The Taming of the Thief by Heather Long Page A

his clothing to his comfort with wealth to his cheerful,
almost boylike attitude towards life. He was the same man who'd pulled her out
of danger, shielded her with his own body and then stood by her like a rock
during hours of questioning.
            Yet
here she rode in a car with him, having spent the night in his hotel suite and
despite the promise of passion in his kiss, he'd acted the gentleman and kept
his distance. Her lips tingled at the thought of the soft sweep of his lips as
they'd touched hers, the strength of his body where it pressed against hers and
the rippling desire to strip away the clothing separating them.
          “What are you thinking about?” Pietr's voice
dragged her back to the present. He was close enough that the whisper of his
words seemed loud.
          “Sorry.” Sophie shook her head to clear the
thoughts clouding her good judgment. She flicked her gaze from the streets
gliding past outside the window to the man staring at her. “I was thinking
about last night.”
          “You're safe.” Pietr assured solemnly. When he reached over to interlace his fingers with hers, a jolt of
awareness shot through her. “I mean that.”
          “You realize that we're still strangers,
right? You barely know me, why would you take on my problems?” She twisted in
the seat, tucking one leg over to the other to look at him, even as her thumb
toyed with the skin along the back of his hand. He had great fingers, long and
strong without being too thick. He didn't favor jewelry either and his left
ring finger was evenly tanned.
          “And yet, we've shared a meal and a night
together. Knowing someone comes in many different forms.” Despite the lightness
of his words, his accented voice was low and throaty.
          “Why did you come to see me last night at my
apartment before all the chaos and the craziness? You said you'd been looking
for me.” He'd avoided her question the night before, so nimbly that she'd
forgotten all about it until now.
          Pietr sighed. His gaze glided over her face
and then to the window behind her. Veiled thoughts slipped across his eyes, as
though he wrestled internally with some dilemma. Was the dilemma telling her
the truth? Or was he worried that without the question they would have nothing
left to keep them together?
          The second thought startled her.
          If he asked his question, would that be the
end of this experience? Would he leave? Jet off for some exotic locale while
she muddled through this mess she'd found herself in?
          Her chest constricted.
          “Honestly, I am in New York for research.”
Pietr squeezed her hand and another jolt of awareness. Outside, the big city
blocks gave way to rows of brownstones, condos and apartments lining the East
Side.
          “I'm going to assume museum research because
you said you went there first.”
          “ Oui.”
          Sophie chewed the inside of her lip, toes
curling inside her shoes. She clamped down on the need to fidget or pull her
hand away. She liked the way he held it too much.
          “Sophie, you are a specialist in Middle and
Near Eastern art and artifacts and your dissertation is on cultural icons and their influence on historical and modern art.”
          Sophie's mouth fell open.
          Pietr chuckled, tugging her hand up to his
lips for a soft brush of a kiss to the knuckles. Warmth shuttled through her
surprise as he tucked her hand against his chest. The lazy thump of his
heartbeat teased her.
          “Your advisor, a Professor Fleinhardt,
recommended you to Walter Curry, he would have come to meet you himself, but he
was unavoidably and thankfully detained.”
          Sophie's mind buzzed with delight. Her
thesis professor's recommendation was an amazing compliment. Although tenured
at NYU, Professor Fleinhardt spent the last term serving as a guest lecturer at
Oxford. Her dissertation had stalled months