Nights With A Thief
Two thieves get their hearts stolen in this fast-paced caper by USA Today bestselling author Marilyn Pappano.A real-life Robin Hood, Lisette Malone recovers stolen property and returns it to the rightful owner…even if that's herself! To get back a priceless statue that belonged to her late father, Lisette must finagle her way onto a heavily-guarded private Caribbean island. The only catch? It’s owned by wealthy playboy Jack Sinclair, the one man who sets her heart on fire….Lisette’s hopeful plan: seduction. When a vengeful client comes after them both, Jack and Lisette fall deeper into life-threatening danger, and she can’t help but fall for her handsome protector. But what if perpetrating the heist of the century means losing the love of a lifetime?
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Two thieves get their hearts stolen in this fast-paced caper by USA TODAY bestselling author Marilyn Pappano
A real-life Robin Hood, Lisette Malone recovers stolen property and returns it to the rightful owner...even if thatâs herself! To get back a priceless statue that belonged to her late father, Lisette must finagle her way onto a heavily guarded private Caribbean island. The only catch? Itâs owned by wealthy playboy Jack Sinclair, the one man who sets her heart on fire...
Lisetteâs hopeful plan: seduction. When a vengeful client comes after them both, Jack and Lisette fall deeper into life-threatening danger, and she canât help but fall for her handsome protector. But what if perpetrating the heist of the century means losing the love of a lifetime?
Lisette scowled at him. âYou donât have to play the tough-guy hero.â
âIf you ever see me being the hero, keep in mind: I will be playing. I like things peaceful and easy. Iâll meet David somewhere he wouldnât dare cause a scene. Iâll convince him I didnât steal Shepherdess, heâll apologize, heâll send you a giftâdiamonds, probablyâand that will be the end of it.â
Jack didnât believe what he was saying, and it was clear she didnât, either, but she didnât argue. Instead, she resettled in her seat, forehead knitted in a frown, and gestured grudgingly at the upcoming highway sign. âGet off here.â
He exited and turned toward her neighborhood. A distinctly uncomfortable air settled in the truck rather quickly, but he didnât let it get to him. Irritation, he could take. Threats against her person or her life, he couldnât.
But damned if he didnât like, at least a bit, the idea of being her hero.
* * *
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I finished writing this book almost exactly on the thirtieth anniversary of the sale of my first book. Itâs been a fun, exciting, eye-popping, frustrating, happy, sad, wonderful time, but one thing has never changed: my deep, deep gratitude for being a part of this business. Iâve met incredible friends; Iâve learned incredible things. One of the best aspects of it all has been the readers. You guys have stroked my ego, made me laugh and brought me to tears. Youâve encouraged me and made me feel ten feet tall; youâve shared your experiences; youâve offered friendship; and one of the best things of all: you get me. Do you know how cool it is for a sort of, ah, unique person like me to find people who really, truly get her?
Whether youâre a frequent flier with me or this is your first time, I hope you enjoy the trip. Thanks for taking the journey with me and for helping me do what I love best. Thanks for the best life ever!
Marilyn
Oklahoma, dogs, beaches, books, family and friends: these are a few of MARILYN PAPPANOâs favorite things. She lives in imaginary worlds where she reigns supreme (at least, she does when the characters cooperate) and no matter how wrong things go, she can always set them right. Itâs her husbandâs job to keep her grounded in the real world, which makes him her very favorite thing.
Contents
Jack Sinclair put on his first tuxedo at the age of eight, looked in the mirror and told the servant whoâd helped him dress, I look good. The servant laughed before shunting him off to a corner of the main hallway to await his parentsâ summons. That was twenty-two years ago, but two things hadnât changed: he still looked good in a tux, and he still spent time hanging out in corners at these formal events.
This particular event was taking place at the Castle, a mansion carved out of Rocky Mountain stone in the 1800s. David Candalaria was celebrating the opening of the Kingâs Treasures exhibit at the Denver museum that bore his name, a collection of paintings, statues and carvings from a tiny kingdom that no longer existed. Only serious art lovers or historians remembered it today.
Jack liked art, but the party tonight wasnât about that. The best way to view a treasure was in private, intimately. No, this evening was about seeing and being seen. Photo ops. Who was with whom? Who was wearing what? Who had acquired what?
He sipped champagne as he strolled the perimeter of the ballroom. Heâd been there nearly two hours, had talked to everyone he had any interest in and now was avoiding the few he didnât want to talk to. That was why he kept moving; it was harder to hit a moving target.
In keeping with the rest of the Castle, the ballroom was grand. Polished marble tile reflected prisms of light from the chandeliers forty feet above. Eight fireplaces were spaced around the room, each large enough to hold six of Candalariaâs bodyguards shoulder to shoulder. Palladian windows lined the three outside walls, opening onto stone terraces that led to formal gardens, then to a vast expanse of lush green lawn that ended in dark walls of impenetrable forest.
