Thief

“Okay, when I was twelve I started writing letters to my birth mother because I wanted to be adopted.”

I shook my head. “Your childhood sucked, you wanted a new reality.”

She snorted air through her nose. “I thought a mermaid lived in my shower drain, and I used to call her Sarah and talk to her.”

“Active imagination,” I countered. She was becoming more insistent, her little body wriggling in my grip.

“I used to make paper out of dryer lint.”

“Nerdy.”

“I wanted to be one with nature, so I started boiling grass and drinking it with a little bit of dirt for sugar.”

I paused. “Okay, that’s weird.”

“Thank you!” she said. Then, she got serious again. “My mom just loved me through all of it.”

My arms tightened around her. I was afraid the wind, the water … life would take her away from me. I didn’t want her to blow away.

“When she was in the hospital toward the end, she was in a lot of pain, but all she did was worry about me,” she paused, laughed a little. “She had no hair. Her head looked like a shiny egg and it was always cold. I tried to knit her a hat, but it was terrible, full of holes, but of course she wore it anyway.”

I could hear her tears. My heart was aching like she had it between her fist.

“She was always asking me, ‘Are you hungry? Are you tired? Are you sad?’” Her voice cracked. I ran my hand up her back, trying to comfort her, knowing I couldn’t.

“I would have switched places with her.”

Her sob ripped me open, spilled everything out. I sat us both up and held her in my lap as she cried.

Her pain was so jagged. You couldn’t touch her without it slicing through you too. I wanted to fold myself around her and absorb the rest of the blows life would deliver.

That was the exact moment my heart threaded with hers. It was as if someone reached down with a sewing needle and stitched my soul to hers. How could one woman be so sharp and so vulnerable at the same time? Whatever would happen to her would happen to me. Whatever pain she would feel, I would feel it too. I wanted it — that was the surprising part. Selfish, self-centered Caleb Drake loved a girl so much he could already feel himself changing to accommodate her needs.

I fell.

Hard.

For the rest of this life and probably the next.

I wanted her — every last inch of her stubborn, combative, catty heart.

A few months after that, I told her I loved her for the first time. I’d loved her for a while, but I knew she wasn’t ready to hear it. The minute the words were out of my mouth, she looked like she wanted to stuff them back in. Her nostrils started flaring and her skin flushed. She couldn’t say it back. I was disappointed, but not surprised. I knew she loved me, but I wanted to hear it. The more she rejected me, the more aggressively I fought to tear down her walls. I pushed too far sometimes … like the camping trip. I tried to prove to her that she wasn’t as autonomous as she thought. I wanted to show her that it was okay to be vulnerable and to want me. For someone like Olivia, sex was directly tied to her emotions. She tried to pretend that sex wasn’t important to her — that she could have a healthy relationship without it. But, her body was her playing card. The longer she held out with sex, the longer she held onto her power.

When I walked into that tent, I was determined to strip her of her power.

“You are master of your own body, yes?”

She jutted her chin defiantly.

“Yes.”

“Then you won’t have a problem controlling it.”

I could see the uncertainty in her eyes as I moved toward her. If she wanted to play games, I was going to play harder. She was out of her league. For the last year, I’d had to fight away every desire, every need I had. All I wanted was three words. Three words she wouldn’t give me, and now she was going to pay.

She tried to walk away, but I grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her back.

The restraint I’d held back for a year sat precariously on the edge of a cliff. I let it dangle there for a minute before I shoved it off and kissed her. I kissed her like I would have kissed an experienced girl. I kissed her like I kissed her the first time, in the pool — before I knew she was so broken. She responded better than I thought. It was almost as if she’d been waiting for me to kiss her like that. She tried pushing me away a couple of times, but it was halfhearted. And even then, she never stopped kissing me. Her mind was at war with itself. I decided to give her a little help. Ripping away from her, I grabbed her flimsy t-shirt and ripped it off, neck to seam. It tore like paper. Her mouth dropped open, as I pulled the remaining fabric from her arms and tossed it aside. I pulled her toward me again and kissed her as my fingers found the clasp on her bra and flicked it off. She was against me now, skin to skin. I yanked her pants down and she keened into my mouth like it was the best and worst thing I’d ever done.

She was panting into my mouth — God I was so turned on. I slowed down a little. I wanted to take my time kissing all the places I’d always wanted to and had never been allowed — the space between her breasts, the insides of her thighs, the commas on her lower back.

She had a sweet spot right above her collarbone where her neck dipped. I listened to her intake of breath in satisfaction and worked my way down. I’d just reached her perfect ni**les when she leaned into me like her lust was too heavy and she couldn’t stand. I put her on the ground and lowered myself on top of her. I was sucking on her ni**les and letting my hand slide up the inside of her thigh. She was wearing black lace panties; they stood out against her creamy skin. My hand stopped when it reached the junction of her thighs. I wanted her to want it. I let my thumb brush across the lace and she bucked underneath me. I wondered if anyone else had ever touched her there. I was having a hard time controlling myself. I breathed into her hair. It smelled like fresh laundry.

“Are you still in control?”

She nodded. I could feel her shaking and I wanted to call bullshit.

“Stop me,” I said. “If you’re in control, then stop me.”

I pulled off the sweatpants that were still lingering around her ankles. She looked up at me with glassy eyes, like stopping me was the last thing she wanted to do.

That’s when I snapped out of it. My game was turning toxic. I breathed in hard through my nose. I could take her now. She’d let me. But, that wouldn’t be fair. I was manipulating her. She’d be angry with me after — she’d fold in on herself and I’d lose her. I just needed her to acknowledge me.

“Who owns you?”

