Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 36890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 184(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 184(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
“I can’t wait to explore such blazing heat,” I murmured, pleased when she shivered, and a tiny moan escaped her lips.
I aimed to distract her and was pleased when it so easily worked.
When I realized her fixation was on my painting, I knew I would have to steer her away. I couldn’t chance her finding out the truth of who I was and what I did for The Family. The fact that it might send her running was a concern—although she wouldn’t get far before I dragged her pretty little ass back to me. Keeping her safe from The Family was of the highest priority.
If Kerrigan got too close to the truth, and Rafa thought she could be a problem, he would order someone to take care of her.
The best option was to get close to her and gain her trust so I could make sure she looked in all the wrong places and never found out the truth.
Smug satisfaction settled in my chest because the answer to all of that was to seduce Kerrigan. I knew my growing obsession with her was only going to get stronger. I would do whatever it took to make her need me, to make her body crave me until she couldn’t live without me. Then she would forget about everything but me.
The song ended, and the auction would begin in thirty minutes. I reluctantly withdrew my arms from around Kerrigan. I cursed our former authenticator to hell and back because I had to leave my woman and go babysit the new guy.
Leaning down, I brushed my lips over her cheek and whispered, “I have to go, miette. But I will see you soon. Je promets.”
Once again, it occurred to me that I should probably feel some speck of guilt for my plans to deceive Kerrigan. There was a slight hesitation when I thought about how convincing her the painting was real could possibly set back her career. However, it was better to take a little longer to advance than to be dead.
When it came to claiming Kerrigan, though, I felt only anticipation.
4
KERRIGAN
In the two days that followed the gala, I replayed my dance with Aston like a cherished film, each frame imprinted on my memory. My mysterious Frenchman hadn’t even kissed me on the lips, but he’d left me wanting more.
Although he’d promised we would see each other soon, I couldn’t help but wonder if our paths would actually cross again. If they did, I hoped it would happen soon. Barely any time had passed, but I was already growing impatient.
I’d seriously considered popping into Belladonna Gallery yesterday to see if he was working. Luckily, Melanie had talked me out of that plan because there was no way to pass it off as a coincidence. Aston was too insightful for that. And I didn’t want to come off as desperate.
As I wandered the museum after finishing work for the day, I reminded myself that some mysteries were best savored slowly. Like a rare painting whose true beauty was revealed only when viewed from just the right angle.
Staring at one such piece, the echo of measured footsteps pulled me from my reverie. Turning, I expected to find one of the guards doing their walk-through. Instead, Aston was there, leaning casually against a marble column in a tailored suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and hinted at a life far removed from my own.
His low, velvety voice broke the silence. “I was hoping you’d still be here, Kerrigan.”
His French accent wrapped around my name like a whispered caress, sending a sensual shiver down my spine.
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I like to enjoy my favorite gallery during the quiet of closing time.” I tilted my head to the side, my brows drawing together. “Which is why I’m surprised you found me here when all of our visitors were ushered out ten minutes ago.”
“You already know I have many connections in the art world.” He straightened and prowled closer. “Asking for a small favor from your museum’s director was well worth being able to see you, petite miette.”
Being called a little crumb shouldn’t have been sexy, but there was no denying the swirl of butterflies in my belly each time Aston murmured that nickname in his sexy French accent. Turning back toward the display I’d been enjoying, I asked, “So you’re not here for the Saraceni?”
Aston moved to my side and looked up at the Baroque painting that had been heavily influenced by Caravaggio's dramatic lighting and naturalistic detail. “There’s a quiet drama in Saraceni’s work that pulls you in. His paintings have that classic tenebrism drama, but there’s a certain tenderness in his execution. The way he balances shadow and color gives the whole scene this moody stillness like something is about to happen. The figures feel sculptural yet intimate, caught in these moments of tension that feel as though they’ve been suspended in time.”