To Now a Thief

Kohl had a black truck, Harper was completely unsurprised to learn. She took it as a side effect of his occupation: all the better to disappear into the night with. As the engine purred to life, she took in the earthy smell that permeated the cab. The smell of Kohl. It was like the forest in winter.

Harper didn't bother to ask where they were going. As long as it was a public place, she could keep herself together. Maybe even fool herself into believing it was a friendly dinner, though as she glanced over at her companion, there was nothing friendly about him. His brown eyes were bright but betrayed nothing as he stared out at the road.

He didn't deign to speak to her so she did likewise, making their trip uncomfortable and silent. Kohl didn't even play any music, made no attempts to ease any of the tension. Harper expected nothing less.

They slowed and turned into a parking lot, and Harper exhaled with relief as she saw the restaurant sign. A small part of her had been afraid he was taking her to his house or some other private location, where no one would hear her scream.

Kohl slammed the door when he got out and waited for her behind his truck. Harper rolled her eyes and as soon as she shut the door, he was halfway to the sidewalk. Not even bothering to look back at her.

The windows of the restaurant were dark, the light within subdued, and her nerves almost got the best of her. It wasn't exactly the bright diner she'd been hoping for, but she could hear the sounds of people talking and steeled herself. Kohl opened the door for her—from his behavior, she hadn't expected even that much chivalry.

He pressed into her side as they went to the reception podium and the waiter smiled, leading them into the depths of the room. Given the people sitting at the benches and waiting, it was clear Kohl had made a reservation. He'd been that sure she'd come? Had actually put thought into seeing her again?

Like the dim lighting, the environment was subdued. Secretive, Harper thought, taking in the many partitions around the room. She could hear people talking and eating but couldn't actually see any of them. Goosebumps rose on her arms.

The waiter deposited them at a small booth nestled between two of the partitions and disappeared. Harper sat on the edge, ready to flee at any moment. Kohl glared and she scooted over to make room for him, moving to the other side and essentially giving him her seat. He chuckled but said nothing, resting his elbows on the table.

"Do you always wear that jacket?" she asked after a few minutes, unable to stay silent any longer.

Kohl's eyebrow flicked up but he removed it. Harper pretended not to notice the absence of weapons—had she really expected him to carry knives around everywhere?—but her appraisal was met with a tight smile.

"I deserve that," he said. The waiter reappeared and asked for their drink orders. "Two glasses of red wine."

Harper shot him a glare when the waiter left. "What if I wanted something else?"

"You didn't. I saw the rack of wine in your kitchen—no white."

"Oh, of course." Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "You ransacked my house so now you know a lot of private shit about me."

"Your wine preference was privileged information?" His voice dropped seductively. "I know the sounds you make when you come, Harper. What's a favorite drink next to that?"

He succeeded in making her blush and leaned back in his seat, the picture of smugness. Harper wanted to slap him, crossing her arms over her chest just in case the urge proved too much. Kohl's gaze fell to the rings on her left hand.

"How long have you been married?" he asked. His tone gave nothing away.

"Four years." She swallowed hard. "You love torturing me, don't you?"

"You have no idea what torture is," he said with a smirk.

They fell silent again, Harper looking everywhere but at his face. She could feel him openly staring at her and it made her skin tingle. When the waiter brought their drinks, Harper realized they hadn't even opened their menus. That didn't stop Kohl from ordering her a bowl of minestrone. He requested some kind of pasta for himself and when the waiter once more retreated, Harper pressed her lips together.

"You went through my cupboards, too?" she asked.

Kohl studied her with fascination. "You're more offended by that than the fact that I robbed you."

Harper lowered her voice. "Did you?"

"Ah. I did, you know that. But I put everything back."

She was stunned. Of the two possible answers to that question, the thieves returning her stuff had been the least likely. "You put it back," she parroted.

"I know it doesn't erase the initial crime, of course."

Harper nodded. Swallowed. Nodded again. "I committed one too, if that makes you feel any better."

Kohl's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I didn't say I felt bad. You don't need to comfort me." He seemed offended that she'd done so, and she was just as surprised at herself.

"You didn't commit any crimes last night, by the way," he added.

