The Con Artist, Page 3

  “Well, I mean... I’ve seen the estate. I went to Eric’s house and...” Off Lachlan’s renewed lascivious interest she said, “Not that! I didn’t sleep with him. I’m not a whore.”

  “Of course not, Miss Roth. I never suggested such a thing. You seem awfully sensitive about it, though.”

  But he had suggested it with the way he kept inching closer, and the way his gaze scanned her body as if with enough concentration he’d be able to see through the fabric entirely. Or perhaps the material might shift just the slightest amount to show him the expanse of skin he wanted to ogle.

  Saskia sidestepped him and moved behind his desk. She knew it looked like she was running. She didn’t care.

  He chuckled in response.

  “There’s a giant rhododendron on the south side of the house. It’s not under the guest room, but a few doors down from it. I could drop it out that window, let the foliage catch it, and pick it up on my way out.”

  Lachlan cringed as if he could see each of the million ways that could go wrong. And if she were doing the heist for real, she’d feel pretty anxious about it as well. As it was, she planned to dance and sip some champagne with Eric and wait until she had to meet Lachlan for the hand off.

  He moved swiftly behind her before she could make another maneuver to get around the heavy oak desk. Saskia tensed when he touched her back. He pressed her forward until her cheek rested against the smooth wood surface. She was intently aware of how the skirt she’d chosen exposed her to his gaze.

  Inches from her face—at eye level now—was what appeared to be a heavy, long, yellow glass paperweight. But it wasn’t a paperweight even though it was holding down stray papers. She realized this close to it, that it was a dildo. Dear God. Really? Did he intend to...?

  Lachlan leaned forward, his fine linen suit pressing against her mid-priced, on-sale skirt “If you get caught... if anything goes wrong...” he hissed against her ear, “... you will not implicate me. Do you understand?” His hand slipped under the skirt and between her thighs.

  “S-stop.”

  “Do. You. Understand?”

  “Y-yes, sir.” Where had that come from?

  “Sir. I like that.” He eased off her, pulled the skirt back into place, and patted her ass.

  Saskia straightened and stumbled away to put some distance between them. She looked out the window, unable to meet his gaze. She just wanted him out of her life. She’d never felt less guilty about the plan than she did right now. She only wished she could find a way to steal more from him.

  Lachlan didn’t pursue her across the room. Instead, he sat at the desk. “Do you have the account number for the transfer?”

  “Y-yes.” Saskia retrieved a folded piece of paper from the pocket in her skirt and inched toward him, holding it out.

  When she was close enough, he snatched it from her hand. Lachlan unfolded the paper and smoothed it out in front of him. He pointedly lifted the glass sex toy from the desk and slid the paper underneath it, his eyes never leaving hers.

  “I’ll wire twenty-five thousand to your account tomorrow to last you the next six months. The forgery will be returned to you for the switch after Eli analyzes it. You may go now. It would be best if we didn’t see each other again until after the party. You’ll meet me here at one o’clock in the morning as soon as you’ve completed the job.”

  Saskia nodded, still trembling from the way he’d touched her only moments before. She practically ran from his house. Not having to see him again for months was the best thing he could have suggested.

  Chapter Three

  Saskia checked her hair and makeup in a bathroom on the second floor of the Raine Estate. She straightened the strap on her plum-colored evening gown for the third time of the night, wishing she had the kind of shoulders that didn’t inspire clothing mutiny.

  With weeks of radio silence from Eric, Saskia had thought she might not even be able to get into the party. Maybe he’d forgotten her altogether. But when she’d arrived, the alias she’d given him was on the list.

  In the grand scheme, it wouldn’t have mattered if she couldn’t get in. She didn’t need to be there at all. She’d just wanted one good night before she had to steel herself to see Lachlan again and deal with whatever smarmy bullshit he’d try with her during their next—and hopefully last—encounter.

