Stolen By Midnight

Chapter 3

His luxury penthouse apartment was a surprise. She expected a multimillion dollar palace, not swanky digs. The home blazoned lavish sandstone flooring, modern chrome décor, and sparse furnishings. It was beautiful, stark, and perhaps a bit cold. There wasn't anything promoting a warm fuzzy feeling, or inviting happiness. There was a light, airy cleanliness with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the Pacific Ocean.

Carson hadn't said a word the whole limo ride, and in fact, he was brooding. A line of irritation firmed his lips. He gave Ivy a cool glance as they clicked through the entrance, stopping in the center of the apartment.

"The master suite is upstairs and you'll find whatever you need in the closet, vanity, or bathroom. If you're hungry, you'll discover more than I feel like eating in the kitchen. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to my office to work." He leaned forward, brushing his lips over her forehead and left.

Ivy gaped after him, watching him pull his bow tie loose as he strode away. The dejected slope of his shoulders was a one eighty in light of their smoking hot moments and threat of bedroom Olympics. He ran so hot and cold. She shook her head in wonder. One minute he acted as if he couldn't wait to wrap her up in sensual sin, then the next, he sank into his own little billionaire world.

God, he was strange.

She followed the stairs, anxious to rid herself of the dress and scrub her face. The master bedroom claimed the same airy cleanliness in all white, and she explored her surroundings. A closet full of clothes, the vanity stocked with anything she could possibly want—including a jewelry box housing an insane amount of gems. Why do all this for a woman he barely knew?

His words from the Japanese museum haunted her...you've stolen one thing I'll never be able to replace...my heart. That meant he cared for her deeper than he would say and deeper than she understood.

Ivy never had someone to really love her. Having no memory of her parents, she grew up in foster care all her life, which sucked the capacity to love right out of her. The police report indicated her parents had died in a car accident, leaving her alone at three months old. She'd had nothing, nothing but a pretty face and a quick mind to see her through lonely nights until she met dashing Alistair. He introduced her to a magical world of art crime and the miraculous way to stay five steps ahead of discovery. And she excelled at the vocation better than anyone. She could steal anything...and had.

Case in point, she dug Carson's wallet out of her dress with a smirky smile. He never even suspected as he bestowed his lavish limo orgasm upon her. It was amazing the kind of things discovered in a person's wallet. She caressed the supple dark leather, inhaling. The combination of scents greeted her...leather, cologne, and Carson's own blend of man, which was utterly mouth watering.

Immediately, her body responded to the alluring essence, flashing hot. Her nipples beaded, and her heart clenched. There wasn't any doubt she enjoyed their sexy romps, but that hardly constituted love. Yet, there was the freaky green statue of her in his office. A man didn't do such things unless he cared, right?

God, something close to pain and heady warmth flooded her blood stream—something she'd never felt before. The man turned her life upside down within one day, and while that should've scared her, it didn't. Her startling revelation? She yearned to know him more. Everything.

Ivy opened his wallet and something fluttered to the floor. Carson had probably two or three thousand in cash, several credit cards, his driver's license, and his business cards with personal contact information. She crouched to retrieve the fallen item.

Tears filled her eyes.

The photo was of her.

The edges were worn and frayed. She was naked. And she looked...just fucked from the wild cloud of her dark hair over the pillow to her posed like the statue in his office.