Harper didn't know what to make of that. He wasn't trying to ease her guilt, so why waste breath lying? "Maybe not technically, but it was still wrong."

Kohl intertwined his fingers and rested his chin atop them. "Do you know why you came to dinner with me tonight?" He waited for her to shake her head. "You can justify last night to yourself. You could make a case for your actions in a court of law or in a fight with your husband. It an act of survival, nothing more."

He burned her with the intensity of his gaze. "You're sitting here because you don't just want to survive. You want to live. That's the real crime, Harper. This, what we're doing here, this is the real adultery you promised."

Harper's breath hitched. Each word that left his lips floated over and sizzled against her skin. She felt that steady pulse between her legs, lust temporarily overriding any shame that lingered in her heart.

"Maybe that's why I'm here," she said, embarrassed as her words wobbled. "Why are you here?"

"There's no maybe. I can see your nipples through your dress."

Harper looked down. The fabric wasn't sheer but he was right, they were straining against the fabric. She couldn't even use the excuse that it was cold, because the whole restaurant was toasty. When she met Kohl's gaze again, he licked his lips.

"In answer to your question," he continued, "I'm here because of you. You're the kind of person who can't stand not knowing something. Why did I give your things back? Why did I break the memory card but still take it with me? Are me or my 'buddies' going to return to ransack your apartment again, maybe when your husband is home?"

Harper's blood chilled. She hadn't thought about that last one and made a mental note to get the locks changed. And some better security, maybe an alarm... and some common sense, some self-preservation.

"I also thought you might want to give my knife back. Did you bring it?" "No, it's still in my underwear drawer."

Kohl's eyes danced with amusement at the volunteered information. "So neither of us is armed," he said. Still laughing at her.

Harper bit the inside of her cheek and took a gulp of the wine she'd forgotten about. Disappointment bloomed in her chest. That was why he'd taken her out to dinner, to give her answers. He did seem the type to gloat, and reviewing his actions gave him the opportunity to do just that. Like a murderer revisiting the scene of a crime to eek more sexual arousal out of the memory. Harper's cheeks reddened.

"Why did you snap the card in half?" she asked after taking another long gulp of the wine. Her glass was half-empty.

"I'm sure you've been coming up with creative answers to that question. Let's hear some of them."

Harper frowned. What a great way to skirt his own honesty rule. "Well," she started, fingering the stem of her glass, "the most obvious answer is to fuck with me. You broke it which should earn some trust, but then you took it with you. Not easy to prove you actually snapped it in half if I can't see it up close."

Kohl seemed pleased with the answer but motioned for her to keep going. She wanted to dig her heels in out of spite but couldn't refuse; she was too curious.

"You took it, so now I have to wonder why. Because it's not really broken? If it isn't, what are you going to do with it?" Her pulse raced. "To blackmail me? You could say that it's not damaged and use that information to your advantage."

Lines formed around Kohl's mouth. "You wouldn't have said that unless you thought it had already crossed my mind. It hasn't. There's taking what's offered, then there's just plain taking."

"Says the thief," she muttered, instantly regretting it. Kohl grabbed her leg under the table and squeezed so hard she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. His dark eyes bore into her with contempt.

"Says the whore. Face it, Harper: I wouldn't need to blackmail you." His hand slid up her thigh, fingers brushing the hem of her dress. "I could drag you out of here by the hair and fuck you up against the side of the building, and all I'd hear from you are moans." His grip tightened, as if daring her to disagree.

She couldn't. She was too busy fighting against the vision he'd pushed into her head and trying not to beg him to slide his hand higher. He read the question on her face anyway and his expression shone with triumph before he released her. As she worked to steady her breathing, Kohl dug something out of one of the many pockets on his jacket and tossed it on the table. The memory card.

Harper leaned forward and saw that it really was broken, the two halves barely holding onto each other. It would take nothing to snap them apart and she did just that, holding the pieces in her hand. She felt a flash of guilt but knew an apology would be met with condescension.

