Chapter 1

A massive sapphire landed in the center of Interpol Agent Landon Malik's desk. It sat there like a chunk of summer-blue sky that had been cut free and faceted.

Normally, Landon would have reacted instantly and decisively, but it had been a long day. He'd been slogging through paperwork at his desk for three hours. Before that were four hours of travel—it was a long train ride from London to Manchester—which in turn were preceded by ten hours in Heathrow's security offices, interviewing suspected smugglers.

He'd planned to visit Club Alibi to check in before leaving London, though it wasn't his assigned week as Dom in residence. The club was new, and when he was in London he tried to stop in. But yesterday it hadn't been possible, even though his boss had okayed him delaying starting the paperwork on the smuggling case so he could spend some time at the club before returning to the office.

The suspected smugglers were women and children, victims of human trafficking who'd been forced to carry goods into the UK, and the sooner he got the right kind of reports written and paperwork filed, the better for them.

He'd skipped a visit to Club Alibi this time, assuring his boss that he'd stop in the next time he was in London, if he was back in the capital before his assigned week at the club.

It used to be that Landon's work and personal life were completely separate. Now his boss knew he preferred sexually submissive partners and had bondage and pain kinks.

Landon stared at the sapphire, resting in the center of his report, for another half a second before his tired brain processed what he was looking at.

And the implications.

Awareness hummed through him as he looked from the gem to the hand of fate. More specifically, the hand that had just dropped a jewel onto his paperwork.

Pale, elegant, fingers wiggled in a cheeky greeting. His gaze followed the line of her arm up to her face.

"Bonjour, Landon."

The moment should have had a dramatic orchestral music, rather than a backing score of generic office sounds—low-voices and the clack of keyboards.

A beautiful dark-haired woman with pale skin and a heart-shaped face leaned one hip against his desk. She wore a tan trench coat over a white dress with a silk scarf in patterns of blue, green, and pops of yellow looped casually around her neck. She looked effortlessly chic and totally at ease. A smile played around her mouth and her eyes sparkled, as if she was amused by the world, and hoped you felt the same.

Landon's stomach knotted in shock, followed by relief.

She was alive.

"You're alive." He hadn't meant to say that out loud.

She leaned forward, and he could smell her perfume. Her eyes were bright with intelligence and humor. "Were you worried about me, Landon?"

He should be sounding an alarm or hand cuffing her—and not fun recreational cuffing. No, she should be in restraints because she was a criminal, and a damned good one.

"You disappeared." Landon leaned back in his chair, palms flat on his desk and arm muscles tight with tension in an effort not to grab her and pull her down onto his lap. "It was either dead or in custody."

Colette tipped her head towards her computer. "Surely you checked, to see if someone had managed to catch me?"

Fuck. He had checked. At least once a month for years, he'd put her name into Interpol's extensive information system to see if she was in prison somewhere. He'd occasionally find mention of her in some society gossip page, but there were rarely photos, so he'd never been sure if it was her.

She leaned in. "No one did. The closest anyone ever came to catching me…was you."

Landon wanted to kiss her, then arrest her. Not necessarily in that order. And the fact that he wanted to kiss her was proof he was a fucking idiot.

She was alive…and she was here. At his desk. In Interpol.

There were a few times in Landon's life where he'd had a fatalistic feeling. Known in advance that something momentous was about to happen. It was always accompanied by an odd, tingling sensation.

Right now he had all the tingles. All of them.

Colette Beaumont had that effect on him.

He looked from her to the room beyond. Yes, he was still at his desk in the high-security government facility that housed the UK's Interpol NCB.

And somehow one of Europe's most infamous cat burglars had walked right through building security, up to his desk, and dumped a giant sapphire on top of a classified report.

* * *

Colette hid her free hand in the pocket of her long coat so Landon Malik wouldn't see her tightly-balled fist, or the way she nervously ran her thumb over her knuckles.

Landon's shocked expression—eyes wide, brows up—lasted only a moment. That was a shame, because he was sexy-cute when he was surprised.

Now dark brows were drawn together over equally dark eyes, his new expression calculating and intense. Still sexy, but sexy-dangerous, not sexy-cute.

Someday she'd get him to smile at her the way he had when they'd first met. Before he'd known who, and what, she was.

That smile had been straight sexy.

Landon rose slowly, as if worried he might spook her. "Colette." It was almost a question. As if he still couldn't quite believe she was here.

She couldn't quite believe it either, but she needed Landon.

