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Marc glared down at his boyfriend, who looked supremely calm and collected. The bastard. “You know it’s not me I’m worried about.”
Royce smiled at him before taking another sip of his wine.
They continued to wander slowly through the rooms of the house, taking in the ornate molding and exquisite murals on some of the walls. Everywhere they looked were thick rugs, fine crystal, and beautiful works of art. As they moved from room to room, Marc couldn’t help identifying the various pieces by the artist and the theme.
By the fourth room, he noticed that Royce was biting his lower lip like he was trying to hold back a smile or a laugh.
“I’m boring you with all this art talk, aren’t I? Lilah says I tend to drone on regardless of whether anyone wants to hear it.”
“Your sister needs to learn to pay better attention to you,” Royce grumbled. “And no, you’re not boring me. I was just thinking that I can tell how much you like a piece by how you describe it.”
“Really?”
Royce turned and pointed to a still life on the far wall. He gave a weary sigh, mimicking Marc, and said, “It’s fruit.” He then turned to the Vermeer painting they were standing in front of. “This one you could have said it’s just a lady, but you went into detail on how it’s really a study in light. You described it down to the brushstroke.”
Marc could feel his face warming as Royce spoke, and he suddenly wished a server would walk around with a tray of wine. He could use another drink.
“God, I sound boring,” he half moaned.
Royce stepped closer and placed his rough palm against Marc’s cheek. “No. Passionate. When you talk about something you love, you light up from within and you are absolutely stunning.”
“Then I must glow constantly when I’m talking about you.”
Royce pulled Marc close, capturing his mouth in a deep, soul-searching kiss that left Marc wanting to be back in their hotel room rather than at that damn party. He wanted to peel Royce out of his suit and stretch him out in their bed, so he could linger over every fucking inch of the man.
The sound of someone clearing his throat had them breaking apart. They turned to see an older gentleman with white hair and a close-cut white beard watching them. A broad smile was spreading across his grizzled face.
“József!” Marc cried, extending his hand to him.
The older man took his hand and pulled him in for a tight bear hug. “There you are. I missed you this December in London.”
Marc stepped back to stand next to Royce and straightened his tie. “Yes, I’ve been spending more time in Cincinnati now, leaving the London gallery to my manager.”
“And is this man the reason for your absence?” József asked, nodding toward Royce.
“Yes, I am. Royce Karras.” Royce extended his left hand to the man while wrapping his right arm around Marc’s back. Marc just tried not to smile. Since meeting Angelo, Royce had little problem showing his more possessive side, and Marc couldn’t help but love it.
“A pleasure,” József said as he released Royce’s hand. “I’d heard through the grapevine that Marc was seeing someone and that he was spending less time on the Continent.”
“I’m not neglecting work,” Marc said firmly.
“Of course. I’m thinking a little less partying now.”
Marc just smiled and gave a little shrug. “I’ve got a very good reason to rush home now.” Rubbing his chin, his smile turned to a smirk. “Speaking of, Royce and I can’t stay much longer. We’ve actually got another engagement tonight, but you said that you had a new piece you wanted to show me.”
József’s dark-brown eyes widened with poorly concealed excitement. “I do. Come with me to my private gallery.” He motioned for Marc and Royce to follow him up a back set of stairs, that was likely used by the servants, to the second floor. As they walked down the wide hall, Marc couldn’t help but notice the grim-looking men in dark suits. There were slight bulges in their jackets from the guns they were carrying and little earpieces in their ears. József had increased his security for this party.
Royce’s hand tightened around his and Marc took a deep, steadying breath as he tried to follow József’s monologue about his recent trip to Paris. His brain was just running through idea after idea for when they finally reached the room. If it was the missing egg, then it was his job to come up with a distraction. Something that would put all eyes on him, giving Royce a chance to grab the picture.
He’d thought about faking a heart attack, but that might be a little too much. He didn’t want to ruin the entire party with the arrival of an ambulance and paramedics. Setting a small fire somewhere wouldn’t be particularly easy and could put a lot of other partygoers at risk. There had to be something he could do.