  Saskia didn’t have a friend named Beth. She couldn’t get a uniform to match those worn by the caterers—partly because she had no idea where the uniforms came from. Nothing had been smuggled on a truck. And she sure as shit wasn’t about to switch out the authentic Joseph Quill for her fake—convincing though it was.

  When she left the bathroom she went up to the third floor to sneak a look at the original painting. She’d itched to see it in person, knowing it would be her only chance. As she slipped down the quiet hallway, she was grateful she wasn’t really stealing anything. She felt like a loosely connected bundle of nerves just being alone on this floor. What would she say if someone found her snooping around up here?

  The door she sought creaked when she pushed it open. A spotlight shone on the painting, taking all the attention in the cavernous room. It called to her, luring her closer. Her breath caught in her throat being this close to the real thing. She had to stop herself from reaching out to touch it. It was clearly earlier work. But it was breathtaking and haunting like all the other Quill nudes she’d studied. And Lachlan didn’t deserve to have it hanging in his parlor.

  She took one last lingering look, then moved quietly back down the stairs. At the end of the second floor hallway, she looked down over the balcony into the sea of party guests mingling in the grand foyer. She spotted Eric at the foot of the stairs gazing up at her. Waiting.

  He was a tan, blond Adonis with cheerful eyes the color of blue topaz. He raised a glass of champagne, a question in his gaze. She nodded and carefully descended the staircase and took the glass of demi-sec from him. It was tart and sweet, the lush flavor blooming over her tongue in sharp bursts. The only thing that would make it better was a strawberry—the strawberry that seemed to have just mysteriously appeared in Eric’s gorgeous hand. He held the sweet fruit to her lips, and she bit into it, a trickle of juice running down her chin. He caught it with his finger and sucked the juice off.

  Saskia watched him, transfixed.

  There was nothing she’d like more than to stay until the festivities died down and wake in Eric’s bed in the morning, but the clock ticked toward the dreaded meeting. Lachlan was the last human she ever wanted to see again—and human was being generous. True to his word, he’d stayed away from her the full six months, with only a brief, cryptic phone call the day before asking if everything was in place for the switch.

  Not seeing him for so long had only heightened her fear of the inevitable meeting. She almost wished she was stealing the Quill piece. What if Lachlan suspected? She’d worked extra hard on the new forgery, taking a full three months reviewing all of Quill’s work even more obsessively than she had before. She’d studied the bad photograph of the piece as well as the slightly inferior forgery she’d done at the start for comparison.

  It was the best work Saskia had ever done because she was pretty sure her life depended on it in more ways than one. She was certain even the artist himself could have been fooled by it, but it didn’t stop her jangled nerves over the scam and the man she was pulling it on. Still, her odds of getting away with this were way better than an actual heist during the middle of a birthday party. So there was that.

  Eric flashed her a warm smile. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy the past few months, Alice. Please don’t think it was anything personal. My father is in poor health. He’s been grooming me to take over his company. It’s a lot to take in. And a lot to deal with.”

  Saskia winced at the alias. She couldn’t even tell him her real name.

  He was kind enough that his existence alone almost forced her to rewrite all her nasty assumptions about the wealthy. He didn’t seem s
poiled or entitled, or as if he didn’t care about anyone else. Despite the ostentatious nature of the party, Eric Raine didn’t appear to be trying to impress anyone or rub their faces in anything.

  He was so nice looking—not just handsome, but like a nice, caring guy. And funny and charming. And he didn’t scare her like Lachlan did. Of course there was no future with Eric, even if he’d found a momentary interest in her. He could have anyone he wanted, and she was nine years older than him. If he wasn’t aware of that now, he’d pick up on it in a few years when she stopped passing for twenty-four.

  Eric navigated her through the crowd in the entryway, underneath the stairs, and into the ballroom. He swept her onto the dance floor as a love song that still topped the charts played. It wasn’t canned music pumped in through a sound system. It was live. She couldn’t begin to imagine how much it had cost to get a chart topping band to a private party.