Her heart had been racing since the moment she spotted his dark head bent over his desk. Conning her way into the building and then up onto this floor hadn't raised her heart rate, but he did.

Now that he was on his feet, a fresh jolt of adrenaline raced through her—the result of an uneasy mix of fear and attraction.

Fear, because she'd forgotten exactly how big he was.

Attraction, because she'd forgotten exactly how big he was.

Landon was dressed more casually than expected, in a knit collared shirt and dark pants. The knit fabric hugged the muscles of his shoulders in a way that made him seem more imposing than he would have been in the suit and tie she'd expected.

Maybe she hadn't forgotten, so much as forced herself to disremember exactly what it was like to be in his presence.

Landon could, if he wanted, put people at ease, minimizing the clear physical danger a man his size presented with that devastating smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. His air of command made people instinctively defer to him, while the smile bought their trust.

Not that he didn't have the expressionless cop-face ubiquitous to law enforcement professionals the world over, when needed.

Right now he was neither smiling to put her at ease, nor wearing the blank expression.

Landon stared at her with an intensity and focus that made her look away. She pretended to study the diamond she'd dropped on his desk. It didn't lessen the feeling of him watching her as if the rest of the world no longer mattered. Her body prickled with the certainty that she had his full, undivided attention. She had this strange urge to hold perfectly still, as if by not moving she might get him to focus on someone else.

Colette clenched her hidden hand tight, until her fingers started to hurt. Centering her tension there allowed her to gather herself and raise her head, then casually arch one brow.

"It's good to see you again, Detective Inspector… No, I'm sorry, it's not detective inspector anymore, is it? It's good to see you again, Agent Malik."

Landon was silent for a long moment, and if she'd been a less composed person, or a less desperate one, that silence would have made her nervous.

"Colette?" he finally asked.

"Yes, Agent Malik?"

"Why are you here?" He looked around as if double checking that yes, she'd walked right in to the Interpol offices.

She didn't bother to hide her grin.

Landon's attention returned to her, but now he wasn't looking at her eyes, rather someplace lower. Her mouth? She licked her lip experimentally.

He inhaled slowly through his nose.

Yes, he was looking at her lips. That smoothed some of her jagged anxiety. He was still attracted to her, though undoubtedly he hated her too.

But now she was thinking about his mouth. His lower lip was soft and full. He had the start of a beard, dark stubble along his jaw and framing that very sexy mouth. She didn't know if he was purposefully growing a beard, or had been working non-stop and hadn't been home to shave. Whatever the reason, it made him look roguish and dangerous.

He was dangerous. And not just because he was the only member of law enforcement who'd ever come close to catching her.

Colette reached over and picked up the 50 carat blue diamond. "I'm here because I think the Saudi prince might want this back."

* * *

Landon knew he should be moving—grabbing cuffs to arrest her, picking up the phone to alert security they had a problem. Except he couldn't stop staring at her mouth. Colette had gorgeous, full lips that were perpetually turned up at the corners, as if she always hovered on the edge of a smile.

It was disarming and charming, the smile of a beautiful woman who didn't take herself too seriously.

It was also a lie. A lie he'd fallen for once before, and was apparently poised to fall for again. Anger sizzled through him.

Her words finally penetrated, and snapped him back to reality. Saudi prince?

Landon reached one hand behind his back, the other stretched out, palm up, for the sapphire.

Colette extended her hand, wrist twisting to drop the gem into his palm. He waited until the last second, then grabbed her, fingers closing around her hand, encasing it in his much larger one. Her bones felt thin and fragile.

He pulled cuffs from the pouch on the back of his belt and snapped them around her wrist.

They both looked down. He was now cradling her hand, the large sapphire trapped between their fingers, the empty cuff swaying below their joined hands.

Neither of them noticed the reduction in chatter or the way the atmosphere in the bullpen changed.

"What is it you say in English? Kinky?" Colette arched a brow, one corner of her mouth pulling up.

He wanted to kiss that mouth then bend her over the desk and spank that tight ass.

Fuck. He'd been thinking about Club Alibi, and it was messing with his head. The entire Club Alibi project had blurred a line he'd previously kept crisp and defined.

"I haven't given you any reason to arrest me." She looked disappointed and shook her head softly.

"You walked into Interpol with a stolen sapphire." He sounded defensive even to his own ears, and wrestled his tone under control. His next words came out as a growl. "What did you think was going to happen?"

"I thought you'd be grateful that I brought you a fifty-carat blue diamond." She stressed the last word.