Silence descended on their table, sliced through with tension. Harper finished her wine and the waiter appeared seconds later to refill it, making her wonder if he'd lingered nearby, eavesdropping. She chugged half of it to calm her nerves, pretending not to notice Kohl's scowl of disapproval. What kind of man didn't want to ply their date with wine to lower their inhibitions? The kind that knows their date doesn't need her inhibitions lowered, Harper realized with self-deprecation, ignoring the fact that she'd thought of herself as his date. If anything, she was his prey. The unwitting opponent in a game he was playing for his own satisfaction.

"Aren't you going to ask your other questions?" Kohl mused after a while.

Harper nodded. "Why did you put everything back?"

"Because I didn't want you to have to answer your husband's questions. I didn't want him looking around the bedroom and seeing something he shouldn't."

Harper took another swig of wine. "What do you care?" Surely he didn't give a shit about her marriage.

Kohl's palms flattened on the table. "You have a better reason than most to see me as a sack of shit. I am, in most ways. And maybe my answer will only fuel that fire." He reached over, the pad of his thumb brushing from her cheek to the corner of her mouth. "I want to fuck you again, Harper, and that will be easier to do if no one's looking our way."

Her mouth was instantly dry, as if all the moisture in her body had fled south. The surge of arousal made her dizzy—or maybe it was the alcohol—and she couldn't form words. She didn't know what to say anyway, and Kohl wasn't looking for a verbal response. He plucked one of her arms from the table and dragged her hand down to his crotch.

Harper stifled a gasp when he forced her to rub his erection. She wanted to slide her hand down his pants, work him right there in the restaurant, but he pushed her away after just a few seconds of contact.

He'd gotten his answer. Harper waited for his look of superiority but saw only raw desire on his face. His jaw was tight, eyes hooded, and his gaze moved to her breasts. The force of it was so heavy, she could almost feel it raking down her skin.

The moment was ruined when the waiter arrived with their food. Harper had completely forgotten it and found it hard to tear her gaze away from his, reaching for her wine glass and draining it. When the bowl was placed in front of her it smelled delicious, but she wasn't sure she could focus enough to eat. Her mind was too busy painting erotic images on the inside of her skull, showing with stunning clarity scenes from the previous night: Kohl biting her, snarling like a beast in her ear, her answering moan that was nearly a scream of ecstasy, the feel of his cock stretching her, filling her. It was an effort to peel herself away from the recollections, and she saw that the waiter had gone and Kohl was eating, his face once again a civilized mask.

Harper forced herself to eat, enjoying the warmth of the soup but not tasting it. Halfway through the meal Kohl asked her something, but she was lost in thought again. His sharp rap on the table with his knuckles pulled her back into the present.

"You were glaring at your soup," he said, tone amused. "Should I send it back?"

"No, it's good. Sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

Harper shrugged. What had she said? Kohl chuckled and slid her drink away from her. "I thought it would take an avid wine drinker more than two glasses to get drunk."

She shook her head to protest, becoming so dizzy she had to grab the table. Kohl slid around to her side of the booth, leg pressed against hers, and put an arm around her shoulders. Unable to stop herself, she snuggled into the warmth of his chest. He stiffened but didn't protest, fingers curling around her forearm.

"I feel like I'm cuddling a bear," she admitted after a moment.

Kohl surprised her by laughing and let some of the tension leave his body. Spurred by momentary comfort and wine, Harper asked, "What were you doing with two thieves, anyway?"

"What do you mean?" His tone was sharp.

Harper was glad he kept his body relaxed. "I mean you're not a thief, so why were you doing a thief's job last night?"

Kohl ran his fingers down her arm, barely grazing her, but it was enough to make her whimper. "I'm not a thief? Why, because I returned what I stole? That's poor logic."

Harper didn't risk shaking her head, though she wanted to. "Not that. It's just... the other two, they reeked of desperation. They wanted to shut me up just because I was in the way, which is how I'd expect a criminal to act. It's a requirement for the job, really. But you," she said, poking him for emphasis, "you didn't care about what I knew. You weren't in my house to rob me, not really."

"Then why was I there, Harper?" he whispered. He continued stroking her arm with one hand but the other dropped to her leg.

Harper shuddered. "I'm not sure. For the thrill of it, maybe. Some people jump off of cliffs or out of airplanes to get a rush. Adrenaline junkies. You could be the darker version of that."

