Steal My Heart

By Aimee O'Brien

When a fantasy turns into a cold reality

Lexanne Harris had a plan down to the last sexy detail. Never did she think her attempt to spice up her love life with her boyfriend would involve her in a burglary with a sexier than sin thief whose emerald eyes and serious between the sheets skills are impossible to forget. As a police detective she is expected to stand on the side of the law and fight for justice. But what happens when the lines of justice blur and what’s wrong becomes way too tempting?

The situation might be challenging but Lexanne is determined to get assigned to the case, recover the jewels and catch the culprit.

The question is: What will she do with her sexy cat burglar when she catches him?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tule Publishing
• Release date: Aug 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9781950510764

Book preview

Author

Chapter One

I wanted this. Carefully, I lined my lips. I picked up my lipstick tube, twisting up the scarlet color. My hand trembled. I dropped the lipstick, laid my palms flat on the vanity, and drew a breath. Sex with a cat burglar.

My fantasy would come true tonight. I drew on black stockings, the shimmery, soft nylon slip sliding over my fingers, over my smooth skin, gliding up past my knees to my thighs. With a soft click, I snapped them on my garter belt.

I stood in red stilettos and shimmied into my black leather miniskirt before checking out my reflection in the gilt-edged, full-length mirror. My dark hair was sleek and down for once, falling past my skimpy black bra, brushing my mid-back and sending little tingles over my skin.

Would he like it?

I shook my head. That didn’t matter. I’d played out Mark’s kinky fantasy; now it was my turn. We’d worked it out, scripted it. He would break in at 3:00 a.m. dressed completely in black, his face hidden. We’d only gone on a couple of dates, but of course I would know him—by his build, his blue eyes, his touch. And I would pretend I didn’t. I would put away everything I knew of Detective Mark Finney and imagine.

Imagine a stranger’s touch on my flesh, a stranger’s lips on mine, a stranger’s teeth scraping my jaw. I would imagine a cat burglar’s nimble fingers removing my clothes, baring me before him. It was not so far-fetched as fantasies went. A series of burglaries had plagued Los Angeles all summer. And while I personally might not own anything worth stealing, the house where I was staying had a safe full of priceless jewelry. For two weeks, I was house sitting the Brentmoor estate. I would never have a better opportunity.

I heard the soft slide of a window frame and glanced at the clock. He was early. I sucked in air even as I shivered in the slight breeze.

Time for action.

I scrambled onto the four-poster bed, the burgundy velvet spread draping over black satin sheets and a fluffy down comforter. I turned the covers down and positioned myself just so and waited, listening. Was that a step on the stairs or just my heart pounding?

This was my moment and, dammit, I couldn’t hear a thing. Not a breath, not a whisper. What was Mark doing?

Teasing me, that was it. Making me wait for what I wanted.

I couldn’t stand it. In a brush of leather against satin, I slid off the bed. Teetering in four-inch heels, I crept to the top of the stairs and held my breath.

Did I hear him?

I stepped down thickly carpeted stairs, careful to keep my balance in the unfamiliar dark. I tilted my head. Using intuition more than a sense of hearing, I walked toward the front hall. Was that him moving through the house as if on a sigh? God, he was good. I’d never have heard him if I hadn’t been listening, expecting him, anticipating.

I moved across the massive foyer, slid open the door to the parlor, and caught my breath. He stood before me, light from the moon illuminating his gloved hand.

He wore all black as promised—a bad boy, a criminal, and mine for the night.

Because tonight I wasn’t Lexanne Harris, police detective, law-abiding and responsible. Tonight I was wanton.

Our eyes met down the length of the room. My hungry eyes took in every inch of him. He was magnificent, prey and predator all in one. He was a panther. I was the hunter. And I’d caught him. I opened my mouth to speak my sassy, prearranged line when my burglar turned and ran.

What?

I blinked and bit back a laugh. He rounded the corner into the dining room, and I scampered after him. Wait, I called, breathless from excitement. I staggered to a halt.

I’d cornered him.

He hesitated, facing me across the expansive cherrywood table. His eyes shone through the mask. He gave me a long, lingering once-over. The corner of his mouth turned up. Amusement?

