Dorian laughed. “Considering what I paid for that painting, it’s likely they’re back in the black.”
“Three million dollars? Doubtful. That’s a drop in the bucket for these people.”
“Thesepeople?” He raised an eyebrow, gaze sweeping up from her designer shoes to the tasteful but nevertheless authentic diamonds studding her earlobes. The woman evensmelledrich—a combination of scents so firmly embedded in his mind it would follow him through eternity.
Who did she think she was fooling?
“I just meant…” She closed her mouth and pulled away from his grasp, doing her best to mask her irritation. When she spoke again, her voice had softened considerably. “It’s a terrible situation. They have a lot of debt. The penthouse is in foreclosure. They’re actually moving overseas.”
Trading gossip about other people’s misfortunes was beneath him, but he suspected her theory was true. He’d been gouged on the painting, but they would’ve settled for a lot less if she and Duchanes hadn’t run up the bidding.
“I fail to see what their financial situation has to do with your sneaking around.”
“It has everything to do with it,” she snapped, her cheeks blushing with frustration and more than a little arousal. “But nothing to do withyou. So if you don’t mind, please show yourself out.”
“You expect me to turn my back on a potential crime in progress?”
“I expect you to… Look, I totally appreciate the earlier save. Who knows what that creep would’ve done if you hadn’t ridden in on your white horse? And thanks for the drinks, and the fun conversation, and…” She closed her eyes and blew out a breath, shaking her head as if she were having an argument with her own mind.
Dorian wasn’t sure who won, but when she looked at him again, her eyes blazed with fresh anger.
“But seriously,” she said. “It doesn’t concern you.”
“I see.” Dorian offered a wry smile. Trouble or not, her feistiness turned him on beyond reason. The attitude, the taser, the spark of disobedience in her eyes…
You need to be tied up and spanked, little prowler.
Blood and power hummed through his veins, the image of his handprint on her bare flesh igniting a different sort of hunger inside.
This long into an immortal life, there were few things Dorian still enjoyed. The company of a beautiful woman was, on occasion, one of them.
But nothing—nothing—made him harder than a woman with fire. A woman who could hold her own, even as she begged to be dominated.
Soon enough, he’d have her doing both.
He took a step toward her, the soft thud of her pulse an erotic drumbeat that damn near hypnotized him.
For a moment, her anger faded, and she held his gaze in silence, tension crackling between them, her breath shallow, mouth slightly parted. She bit her bottom lip again, and he stared eagerly, already imagining the sweet taste of her kiss, the dangerous tease of her blood as his fangs grazed the plump flesh…
“The painting,” she said suddenly, breaking the trance. She turned toward the fireplace, gesturing at the art displayed over the mantle. “Heinrich von Hausen’sAdrift. One of his lesser known works, but still a masterpiece by any measure.”
“You’ll have to try harder than that,” he said. “You’ve already impressed me with your knowledge of art.”
“I’m not trying to impress you. I’m trying to tell you thatthispainting is one of my favorites. My father took me to see it at the Smithsonian when I was a kid. How it ended up here, I can only imagine. But as soon as I saw it, I knew I wanted to ask the owners about it. Maybe arrange for a private bid, or… I don’t know. Something.”
An echo of sadness lingered in her voice, as raw and authentic as the painting itself, chased by a wave of the same darkness he’d seen earlier, rising anew in her eyes.
If he’d met her a hundred years ago—fifty, even—maybe he would’ve asked her about it. Offered comfort. Promises. Hell, maybe he’d have marched right back into the auction room, tracked down the host, and bought the damn painting for her on the spot, just to make her smile.
But these days, there was no room in his heart for sentimentality.
Only hunger.
Only desire.
In a flash, he closed the last of the distance between them, forcing her to take a step back, then another. Her shoulders hit the door of a small closet, and she dropped her purse and gasped, looking up at him with a mix of fear and lust, a combination that all but sealed her fate.
“Touching story.” He trailed a finger across her exposed collarbone. Not far below, the curve of her breasts peaked out over the top of her dress, full and inviting. It was another of her many contradictions—hot and hard on the inside, soft and elegant on the outside—and Dorian couldn’t wait to make her unravel. To expose every last one of her secrets—mind, body, and soul. “Forgive me if I don’t quite buy it.”