Kohl's hand inched up the inside of her thigh. He was quiet for so long that Harper grew worried she'd offended him. "Even drunk, you're too clever for your own good."

It wasn't a rebuke so Harper smiled and nestled closer to him, squirming a little to try to make his hand wander farther up her dress. He chuckled again but didn't give her what she wanted.

"Much as I'd like to, Harper, I can't finger fuck you in this restaurant. Finish your soup." He extracted himself from her hold and went back to his side of the table, tucking back into his pasta with the same finesse with which he did everything else. Harper mourned the loss of his warmth but did as told, sipping her soup but still not tasting it.

They finished eating and declined dessert. When the bill came, Harper bit her lip. She didn't want to leave, didn't want him to drive her home. What a turn her thoughts had taken since he'd picked her up, she realized with a small smile. The receipt came and Kohl was helping her out of the booth and leading her back to the entrance, his hand at the small of her back.

The night air was cool as they stepped out onto the sidewalk. They were on a stretch of road dominated by restaurants and bars, and Harper wasn't the only drunk one milling about. Kohl steered her back to the parking lot and she wondered why he was still holding her. She rolled her eyes and tried to pull away.

"I'm not fall-down drunk," she snapped. They reached his car and he put his hand on the passenger's side door but didn't open it.

"I touch you and you think it's because I'm worried you're going to hurt yourself?" He cocked his head. "I threatened to kill you yesterday. I'm obviously not concerned with your safety."

The words should have sobered her, but Harper just shrugged. "Like I said, you wouldn't have done it. You're not a murderer."

His arm shot out and grabbed her, pulling her close enough for him to peer down at her with a patronizing smirk. "A man who carries half-a-dozen knives has used at least one of them," he whispered.

"I thought you didn't have any," she said, though it sounded more like a question than a statement.

"I said I didn't have any in my jacket." He kissed her forehead and she gasped, some part of her aware of the danger she was in and her complete lack of fear. What was it he'd said the night before, something about words and actions?

Harper chose to pay attention to his actions, to the lips trailing down her forehead and over her cheek. She opened her eyes—when had she closed them?—and stared up at him, disappointed to see that he was in total control.

"Get in the car," he ordered, though he didn't move and his hand still grasped her arm. She took confidence in that and, before he read her intentions, stood on the tips of her toes and pressed her mouth against his.

Kohl stiffened and Harper sighed in frustration. She sank her teeth into his full bottom lip and he hissed, grabbing the back of her head and angling it up, allowing him more access.

His tongue pried its way into her mouth, demanding control of the kiss, and she moaned into him. Harper lifted her hands and wrapped them around his shoulders, pulling him down, and he pressed his erection into her stomach. She moaned and bit and clutched him, needy sounds escaping, satisfied when Kohl's breath quickened. She silently begged him to slip a hand between them, make good on his claim that he wanted to put his fingers inside her, but he didn't. He just tongue fucked her mouth until she was grinding against him lewdly, not caring who saw.

Too soon, he withdrew his tongue and pressed a hard kiss to her lips. Pulled back and kissed her again, lingering, his hand moving from the back of her head to grasp her chin between thumb and forefinger. He pulled back a second time and took her in, and she knew what he saw: the glazed eyes of someone lost to passion, cheeks red and mouth parted expectantly. Kohl ran his thumb over her bottom lip and straightened, staring into her eyes for a long moment before opening the door and pushing her into the truck.

They drove in silence like before, but it was less pronounced that time. Harper wanted to whine when they turned onto her road but held her tongue, afraid of seeming desperate. Then again, who was she kidding? Not him, and certainly not herself. Her underwear was still slick with the remnants of her arousal.

Kohl pulled into a spot and turned to her. "Give me your phone."

Harper did as told, watching as he programmed his number into it. When he handed it back, she stared down at the screen with a smile.

"Call me so I have your number, too," he commanded. His voice was rough and Harper glanced over to see his cock still straining against his jeans. It had been a twenty minute drive—he'd been hard the whole time and she hadn't noticed?

Harper pressed the call button and Kohl's phone vibrated in his pocket. She ended it and grabbed her purse with regret. "Do you want to come in?" she asked, unable to keep hope from coloring her tone.