, my gaze directed straight ahead. I push open the very double doors Rose Fowler just made her escape through, the humid night air clasping me in its sticky embrace, and I make my way across the terrace, then down the stairs, before I head toward the lit rectangular pool. The water glimmers a bright turquoise and the fountain in the center flows with a gentle rhythm, the sound soothing in the otherwise quiet of the night.
In a few minutes, the woman will notice her bracelet is gone, if she hasn’t already. Just beyond the pool is the beach, and I’ll walk among the shadows close to the line of palm trees before I cut through one of the hotels down the way, where I can make my escape. Hopefully no one will notice me.
But I barely make it past the pool when I hear a familiar voice.
“Well, well, if it isn’t my savior.”
Slowing my pace, I turn to find Rose sitting on the edge of a lounge chair near the pool, her shoulders hunched and those long, sexy-as-fuck legs spread wide so they’re both bare, the long slits in her skirt revealing them. An empty glass dangles from one hand and a bottle of Champagne hangs from the other.
She offers a smirk of a smile, her delicate brows rising in some sort of challenge. Someone already looks a little drunk. We haven’t been apart longer than fifteen minutes. Twenty, tops.
Slowly I approach her, telling myself I’m an idiot for even stopping. “Drinking alone?”
The smile grows and it lights up her entire face. “Something I rarely do, but yes. I am. Unless you’d care to join me.”
I don’t. I do. I’m torn.
“And if you don’t, I understand.” She waves me away, then brings the bottle to her lips and takes a swig. She sets the bottle on the ground beside her and then reaches forward, slipping her strappy little sandals off one foot, then the other. “They were killing me,” she mutters, rubbing the bottom of her foot.
I watch in fascination as she bends over her feet, offering me a spectacular view of her cleavage. Her breasts are full and if the front of her dress slips down any farther, I’ll catch a glimpse of nipple. “Maybe you should slow down …” I start to say, but she pops up to her feet, throwing her arms above her head as she starts to spin in a circle, her frothy skirt flowing around her.
“I don’t want to slow down. I always slow down and that’s so incredibly boring.” She drops her arms and looks up at me, her eyes sparkling, an almost manic expression on her face. “I think I want to swim.”
Without another word she walks over to the pool and stares at the water, her bare toes curling around the edge of the pavers that surround the pool. A warm breeze washes over us and she tilts her head back, her eyes sliding closed as she throws her arms out to her sides and holds them palms up.
“Have you ever done something reckless?” she asks, her voice soft.
All the fucking time. “Have you?”
She opens her eyes and looks over at me. “I asked first,” she says before she resumes her position.
“Yeah. Haven’t we all?”
“No. Not me, not really. I may act all tough, like I take no crap, but that’s all it is. An act. I prefer things to be safe. I don’t like to take risks. And I am definitely not reckless.” She drops her arms to her sides for the briefest moment before she’s reaching under her arm and unzipping the dress. The top gaps, revealing nothing but bare skin and that she’s not wearing a bra.
Christ.
As the dress falls away from her body and lands in a heap at her feet, I realize she’s not wearing any panties, either. She’s standing in front of me completely naked—the Poppy Necklace like a glittering, expensive collar around her neck—and my mouth goes dry as I drink her in. My entire body stirs, including my cock, and I lick my lips, fighting the hunger that threatens to take over.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a woman. Longer still since I felt so attracted to one. And I am definitely, without a fucking doubt, attracted to Rose Fowler.
A tiny, sly smile curls her lush lips as I stare at her, as if she can read my thoughts and approves of their direction. And then without a word, she dives into the pool, hardly making a splash.
I watch in fascination when moments later she pops her head up, treading water. “You should join me.”
The absolute last thing I can do. “I don’t think so.”
“Aw, why not?” She mock pouts. “Scared of the water?”
“No.”
“Scared of me?” She laughs.
“Not at all.”
