“You’re my interest. I pursued you.”
“Did you now?” She smiled and turned to the room, seeking the next piece of art that caught her eye: a woman lying face down on a divan, looking to the viewer with an expectant gaze. Cally stopped, caught by the vulnerability in her expression.
“That’s not you,” Antoine murmured, standing beside her.
“Why not?”
“You prefer to fight for control.”
“Perhaps she hopes to persuade her lover.”
“It’s art, I suppose we see what we want.” He regarded it a moment longer, then gave his verdict. “She looks too submissive to me.”
“That doesn’t appeal?”
A half-shrug. “It appeals if it’s earned, not given.”
She turned to him. “Really? Go on.”
He looked away from the painting, focusing on her, a flicker of intent in his gaze. “Submission given is meaningless, because anyone could receive it. Submission taken is individual, personal. Earned.”
“Says the predator to the prey.”
“But you’re not really prey, are you? Ever the warrior.”
“Find a fierce enough hunter, and anyone becomes prey.”
His lips curved with a touch of amusement, but his eyes shifted darker, a hint of lilac coming through. “Careful,ma chérie. I do not think the gallery owner would be pleased if we made a mess in here.”
“I thought money could buy anything,” she said whimsically, turning away.
She didn’t hear him move, but his hand clamped on the back of her neck, fingers delving into her hair, and she gasped at the strength and suddenness of it. His lips brushed against her ear. “Should I press you to the wall, and take you while the sculptures watch?”
She tried to turn in his grip, but he didn’t allow it, letting her know she was held. His chest pressed into her back with just enough force that she had to steady herself.
“Is the date over?” she asked. “Has no art caught your eye?”
“I didn’t come to buy anything. I already have what I want.”
“Oh? And what’s that, Antoine?”
He growled low in his throat. “One evening—one hour—and you drive me to my limits. Lost in my box in the ocean, I had forgotten what it meant to be in your presence. Yet you call to me, push me. Every time, it is I who must fight for control.”
She went very still at his words, and his hand stayed clenched at her nape. Above her was a skylight, the ceiling high. She gestured to it. “Can you open that?”
“I can.”
“We’re done here. Fly me home, Antoine.”
Twenty-Four
“This dress you have chosen. It is very distracting.”
Cally leaned into his chest as he leaped across the rooftops of Boston, his shadows trailing around them both. “Eve chose it. I just didn’t argue.”
His arms circled her legs and shoulders, cradling her to him, his hold snug around her bare thigh; the dress was that short. Also, it had ridden up.
“She is a ferocious creature in a small package. I think we should all be glad she is not a vampire.”