  As they moved across the dance floor, Saskia felt the panic beginning to bubble inside her. She could pretend it was the jealous looks from women who had their sights set on Eric, but it wasn’t that. It was this whole situation.

  Couldn’t she find some way to get out of meeting with Lachlan? He’d want the money he’d already given her returned—money she had no way of getting, aside from throwing herself on Eric’s mercy. Which would only make her look like a gold digger. As if he’d rescue her anyway. She wasn’t still young and naïve enough to believe in fairy tales.

  She couldn’t explain to Eric why she owed this money. Even if he somehow understood her circumstances, Lachlan had been clear about not being implicated in anything. She couldn’t imagine she’d ever be safe from the man she feared if she opened her mouth now with anything approaching the truth.

  Even in some enchanted world where Eric could shield and protect her, they weren’t in love. They weren’t even a couple. It was so casual they may as well be poker buddies.

  “Alice? Alice?”

  Saskia startled and looked up, still not used to the name she’d chosen. “Yes?”

  Every time he called her Alice, she felt as though she were digging the knife into him a little deeper.

  “Is something wrong?”

  God, he was so genuine and sweet. He deserved all the good the world had to offer him, and Saskia wanted nothing more than to inhabit that world with him. But there were too many lies and too little true attachment between them. He was just having some fun. And why shouldn’t he? It was his birthday.

  The music stopped, and the woman who’d been singing spoke into the microphone to wish Eric a happy birthday. Her words blended into the background as Saskia realized she was going to be late to the meeting. She wanted to be late for her meeting with Lachlan even less than she wanted to see him again in the first place.

  “Eric, I’m so sorry, but I have to go.” She’d never see him again. Don’t cry, Saskia. Just don’t be an idiot and cry.

  “What’s the rush?” He winked at her. “Is your car going to turn into a pumpkin? If you’re secretly poor as a church mouse, I won’t judge you. We can skip the whole shoe drama and just move ahead to the happy ending.”

  He didn’t realize how close he was to the truth—or how much his light-hearted joking hurt.

  “I’m sorry, I have an early day.” Saskia pulled away from him.

  Another slow romantic song began to play and he tried to draw her back in for another dance.

  “Alice, stay.”

  God, please stop calling me that. At least she was stealing from someone who deserved it and not Eric or his family.

  “I really can’t.”

  “I’ll call you, tomorrow?” he said. It was a question, not a statement.

  The number will be changed, and I’ll be long gone.

  “I’d like that,” Saskia said, just to get him to release her. “Happy Birthday.”

  “Hey, thanks.”

  Unexpectedly, he pulled her in for a kiss. Warm, soft, gentle—the promise of all the things that life didn’t seem to want to give her. But it was already too late to escape the path she’d set in motion.

  A few whistles and catcalls rose from around the ballroom. Eric was kissing her in front of nearly sixty people, after all.

  “By the way, you look so hot in those glasses,” he whispered. “Kind of a nerdy sexy librarian.”

  She blushed. “Thanks. I had a great time tonight, but I really have to go.” Saskia turned and left the party without looking back. In another life, maybe. But unfortunately, not in this one.

  ***

  “You’re late,” Lachlan said.

  Saskia stood tense in the darkened study, the tube with the painting slung over her shoulder like luggage. The only light in the room came from the flickering fire and the illuminated laptop screen Lachlan sat behind. The fire made shadows on the wall that seemed to jump, startled each time his deep voice pierced the silence.

  He closed the laptop and rose from behind the desk. He’d dressed more casually tonight. Dark jeans and a lemon yellow polo shirt. His feet were bare. Lemon yellow and bare feet—only Lachlan could make that intimidating.

  “Well?” His hand extended impatiently, greedy for the painting.

  All at once, she began having second thoughts. What the fuck would he do if he caught her trying to con him like this? Was she sure her new forgery was that convincing?

  Lachlan raised a brow, and she handed it over, trying to mask the tremble surging down her arm. She expected him to turn some lights on so he could inspect the painting, but the two of them remained shrouded in semi-darkness.

