proud of herself for intimidating Hunter, and honestly, that’s a scene I would’ve liked to have seen.
I wonder exactly what Hunter told her, but we can get to that later. That’s probably a conversation I need to have with Hunter, anyway, because Poppy doesn’t have clearance to know about some of our previous work together.
But beyond the details of every case, I need to make her understand everything that’s happened to bring me to this point, to her.
“The case,” I continue before I shake my head. In my mind, I go back years. “It started way before that. What I told you was true. I started with petty theft shit as a teen. Then I phased up to art, for real. I was on a job, and Hunter found me. He stopped me.”
I remember back to that job. I was stealing a post-modern work, one of those ink blot type things that look like something shrinks show their patients. There was a guy who wanted it for his office, so he hired me.
I was good then, and could’ve done it, but Hunter was watching the guy and knew about his hiring me. He played it cool, waited right until he could observe my skills, and put a hand on my shoulder literally seconds before I was about to make my move.
“He stopped me and offered me something else—to work with him. Not as a special agent or anything, but as . . . well, a freelancer of sorts, I guess? It’s complicated. But on the right side of the law. I laughed at first, but every time I turned around, there he was. Job after job, he was there, stopping me or frustrating me. I went months without a successful gig. He wore me down, and I agreed. I was a cocky bastard, but he taught me so much. We’ve been partners for years, through dozens of cases. This one, catching Mr. Big, was supposed to be a career-maker. Probably will be for Hunter.”
Poppy’s brows furrow. “Not yours?”
I shake my head, not delving into the likely limitations to my career path. That’s not the important part. Poppy is. “That’s what I’ve been working on the last few days. I gave them my notice. I’m out of the field. No more undercover, no theft. Not even for the good guys. Things are different now . . . with you. I don’t want to leave you, to risk us for some old painting.”
Her mouth drops open in surprise, and then she scrambles into my lap, straddling my hips and holding my cheeks so tightly she’s smushing my lips into a misshapen pucker. “I love you so much,” she says excitedly. “You growly bastard, I love you!”
The weird, almost insulting nickname is surprisingly cute in its accuracy, and I growl against her mouth as I kiss her back. “I love you too.”
Poppy and I exchange a long, deep kiss, and when she pulls back, she’s dancing in my lap and grinning. “What are you going to do then? Because I’m no sugar momma!” She taps my nose and lifts a finger to correct herself. “Except to Nut and Juice.”
I don’t really mind sharing her with the dogs. They are . . . kind of adorable, in a slobbery, wild fluffball sort of way. And currently watching us from the dog bed in the corner after hearing their names.
“Ironically, I’m moving into a consultant role. For the FBI when they need me, but mostly as a private contractor, planning and evaluating security protocols for museums and collectors with valuable collections.”
“That’s awesome, but are you okay with that?” Poppy asks. “I don’t want you to regret giving up something you love for me. Whether that’s really stealing or doing it for the FBI.”
I hold her tighter, not believing my good fortune with Poppy. Not that I would, but I believe I could tell her I’ve decided to go private and truly steal for a living, and she’d tell me to chase my dreams. Acceptance like that is more valuable than anything I’ve ever known. I squeeze her hips, feeling fortunate to be the man she loves. “You’re worth it. And I’ve been thinking a lot.” I swallow thickly, not used to spilling my guts like this and not liking it one fucking bit. “All this started . . .” I search for words. “There were days where I felt empty. I was holding on too tightly, the line getting too blurred again. I lost sight,