Chapter 14

The car halted, making Piper pitch forward a little. She woke up and blinked. She was warm and cozy, and the last thing she wanted was to move.

"As much as I enjoy you cuddling against me, little dove, I need to get you inside where you can sleep in a real bed." Mikhail's voice was a husky whisper close to her ear. She glanced around and realized that she was practically on top of him. Her head was tucked beneath his chin, and he had one arm curled around her waist. Her legs were across his lap, and his other hand rested on her outer thigh.

"Oh!" She scrambled away from him, which only made him laugh. The rich, rumbling sound warmed her down to her toes, and she hated that. A kidnapper should not have that effect on her. But Mikhail did. This was definitely a bad case of Stockholm syndrome. There was no denying that.

"Why don't you come inside and warm up? I'll put a pot of tea on." Mikhail climbed out of the car. Piper watched him walk over to Belishaw by the SUV and speak to him. It was a whispered conversation, and whatever Mikhail said had Belishaw nodding and opening the trunk. Mikhail came over to her side of the Rover and opened the door for her. She stared at him, still debating her chances of escape, even though running off into the dark in Cornwall was a terrible idea.

His lips twitched. "I would advise you against trying to run. I would only go after you, and when I caught you, I'd likely punish you."

"But you said you wouldn't"

"There are other ways to teach a lesson than to cause pain. Sometimes withholding something can be more effective."

Was he serious? "You'd deprive me of food and water?"

"No, of course not," he replied, his tone darker. "I would never do that."

"Then what do you mean?"

He leaned into the SUV. "I mean that I would strip you naked and put my mouth and hands upon your body until you begged for releasethen I would deny you your desire for pleasure." His mouth sloped into a lazy grin. "Only after you begged would I grant you mercy and let you come."

Her temper flared to life. "I would never let you touch me, you"

Mikhail caught her by the waist and dragged her against him, his mouth covering hers and silencing any protest. She clutched his shoulders, desperate not to fall as he stepped away from the vehicle. How had she forgotten how good he tasted? It was exquisite, like seventy-year-old scotch. She buried her rational thoughts, which warned her that this was a nonsensical thing to dokissing the man who'd somehow forced her to steal priceless jewelsbut damn, he kissed like the world was ending.

Flickers, like faded photos, began to flash through her mind again, confusing her. How was this not some wild dream? A woman in a Tudor-era gown danced with her, the woman's eyes alight with mischief as she placed her palm against Mikhail's hand and began to twirl in a courtly dance.

More visions, moving quicker, a kiss in the dark room outside the jewel reception, the feel of her lips against his and an overpowering sense of belonging. Piper's heart felt as though it was being tugged out of her chest toward his. On some deep level she sensed she was being bound to him, falling for him, but it was insanewasn't it?

I can't love a stranger. I can't love a man who steals jewels and

"Wrap your legs around my waist," he growled against her.

"Excuse me?"

"You have no shoes. I'm going to carry you inside." He gripped her backside, and she gasped, her legs locking around his waist like he'd flipped a switch. She dug her fingers into his shoulders.

"Please don't drop me!" she begged. None of her previous boyfriends had ever tried to carry her because she was too heavy.

Mikhail buried his face in her hair and kissed the shell of her ear as he walked. "How could I? You barely weigh anything."

A blush heated her cheeks, and she shoved aside the girlish excitement at the thought that he was carrying her. And she liked it.

He kidnapped you. This is not sexy or charming. This is a crime. That irksome voice of reason was shouting at her again, but she hushed it.

Mikhail paused at the door of the house. She'd been too distracted to get a proper look at it.

"Hold on." He turned the knob, and the door creaked open. A rush of warm air escaped as they entered. Mikhail closed the door behind them and set her down.

"Welcome." He waved a hand at the entryway, and Piper took her time in appraising what a jewel thief's home was like. It was an old stone mansion with wooden walls and cloth wallpaper that had been painted to look like wooded glens. The walls were warm and rich, with art hanging from the walls along the staircase that led to other rooms. Her bare feet sank into a red-and-blue Persian rug. It was the most surreal moment she'd ever had in her life.