“Then join me.” She smiles and swims closer to the edge, standing in the water where it reaches her waist. Her skin is covered with little droplets of water; her pale pink nipples are hard, and my cock is, too.
Rubbing a hand over my face, I grit my teeth together and slip my other hand in the pocket of my suit jacket, fingering the cool stones stashed away inside. “I can’t.”
Her expression turns solemn and she lifts her arms, smoothing back her hair. The movement lifts her breasts, showing off the dip in her waist, the sleekness of her belly. Jesus, her body will be the fucking death of me. “Are you gay or what?”
I laugh and shake my head. “No.”
She drops her arms so they splash in the water, frustration written all over her features. “Then why won’t you join me?”
A burst of sound comes from the building behind us and I turn to see a group of partygoers spill out onto the terrace, led by the woman whose bracelet is currently resting in my pocket. Shit. “Come here,” I urge her, reaching out for her hands with both of mine.
Rose frowns. “You can’t lift me out of the pool.”
“Watch me.” I wave my fingers at her, then scan the area, my gaze returning to the terrace. The group of people is still there, milling about, though they haven’t come down the stairs yet. But it’s only a matter of time before they’ll be looking for me, and I swear I can hear the woman commanding everyone about in her very loud, very shrill French. “Come on.” I return my attention to Rose, who’s still contemplating me as if I’ve lost my mind, which I probably have. “Hurry.”
She takes my hands and I pull her out of the pool since she doesn’t weigh a damn thing, setting her on her feet directly in front of me. She’s dripping wet and I let my gaze roam all over her perfect body, memorizing her every feature so I can commit her to memory and pull this moment out for later. “What are you doing?”
Before I can overthink it I grab her, my arm clamping tight around her slender waist, my hand sprawled across one perfect ass cheek. Her skin is damp and soft and chilled from the water and I give her plump flesh a firm squeeze, savoring the gasp that escapes her when I touch her like that.
“Kiss me for luck,” I whisper as my head descends toward hers. She’s frowning, her gaze landing on my lips, watching as I make my descent until her lids flutter closed and I press my mouth to hers in a lingering, chaste kiss.
She steps closer and rests her hands on my chest and I break the kiss first. Opening my eyes to drink in this naked, wet nymph pressed against me, her skin pale and gleaming in the moonlight. I touch the necklace, tracing the stones, wishing like crazy I could snatch it from her neck. The necklace is perfection. It’s a rare piece, expensive and exquisitely made, and it’s killing me to have it so close and knowing I can’t have it.
Yet.
Her chest lifts on a deep inhale, making my gaze drop to her breasts, and my finger falls as if I have no control, circling around her left pink nipple once. Only once. It’s the single indulgence I’ll allow myself and it’s fucking torture, touching her like this, feeling the little nub of flesh tighten, hearing her sharp inhale, scenting her arousal. I’d much rather take it further and draw that perfect little nipple into my mouth and suck. Hard. Run my hands and lips and tongue all over her body until she’s begging me to fuck her.
But I don’t do any of that. Instead, I tell her solemnly, “Thank you,” and I kiss her again, deeper this time, my tongue sliding against hers for the briefest, most mind-numbing moment before I pull away, releasing my hold on her. I start to back away, regret taking hold and making me feel like an asshole.
I am an asshole. There’s no denying that fact.
“Thank you for what?” she asks when she opens her eyes. She brings her arms up, covering her breasts, looking incredibly vulnerable standing by the edge of the glowing turquoise pool, naked and wet and trembling. The lights from the city are bright as they surround us; I can hear the sounds of the sea, the clank of the boats that are docked nearby.
All the while, the necklace sparkles around her neck like a beacon, mocking me. Driving me to distraction. I stare at it. Stare at her. That’s what I want. Her. And the necklace. But I can’t have either.
I can’t have both.
“For giving me a night I’ll never forget,” I tell her before I turn.
And leave her behind. Never once looking back.
No matter how much it kills me.