A Taste of Saving Mr. Perfect + Giveaway
—JENNIFER PROBST, New York Times &USA Today Bestselling Author of The Marriage Bargain
She’s a famous jewel thief.
He's FBI.
What's that saying? Keep your friends close...and your husband closer.
Being a retired jewel thief certainly has its perks.
1. Oh, wait.
2. No it doesn’t.
Without the thrill of the chase, life’s been pretty dull. Penelope gardens, drives her gorgeous husband up the wall, and watches as her old world slowly slips away. But what’s that old saying? When one thief closes the door…a copycat jimmies open a window.
And now all fingers at the FBI are pointed at her.
Set up to take the fall for thefts worth millions, Penelope have no choice but to strap on her heels and help her FBI agent husband track the thief. Grant might not think he needs a partner, but this is one case only a true professional can solve. Besides, she’s got to know who’s been taking her bad name in vain.
Let's just hope curiosity doesn't kill the cat burglar.
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iBooks: http://apple.co/2vIecC1
Penelope, tell me what
you know about the Peep-Toe Prowler.”
“I know she operates
the same way my team and I used to,” I say, meeting his gaze dead-on. He might
have me at a disadvantage, but I’m not one to give in easily. “She only chooses
wealthy targets, people who can afford to lose a few million without feeling
the pinch. She gets in and out of the crime scene undetected— most likely
through an open window or air vent. She only takes one item of jewelry at a
time, and it’s a show piece, something big and worth the risk.”
Grant nods at each
fact, adding to my feeling of sinking into quicksand.
“I also know that you
think I’m her.” There. It’s out now. “And that you gave me these stupid shoes
to try and trap me into confessing.”
His response is a groan,
which isn’t helpful. Emotional outpourings like this aren’t exactly easy. “You
accused me of not being honest with you, but that goes both ways,” I say. “I
thought we were on the same team now. No more tricks, no more lies. Remember?”
His groan deepens. “I
remember. I only wish you had, too.”
I glance up,
surprised. He still looks as if he might enjoy hoisting me over his shoulder
and hauling me out of the office caveman-style, but the lines around his eyes
are the good kind. The crinkly kind.
“What are you talking
about?” I ask.
“We are on the same team, Pen. Of course I
don’t think you’re the Peep-Toe Prowler.”
I blink. “You don’t?”
“Okay, I will admit
there were a few hours when it seemed like a possibility. And yes, I did have
your friends tailed for a week to make sure. But even if I thought you were
behind all this, I wouldn’t have started investigating you again.”
“You wouldn’t?”
He lifts his hand to
cup my cheek, a tender gesture that has always managed to break my defenses.
This time is no exception. “I would have just asked you, Penelope Blue.”
“But…” My head swirls
from the combination of his touch and the relief of hearing that rhyme back on
his lips. “That doesn’t make any sense. You’ve been treating me like a suspect
for months.”
“What are you talking
about? I’ve been treating you the same as I always have. I mean, I’ve been
working a lot of overtime, yes, but that’s not anything new.”
I stare at him,
incredulous. Is he seriously going to pretend this is all in my head?
“Besides, everything
else seems to be in working order.” His voice drops to a sexy rumble over that everything else. “Just the other night,
we did that thing…”
I know the thing he’s
referring to, and I’m not about to let him elaborate. We are, after all, in a
professional setting.
“Exactly,” I say.
“Exactly what?”
“You always get
demanding and sexy when you think I’m stealing things. It’s how you assert your
dominance.”
An enticing gleam
sparks in his eye, and I can tell he wants to assert his dominance here, now,
with his full dedication. Despite the thrill of desire that works through me at
the thought of us tossing his desktop knickknacks to the floor and enjoying a
full reconciliation, I’m determined to hold my ground.
“Sex has never been
the issue, and you know it,” I say sternly. The soft upturn of his lips
indicates his agreement. Whatever else, we’ve always been great at that. “But
you’ve been a walking, talking stranger for the past two months. You refuse to
let me come to the office or even call in to say hello. The only time I see you
is when you come home to sleep and shower and give me shoes…”
I trail off and let
the footwear say the rest. Unfortunately, they aren’t adept at communication,
because he touches one with a puzzled furrow in his brow.
“What’s wrong with
them? You look sexy as hell when you have them on. I distinctly remember you
wearing them when we did that thing—”
“Grant, if you so much
as mention that thing one more time, we will never do it again.”
“Never?”
“Not in a million
years.”
“A million years is an
awfully long time.” He caresses the shoe, his fingers trailing over the curves
of the red patent leather in obscene and titillating ways. “And you seemed to
enjoy yourself at the time. I know I did.”
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