"Come. Let me get you some tea before you settle in for the night." Mikhail grasped her hand and led her to a quaint kitchen. He offered her a chair at a small table in a cozy nook with a window that overlooked the sea. She pulled his coat tighter about her to keep out the slight chill from the single-glazed windows where a stiff breeze from the ocean drifted through.

"Mikhail" she began, wondering how many times she'd have to beg him to let her go.

"We will talk about your situation in the morning. Tonight you will sleep." He set a kettle on the stove and clicked the burner on. Blue flames erupted around the pot.

Piper stared at him through bleary eyes, completely exhausted. She didn't feel afraid now. She couldn't explain it, but something feltdifferent. The rough, dark man Mikhail had been when he'd kidnapped her in London was not here. The man in the kitchen was a relaxed country gentleman. Was it because he'd successfully stolen the jewels and felt he no longer had to worry? That had to be it.

She remained silent as he poured a cup of tea and sat down at the table beside her. The honey and chamomile felt good and soothing as it went down. She'd always enjoyed tea before bed, even as a child.

"This is your house, but you're from Russia, right?" She tried to puzzle the pieces together even through her fatigue. There was so much that didn't fit together. The more she knew about him and this situation, the easier it would be to explain to the authorities once she made it back to London.

"Yes. I have lived here for many years, but my true home is in Russia. I haven't been home in a long time." The look in Mikhail's eyes seemed so far away, as though he were seeing ghosts from his past.

"Why do you live here then? Is there a reason you can't go back?" She couldn't resist studying him more closely as she sipped her tea. She realized that he was dressed differently now than when they'd kissed at the public reception. He now wore dark blue jeans and a black button-up shirt. He must have gone to Belishaw's house to change into his thief clothes. She'd imagined thieves ran around in all black with ski masks. But this wasn't a movie. This was real life, and he'd clearly gotten away with the robbery just fine.

"I made a mistake a long time ago, and my father exiled me. Eventually, I stayed here with a good friend for a time. When he died, he left me this house."

A pale shaft of moonlight came through the window, illuminating Mikhail's green eyes. The unexpected pain she saw in them made Piper tilt her head with curiosity.

"I'm sorry about your friend." She'd never lost anyone close to her and couldn't imagine what it must be like.

"It was a long time ago, but I have many memories of him to fill my heart." His sad smile only made him more beautiful somehow. His affection for the man was still there, but a bittersweetness hung about his lips. Piper had the strange desire to lean over and kiss him, to try to banish the sorrow inside him.

Piper hastily drank the rest of her tea and tried not to think about kissing Mikhail anymore. She'd done it enough already today, in situations that seriously called her sanity into question.

Mikhail stood and held out a hand. "Do you want more tea?"

Piper shook her head and handed him the empty mug. He set it on the counter and extended his hand again. After a long hesitation, she placed her palm in his and tried to ignore the spark she felt when he curled his fingers tightly around hers. They left the kitchen, and she followed him down the hall lined with tiny landscape paintings. Someone in this house had loved art. There were piles of folios on a corner table by the stairs, and sketches peeped out at uneven angles from old worn leather bindings.

"Are you an artist?" she asked.

Mikhail chuckled. "Me? No. Those belonged to James. My friend. He was quite talented." Mikhail paused at a painting at the base of the stairs. It was a cliff-side view of the sea. The waves crashed against the rocks as though announcing the arrival of a storm. There was a distant, almost black-colored bird painted in the distance. Strange to paint a single bird, she thought, a bird that didn't seem to resemble a bird, actually. The wings were far too spiked, more like a bat than a bird. How odd.

Piper nodded at the scene, which still managed to look stormy despite the hall lamps that painted everything with gold light. "Did he paint this?"

"He did. James was a naturalist, what you'd call a scientist now, but there was a part of him that was untouched by logic and thrived on emotion and the arts. He was one of the few humans I trusted with" Mikhail suddenly stopped, and with a rueful smile he continued up the stairs. He was a man of more secrets than she realized.