Now we were talking. My burglar stood still and solid. I undid the metal clasp on my skirt. With a naughty little wriggle, I eased it down and off. I approached the table and put one knee on it. His eyes flicked to the table and back. I pulled myself up. Now crouched on hands and knees, I crawled toward him. Two feet from where he stood, I sat back on my heels.

His breath came faster, but he didn’t move.

Fine. It was my fantasy after all. Keeping my eyes on his, I reached up, stilled the tremble in my fingers, and unhooked the front clasp on my bra.

My breasts spilled out.

He licked his lips. They gleamed in the dim light. He stepped toward the table. My gaze roved over him. He looked bigger than I remembered, more imposing. He moved with lithe grace, his step silent on plush carpet. He took my breasts in his gloved hands. The supple leather felt cool, his touch firm against my flesh. He squeezed. I arched and gave a soft cry, scripted lines forgotten.

His gloved hands slid around, clasping me. He brought his face down to me and breathed warm against my cheek. I found his waist and slid my hands up his rib cage, feeling the solidness of him, pleased.

Mark was a dedicated body builder. I could feel the six-pack abs through his skintight pullover. I leaned closer and bit his shoulder. He pinched my nipple hard. I sank my teeth, never breaking through fabric. He gave a twitch. I bit harder. He tugged on the lace table runner, inching me closer. My breath hitched as he pulled me to him. I swung my feet over the edge. My bad boy stepped between my legs, his gloved hands sliding up my thighs.

I opened my mouth to give him directions, but that wasn’t part of the script.

Kiss me, dammit.

With a flick of his hand, he ripped the fabric of my skimpy undies. I gasped. He threw them over his right shoulder, his lips a thin smile. In a deliberate motion, he held both his hands in front of me as if asking permission. I nodded. Painstakingly, he tugged on a glove, loosening each finger. I took the tip of his glove in my mouth, angled back, and it slid free, releasing his hand.

Then his magic fingers went to work. He slid one into me. I was already wet for him. God, he was hot. Mark was acting this out better than I’d ever imagined. Usually he was in a hurry to satisfy himself, but tonight he’d kept his promise. This was all about me.

He caressed my sensitive lips, teasing my opening. I thought my eyes would roll up in my head. He found my clitoris and massaged languidly like we had all the time in the world. And so we did.

All night anyway.

I reached for him, but he shoved my hands away. He pressed his finger harder into me, slid in another, and I cried out. I felt myself tremble. The pressure built. I needed more. He slid in a third.

Again I reached for him, but he elbowed my arm aside. And I was helpless. Pleasure rippled through me. I came hot over his fingers, the scent of sex in the air. God, it felt good. But it wasn’t enough.

Eyelids heavy from pleasure, I studied his eyes glinting through the slits of his mask. I gripped his belt. He jerked.

Please. I undid the buckle. It’s only fair. He gave me a wary look. I slid my hands around and cupped his butt cheeks through his leather pants. I breathed in the heady scent of sex and leather. I want you. In me. Now. My eyes met his, green with desire. Hunger radiated out of them. I’d never felt so desired. Pretty.

Confident in my beauty, I tilted my head back, gave my hair a shake. He gave a soft chuckle. I leaned forward and reached up to his mask. He tensed, so I stroked the back of his head, which was also covered by the fabric mask. I pouted, wanting to run my fingers through his hair. Instead, I pressed my nails in and ran them down the back of his head and along his spine. He shifted closer. His hands stroked the inside of my thighs, and I saw him blink when his fingers touched the condom tucked in the top of my stockings.

A girl needed to be prepared.

He slid it out, held up the silver package. It flashed in the moonlight. He waited until I nodded—such a gentleman, my cat burglar.

Yes, I breathed. Hurry.

He tore it open. My fingers found his zipper. Sliding it down, I freed him. His cock heavy in my hand, I gave it a long stroke. He groaned. I stroked again—and again.

His breath grew ragged. I cupped his balls and squeezed. He grabbed my hand. I paused, met his eyes, and took the condom. Slowly, I rolled it down the long length of him. Then I put my mouth on him. I wanted to taste him. I hungered for him, but rules were rules—my fantasy, my rules.

I needed him slick like me. I used my mouth on him, up and down, sliding along him, using lips and tongue. I rose to his tip, and he shoved me back. My weight on my elbows, I watched him leap onto the table with me, suddenly aware of his size, his power. I sucked in a breath.