She licked her lips. Her hands were locked on my arms. I could feel slight pressure as she pulled me toward her. She was silently asking me. I held back — she’d taught me how. She shook her head, not understanding.

I hunted her eyes down, forced her to see me.

I put a hand over her chest. I could feel her heart … pounding for me.

I want her. I want her. I want her. Please, Olivia. Please let me have you…

“Who owns you?”

Her eyes liquefied. She understood. Her body went limp.

“You,” she said softly.

Her vulnerability, her body, her hair — it was all turning me on. I had never in my life wanted a woman more than I wanted her.

I threw my head back, closed my eyes and rolled off of her.

Don’t look at her. If you look at her again you’ll land up inside of her.

“Thank you.”

And then I left as quickly as I could to take a cold, cold shower.

She wouldn’t look at me for a week after.

Chapter Seven

My cell phone rings. I crack open an eye. There is no light filtering through the blinds, which means it’s either too f**king late or too f**king early to be calling. I hit answer and crush the phone to my ear.

“‘Lo.”

“Caleb?”

I sit up in bed and glance over at Jessica to see if I’ve woken her. She’s sleeping on her stomach, her face hidden by her hair.

“Yeah?” I rub my eyes and pull my knees up.

“It’s me.”

It takes me a few beats to figure out who “me” is.

“Olivia?”

I glance at the clock and see it’s 4:49. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, holding the phone between my shoulder and ear. Before she says another word, I have my pants on and am reaching for my shoes.

“Caleb, I’m sorry … I didn’t know who to call.”

“Don’t say sorry, just tell me what’s up.”

“It’s Dobson,” she says. Her words are jumbled and rushed. “He’s been sending me letters for a year. He broke out of Selbet last night. The police think he’s coming here.”

I break away from my phone to pull a shirt over my head.

“Where’s Noah?”

There is silence on the other end of the line and I think she’s hung up.

“Olivia?”

“Not here.”

“All right,” I say. “All right. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

I wake Jessica up and tell her where I’m going.

“Do you want me to come with you?” she asks, barely opening her eyes.

“No, it’s fine.”

I kiss her temple and she collapses back against her pillow in relief. I can smell salt in the air when I step out of the elevator and into the garage. You can always smell the ocean the strongest earlier in the day when the car exhausts and general human pollution hasn’t woken up for the workday yet.

It takes me thirty minutes to reach Sunny Isles Beach where her condo rises above all of the others, one side overlooking the city, and the other overlooking the ocean. It’s the only residential building with reflective glass on the outside. When I walk into the lobby, the night manager looks me over like he’s deciding if my name is Dobson and I’ve just escaped from crazy town.

“Mrs. Kaspen has given us strict orders that no one is to be let up,” he says.

“Call her,” I say, pointing at the phone.

Just then I hear her voice behind me. “It’s all right, Nick.”

I turn, and she’s walking toward me. She’s dressed in white yoga pants and a matching hoodie. She has the hood pulled over her hair, but some of her waves are peeking through, framing her anxious face. I do what comes naturally. I cross to where she is in two strides and pull her against me. She buries her face in my chest so that she can barely breathe and hooks her arms up instead of around. This is how we’ve always hugged. She called it the Upper Cut. In college she would always say, ’Upper cut me, Caleb.’ People would look at us like I was getting ready to hit her.

“Are you afraid?” I say to the top of her head.

She nods into my chest. “Dis is wot I ucking get.” She’s muffled, so I lift her chin. Her mouth is a few inches away from mine. I remember how soft her lips are and have to fight back the urge to taste her. Which brings me to the most important question.

“Where is your husband, Olivia?”

She looks so sad, I almost regret asking.

“Don’t ask me that tonight, okay?”

“Okay,” I say, staring into her eyes. “You wanna go get some breakfrast?” She cracks a smile at my mispronunciation of the word. We used to say it like that.

We.

Used to.

She looks nervously toward the entrance of the building.

“Duchess,” I say, squeezing her arms. “I got you.” I give her a small smile.

“That’s good,” she nods, “because if he gets me, I’m in a lot of f**king trouble.”

I laugh at her dry humor and steer her toward the door.

We are met head-on by Cammie.

“WTF!” she says, throwing her hands in the air. “I didn’t know this was a fucked-up relationship reunion.”

Olivia covers her eyes. “Don’t judge me.”

Cammie smacks me on the butt and hugs Olivia. “I told you I’d come right away, you didn’t have to call him.”

“I called him first,” she says. “He makes me feel safer than you do.”

“It’s his massive penis, isn’t it? He could just smack Dobson with it and he’d-”

“Let’s take my car,” I say, opening the door. Cammie climbs past me and stretches out on the backseat. “Hi, Cammie.”

She gives me a smile and I shake my head. Olivia’s best friend is her polar opposite. The two of them together were always a strange thing to behold. It was like watching a rainstorm when there were no clouds in the sky. One minute they were fighting, the next clutching each other in desperation.

“Well, look at us,” Cammie says. “All together again, like eight f**king years of lies and bullshit never happened.”

I look at her in my rearview mirror. “Angry much?”

“Nope, nope — I’m fine. Are you fine? I’m fine.” She folds her arms across her chest and looks out the window.

I glance at Olivia, who is staring out of her window, too distracted to pay attention.

“Can we just not fight tonight, Cam,” she says, half-heartedly. “He’s here because I asked him to be.”

I frown. I know better than to ask what is happening between the two of them. It could result in a screaming match. I turn into the parking lot of a Waffle House. Olivia watches my hand as I shift gears.

“So, did you tell him about Noah, O?”

“Shut up, Cammie,” she snaps. I look at her out of the corner of my eye, curiosity piqued.

“Tell me what?”

Olivia suddenly spins around in her seat and points a finger at Cammie. “I will destroy you.”