Page 79 of Sin of Love
My last sight of her is her middle finger, a pale beacon in the lantern-light.
* * *
“Why do you hate me?”she hisses.
“I don’t hate you, I love you. And I had no idea you were such a rule-follower.”
A small fist connects with my shoulder. “What if we get caught?”
I arch a brow. “So what? We spend the night in jail. Big whoop.”
Darts of irritation fire from her eyes, but I have her—she’s trying not to laugh.
“Besides,” I add, “do you think the gallery will really press charges when they find out it’s me?”
“Good thing you didn’t throw away your real passport, or they might not believe you.”
“Mmm. Good thing. Although I’ve heard I’m kind of a big deal in the art world.”
She bites her lips, brow furrowed. “Fine. Let’s do it.”
I want to kiss her so badly my mouth waters, but instead I nod and turn my attention to the panel on the security door. Two minutes later, I’ve thoroughly pretended to disarm it. Hopefully my contact from the gallery didn’t forget to turn the blasted thing off.
With a small prayer, I yank open the door.
Silence.
“After you, mon bijou.”
She takes a step forward, then pauses. “We’re not stealing anything, right?”
“Why? Do you want to?”
I get an elbow in the stomach for that.
“No. I don’t want to hurt anyone, financially or otherwise.”
“We won’t,” I assure her.
“We’re just painting a wall, right?”
“Right.”
She walks inside.
