Eine reizende Diebin (German Edition)

hurried, he could make it home, change in a minute or two and be at the restaurant only fifteen minutes after their agreed time.
    Marcus pulled out his cell, and while he rushed through the narrow streets of Mayfair, dialed the number for the restaurant.
    “George, Moncrieff here.”
    “Good evening, Mr. Moncrieff.”
    “My reservation at eight. There’s a slight delay. Would you be so kind as to inform the lady once she arrives that I’ll be fifteen minutes delayed?”
    “Of course, sir!”
    “And please serve her the best champagne.”
    “Very well, sir.”
    “Thank you!” Relieved, he disconnected the call.
    Minutes later, he entered his house and ran up the stairs toward his bedroom. All of a sudden, he stopped in his tracks in the upper hallway.
    Something was different. Something was missing. It was too quiet. He instantly realized that what was missing were the familiar beeps reminding him to turn off the alarm system. Had he forgotten to set it before he’d left the house? Impossible. He was almost anal about setting the security system whenever he left.
    As he stood wondering, he noticed a faint light traveling underneath the door of his office into the hallway. Had he forgotten to turn his desk light off? He wasn’t the forgetful type.
    Then the ray of light shifted.
    Somebody was in his office!
    A burglar!
    The office was where he kept some of his priceless artifacts, including the one he’d acquired at the auction the night before. He was having a display case custom built for it, and in the meantime, it rested in his safe.
    Marcus crouched down to look through the keyhole. A chair partially obstructed his view, but he could clearly make out a figure kneeling in front of his safe. Hands clad in surgical gloves turned the dial, and it appeared the person was pressing a stethoscope to the door of the safe to listen to the interior workings of the lock.
    He took off his shoes and, as quietly as he could, he snuck into his bedroom and opened the top drawer of his nightstand.
    The 9mm semi automatic he retrieved from it felt cool in his hand. He wasn’t a particularly good shot; in fact, he had only shot the gun once or twice when he’d purchased it. It wasn’t even loaded, but it would do as a deterrent. The ammunition was locked in a cabinet in his office and therefore out of reach.
    After a few deep breaths, he turned the knob to the office and swung the door open, before pointing the gun at the intruder who instantly jumped to his feet.
    Correction: to her feet!
    Clearly, she hadn’t planned on meeting him at the restaurant. The little temptress had simply wanted him out of the way.
    Dressed in figure-hugging black trousers, a tight black turtleneck sweater and black boots, it was doubtful that the Maitre d’ at Claridge’s would have admitted her to the elegant dining room. They were, after all, a bit old fashioned and stodgy there.
    “Olivia,” he greeted her. “What a surprise.”
    It was the understatement of the century.
    Her eyes searched for an escape route, but there was none. The window behind her had bars on the outside, and Marcus blocked the only door, the gun still pointing at her.
    “And what is it that you’re after, since it’s obviously not my charming company?” Marcus asked casually.
    Her eyes skimmed over his body, briefly resting on his torn trousers. He followed her look.
    “Lucky accident, otherwise I’d be sitting in the restaurant now, waiting for you in vain.”
    Olivia finally spoke. “Lucky for you, I suppose.”
    She knew she was caught, but she didn’t know what he would do. Neither did he.
    Should he call the police? Have her arrested? Clearly, she was a burglar. A cunning one at that. She should be punished.
    Marcus let his eyes roam over her body. He knew already that she had amazing legs. She’d shown them off to him the night before—and not by accident, he knew that now. But the tight fitting clothes she wore now accentuated her curves even more.
    He’d bet a hundred quid that she didn’t wear a bra under that snug sweater of hers.
    “Ever been to prison?”
    He saw a quick flash of fear in her eyes.
    “I’ve never gotten caught.” Her voice was silky and just as tempting as he’d found it the night before.
    “There’s always a first. I never caught a thief before either. Especially not such a hot one.”
    Color slowly rose to her cheeks. Good. He liked her reaction. At least, he didn’t leave her cold.
    “So you caught me. What