  “Marcus will sit with you while I scan and compare this to the known forgery.”

  So he was using the authenticating software. Of course. He had two things to compare and had no doubt already scanned the first one she’d brought.

  Saskia wondered if she imagined the threat—as if Marcus might restrain her should anything suspicious be found.

  “I thought Eli...”

  “Eli was only needed for the forgery. I wanted his opinion on how good you were. I’ll be able to see the differences between that and the original you’ve brought me. Something wrong, Miss Roth?”

  Saskia shrank back, trying to wipe her face of all expression. “N-no.”

  “This is the original Quill nude isn’t it?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Good. You will wait.” Lachlan opened the door and called for Marcus, then disappeared down the hallway with the new forgery.

  Marcus looked unhappy with the babysitting assignment, just as he’d looked unhappy fetching her the last time she’d been here.

  “You really don’t have to stay,” she said.

  Marcus just glared and slouched into the chair opposite her. Saskia straightened the strap on her dress again. At least this time she didn’t have to keep pulling her skirt down. The fabric of the evening gown reached the floor.

  The only sounds brave enough to intrude upon the room were the flickering fire spitting in the grate and the rhythmic tick of the clock on the mantel. Marcus didn’t engage. He simply watched her in the way a sociopath might watch a small animal drawing its last breath.

  An agonizing hour passed as Saskia’s fear reached a fever pitch. She was sure Lachlan would burst through the door at any moment, shouting and threatening her.

  Finally, he returned. “Marcus, you can go.”

  Lachlan sat behind the desk. Saskia’s eyes darted again to the glass sex toy between them, as if it acting as a paperweight were completely normal. Maybe he didn’t know what it... no of course he knew what it was. He was a grown man. Just the shape and size of it...

  Marcus slipped out the door.

  When they were alone, Quill said, “I’m satisfied. I’ve already wired the money to your account. Tomorrow, you can log on and see that everything is in order. Goodnight, Miss Roth. It was a pleasure working with you. I hope we meet again.”

  That was it? He wasn’t going to make another creepy pass at her? Not that she wanted that
. It was just that the fear of what he might try to do the next time she saw him had sat as a background horror track for the past several months as the days lurched on moving closer and closer to this moment. This moment where he’d gone back to studying something on his computer screen as if he’d lost all interest in her.

  Well, so much the better. For her part, she hoped there was never a reason for their paths to cross again.

  Chapter Four

  Four months, three weeks, and two glorious days had passed since Saskia had run off with twelve million dollars of Lachlan’s money while Joseph Quill’s nude remained unmolested at the Raine Estate. Even with sunglasses, she had to shield her eyes against the blazing sun at Venice’s Piazza San Marco, or as the locals called it, la Piazza.

  She never tired of coming here. On first arriving, she’d bought up every tourist-y book she could get her hands on and learned everything she could. The Piazza San Marco had supposedly once been called the drawing room of Europe by Napoleon. Whether he’d truly said it or not could never be proven, but it felt true nonetheless. This place kept drawing her back to it.

  After a couple months of traveling and seeing everything she could think to cram into that time—every famous art museum and gallery dotted across the world—she’d finally settled back in Venice. The tropical island idea had gotten boring after two weeks. Italy was where she belonged. It was an artist’s paradise.

  Sometimes she liked to sit inside St. Mark’s Basilica, staring up at the awe-inspiring gold mosaics so long it made her neck hurt. Even with tourists fluttering about, the space felt sacred. But even inside a church as grand as St. Mark’s, Saskia had barely a flutter of guilt about her crime. Why should she? Lachlan had billions. Twelve million was so laughable he wouldn’t have missed it if she’d taken it right out of his bank account while he looked the other way.

  “Having fun, Miss Roth?”

  That voice.

  Saskia considered running, screaming, anything but turning around to confirm who she knew stood just behind her, his hot breath mixing with the warm breeze against her neck.