I wanted this.

And then he was on me, his weight pressing me down. Reaching, I guided him inside. He slid in like he belonged, stretching me beyond my imagining. With one hand, he caught both my wrists and forced my hands up over my head. The back of my head hit the table. His other hand pushed my legs wide, he slid deeper. His eyes on mine, I gave a cry. He rocked back out and in.

Again, I cried. Faster. My orgasm hit in waves. I dug my heels into the table as wave after wave rushed through me. He gave a roar of satisfaction and climaxed with me. He let go of my wrists, and I swung my hands around to hold him tight. Something banged my wrist. I glanced over. The priceless ceramic centerpiece tipped, teetering an instant before it fell, rolling for the edge. Eyes wide, I grabbed for the Ming and missed.

His gloved hand caught it smoothly. I heaved a sigh. He tilted the vase, studying it as if appraising. My cat burglar was keeping in character. I laughed. Yes, it’s real. Nothing but the best on the Brentmoor estate. And wasn’t that the truth. Certainly, that was the best sex I’d ever had. Why had I ever been shy about sharing my fantasies?

Something thumped near the front of the house. My burglar tensed. I could understand. After all, it wouldn’t do for Mark to be caught dressed like this. Someone might mistake him for a real burglar.

But who would show up now? A real burglar wouldn’t crash around like a drunken teenager. A light flicked on, casting a thin glow in the hall. I heard a man swear. I definitely wasn’t ready to receive visitors, bare-assed as I was. And the Brentmoors weren’t due back yet.

Who on earth would let themselves in in the middle of the night?

My burglar’s gaze sharpened, and he flashed me a mischievous grin. My eyes flicked automatically to the gap by Mark’s left canine.

It wasn’t there. I blinked at the dazzling, flawless smile shining in moonlight.

No gap. Not Mark.

Not Mark?

The alarm blared. I lurched up, but my cat man stepped into the deep shadow of a towering China cabinet. I slid off the table. My God. What had I done?

My lover fled. I ran down the hall after him. He dodged into the library, and I took the corner on a spin, twisting my ankle as I tottered on spiked heels. Catman had the advantage on me. Ignoring the pain shooting up my leg, I chased him through the two-story library, past the billiards room, and toward the French doors leading to the back gardens. And all I could think was, Oh my God, you’re an idiot, Lexanne.

I paused at the French doors and peered into the darkness, ankle throbbing. Give it up. I gasped for breath and turned back. I switched on the light over the wet bar and froze.

A painting was swung out from the wall. The safe, usually concealed behind it, was now open and empty.

No. No. No. No. No.

In a moment of self-preservation, using only my nails, I pushed the door to the safe until it almost closed. I swung the pastoral scene back into place.

The alarm quit blaring. I glanced down and grimaced at my state of undress. Whoever had come in the front, I wasn’t prepared to meet them like this. I limped back to the dining room and found my bra and leather skirt. Hastily, I dressed, fastening the clasps.

I heard someone on the stairs. A grandfather clock chimed 3:00 a.m.

Mark.

I could hear him call my name from the master bedroom. I flicked on the chandelier over the table and gaped at the disaster before me. Deep gouges from my heels marred the normally smooth surface of the table. Had I done that?

Water spilled over the wood, and red and white carnations had fallen off the table onto thick Turkish rugs. I glanced around for the Ming vase. It was gone. He’d taken that, too? Really?

My stomach plummeted. What was I going to tell the Brentmoors? Their table was ruined. Their jewels were stolen, not to mention their priceless Ming vase.

They hired me to house sit because I was a cop. A cop who’d promised to keep their home safe and undefiled. I had two weeks to fix this.

And I would. I had to.

I spun as Mark trudged into the dining room. He was dressed in ragged jeans and a faded black T-shirt. He tore off a child’s plastic mask and stared at me.

His detective’s eyes took in the scene of my crime. I turned away and picked up the lace table runner.

It smelled of sex. I smelled of sex. The entire damn room smelled of sex. Steeling myself, I looked at Mark’s face.

What the hell, Lexanne!

Chapter Two

What could I say? I might as well spit it out.

I had sex with a burglar.

Mark’s gaze narrowed. His eyes scoped out the room, assessing the truth laid out before him.