"That's a diamond?" It was a pale blue but distinctly blue, which was why he'd assumed it was a sapphire. His second guess would have been topaz, followed by aquamarine.

"A very large diamond." She twisted her hand and the gem caught the light.

He reached for her other arm and Colette pulled away, tucking her hand back into her pocket while simultaneously holding up the diamond like a shield.

"This is a fifty-carat blue diamond. Only one in—" She tipped her head side to side, lips pursed in consideration, as she took a tiny step in retreat. "—ten thousand or so diamonds have this blue color. And to find one of this size is extraordinary." Her smile turned sly as she continued to inch away. "A fifty-carat blue diamond was stolen from a Saudi prince in the early nineties."

He knew exactly what she was talking about, and it only raised more questions. Questions he would ask once he had her safely in custody.

She'd cleared the corner of his desk in her retreat, and was less than a meter from a thick, square support column in the middle of the large bullpen.

"When did you steal it?" he asked casually.

"Who said I stole it?" Colette's smile was almost coy, one brow arched.

"I'm saying it. You're a thief." A world-class thief.

"I bring you a present and you make?—"

Colette's words broke off with a shocked gasp as he lunged forward. Landon grabbed her shoulders and forced her back until her body fetched up against the column. Her eyes were wide with shock that morphed to something else as he leaned in, pinning her in place.

He couldn't stop the grin of satisfaction at having her trapped and under his control. He'd taken her by surprise, and that felt like a victory, since she was usually four steps ahead of him.

He could feel her breasts against his chest as he leaned into her, and each inhale brought him a complex, citrusy scent. Perfume, and probably expensive perfume at that. Landon pressed his hips to hers and slid his hands down her arms. Her wide eyed-gaze met and held his, as his hands reached her wrists, gripping them tight. There was a small "plonk" sound as she dropped the diamond and it hit the flat, industrial carpet.

"What are you doing?" she whispered, accent thick and breaths coming fast.

"Making sure you don't run away this time." Landon started to drag her hands up the column, intending to pin her wrists above her head.

Colette's breath hitched, her eyes going wide.

That's right, you should be worried.

Right now he wasn't thinking about arrest paperwork and judicial due process. He was imagining treating her like a disobedient sub. Paddling her ass until it hurt to sit would improve her behavior.

Whoa. Inappropriate, no matter what had happed between him and Colette in the past.

"Is this normally how Interpol arrests people? It's very…intimate." Her words were almost a challenge, though she didn't meet his gaze.

Since she wasn't looking at him, he was free to look his fill, studying each feature. "If I could, I'd do more than arrest you."

It was unprofessional, but he was tired, her sass was tweaking every Dom nerve he had, and he wanted to push her off balance. Colette was too fucking smart and dangerous. He needed any and every advantage.

But he needed to get himself under control. Landon swallowed, taking a minute to force down the urge to treat her like a submissive.

"Agent Malik."

His boss's voice was calm but loud. Shocking in the silence he hadn't registered.

Landon froze, his hands pinning Colette's wrists to the column by her ears.

Colette took an unsteady breath, but by the time she exhaled the small smile was back on her face. The shock—and maybe even a little fear—of a moment ago hidden away.

Landon released one wrist and turned to his boss, who was standing a few feet away, calm brown eyes assessing the situation. Anu Kumar was a petite woman of Indian descent with a posh public school accent that always made him feel like a country bumpkin though Coventry was hardly rural. Then again, he did grow up on a farm.

Today she was wearing an impeccably tailored suit with lemon yellow top and held a small radio in her hand. The other hand was in her jacket pocket, probably holding a can of incapacitating spray or a stun gun.

Landon looked around. The bullpen had gone completely silent. Most of his Interpol colleges—pulled from law enforcement units all over the UK—were standing at their desks, their postures tense and ready. Barry Hutton, one of Landon's favorite people in at the Interpol NCB, had a phone to his ear.

"There's been a building security breach," he said, as if that explained everything. His boss's expression indicated it did not.

"Breach? I walked in," Colette said in a worried tone. She now had a perfect English accent. "Was I…not supposed to?"

Anu's eyes widened for a moment. She glanced at Barry, who continued speaking quietly into the phone, his other hand on one wheel of his wheelchair, rolling himself forward and back several centimeters. He did it whenever he was concentrating, and said it was his version of jiggling his foot. Somehow that sign that Barry was anxious drove home for Landon how much he'd just fucked up.