Too Wicked to Keep Read Free Page B

Brandon for—” He cut his claim short. He’d actually used the name the day before. He’d developed a habit of trying it every so often, to seeif the pain of losing Abby had lessened any in the years since she’d kicked him out of her life.
    It hadn’t.
    â€œWhy’d you come looking for me?”
    His voice was as strangled as the skin beneath his ring finger. Her mouth curved into a tiny smile—the first one that flashed all the way up to her irises. His pain gave her pleasure. He couldn’t blame her.
    She sidled closer, then danced the tips of her fingers up his shirt, from his waistband to his collar. “I have a job for you.”
    With a flick of her nail up the underside of his chin, a fire sparked through Danny’s body that made him want to drown himself in the moisture of her mouth. She was taunting him. Making him pay, one hormone at a time, for nearly destroying her future.
    He not only didn’t blame her—he wanted more.
    His brain might have registered all the reasons why he should stay half a country away from Abigail Albertini Chamberlain, but his dick hadn’t gotten the memo. Blood rushed down so fast, Danny had to grab the edge of the bar to keep from losing his balance.
    â€œNo way.”
    â€œYou owe me,” she said.
    â€œSo? You’re playing with fire, Abby. I can’t promise you won’t get burned again. And this time, Marshall won’t forgive you. I wouldn’t.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t have the first time.”
    She took her time tracing her fingers up his neck and then tousling the strands of hair at his temples. When her gaze locked with his, he saw none of the naive, uncertain girl she used to be.
    She was all woman now—and she had something upher sleeve, figuratively speaking. Something that wasn’t going to be good—at least, not for him.
    â€œNo,” he conceded. “I wouldn’t have forgiven you.”
    â€œGood,” she said, pushing away from him and snatching the flute of champagne the bartender had delivered. “Then you haven’t changed. I’m counting on you being the same lowlife, conscienceless thief you used to be.”
    He forced a chuckle. “Why would you hope for that?”
    She sipped her champagne. After enjoying half the glass, replete with appreciative hums and slides of her tongue over her rich, luscious lips, she put the flute back onto the bar and stretched up onto her tiptoes to whisper in his ear.
    When she did, her breasts brushed against his chest. The sensation caused a domino effect of ignitions that sparked his every nerve ending.
    â€œBecause I’ve found my painting and I need you to make good on your promise and steal it back.”

3
    A BBY SPUN ON HER four-inch heels, grabbed the bottle of champagne out of the ice bucket and started her hip-swinging parade out of the hotel bar. She measured her steps and the rhythm of her walk. She needed him to follow. She needed him to prove he wasn’t so much of a scoundrel that he’d break the last promise he made to her before he’d disappeared.
    She supposed she could have offered him money. She had plenty of it, not that it had helped her thus far in averting a scandal for her family. She’d thought about offering her forgiveness, but she wasn’t sure he cared about it or that she had any to give. Time, distance and four years of marriage to a man who loved her had lessened the sting. She was still pissed off at Danny for nearly wrecking her life, but she no longer wanted to curl into a whimpering ball of loss and regret.
    But he probably didn’t need her money, and if he cared one bit about forgiveness, he would have made good on his vow to retrieve the painting years ago. If she wanted him to follow now, she was going to offer him something she hoped he still craved—a chance to win her back.
    It wasn’t going to happen, of course. She might have put on her