Read Online The Art of Stealing Kisses (Stealing Hearts Book 2) by Stella London - Free Book Online

again. “I
was in the US when all this happened and when I found out, I offered
Crawford ten times what he paid for it, but he just loves having it
to lord over me. I should have been there, I could have prevented
this.” He
sounds angry, not at Crawford, but himself.
    “It
sounds like you did everything you could,”
I say gently.
    “It’s
not enough,” he
says sharply, and then softens. “Grace,
I’m
so sorry. I’m
being incredibly rude, spilling all my dark family secrets.”
    “You’re
not. I love that you tried so hard to get your family heirloom back.
You care about what’s
right, and not many guys think that way.”
    St.
Clair squeezes my hand, and I remember, he’s
still holding it. Then he brings it to his lips, and drops a light
kiss on my knuckles. It’s
just a moment of contact, but I shiver, remembering those lips on
mine.
    And
more…
    As
a rush of heat spreads low in my belly, I force myself to shake away
the memory before I get too distracted.
    Charles
doesn’t
let go of my hand and we walk a little further, the buildings full of
brick and wood, old, sturdy construction. “We
don’t
have this kind of age to the buildings in California,”
I say,
looking around. “Everything
feels so stately here.”
    He
smiles. “Stately
sounds boring.”
    “You
know, sophisticated. Cultured, full of art everywhere you turn.”
We come
across a small courtyard with a fountain. Statues of three young
women stand in stone in the pool, water cascading out of their heads.
“Like,
how pretty is this? There are little pockets of beauty all over this
city.”
    St.
Clair pauses, and then a wicked grin spreads across his handsome
face. “Let’s
take a dip, shall we?”
    “What?”
I gasp. “No!
Isn’t
that illegal?”
    St.
Clair laughs at me as he loosens his tie and takes off his shoes.
“Who
cares?”
    Then,
before I can process that he’s
actually serious, he climbs over the fountain rim and wades into the
water.
    “Come
on,” he
calls, beckoning me. “You’re
missing all the fun!”
    He
stands back, under the spray of the fountain. Water soaks through his
shirt, plastering it to his body, and drips in rivulets off his wet
hair.
    He
looks like a masterpiece himself: honed from the finest marble,
designed by an expert.
    “Grace!”
St. Clair
insists. He scoops up some water and splashes it at me, but I jump
back with a smile, just in time. “Are
you going to stand around watching all night?”
    I
would if I could, but the temptation is too much. I want to feel what
it’s
like to be so spontaneous and reckless. Giggling, I take off my
shoes, and gingerly step into the water.
    “It’s
cold!” I
shriek.
    “Come
here.” He
grabs me and pulls me deeper, under the spray. The water cascades
over us and we’re
drenched in seconds. I cling to him, laughing, and then slowly, my
laughter fades.
    He’s
looking at me with a raw hunger in his eyes. Desire. I’ve
never seen anything like it before.
    “Hi,”
I whisper, looking up into his eyes. Water drips down his perfect
cheekbones, over his mouth. I can’t
help but stare.
    “Hi.”
He moves a wet strand of hair off my forehead and our eyes lock as he
leans in to kiss me. Slow and hot and deep. I melt into it, and he
yanks me closer, until I’m
crushed against his wet, chiseled body.
    God,
it feels good. I spread my lips and let his tongue invade. He groans
and bites at my lower lip, his need fueling my desire. I grab his wet
shirt and drag him closer, wanting more, wanting that crackling, full
body skin to skin contact. I don’t
know how long we’re
there, caught up in this epic kiss, but suddenly, there’s
the loud blare of a horn.
    “Yeah!
Get in there!” a
holler comes. I break away from Charles to see a car of guys all
whooping and cheering as they pass.
    I
flush red, embarrassed, but St. Clair just laughs and waves back.
    I
catch my breath, reeling. I could kiss him all night. I hesitate for
half a moment and then look him in the eye.