Page 90 of My Favorite Kidnapper

“There is lots about me you don’t know. I don’t talk about my private life.” He glanced at Brianna, who was frozen in place, equally shocked. He patted her hand.

“Don’t worry about it, dear girl. My Daphne gets nervous and blurts things out as well. When she is mad at me, which is often, she comes up with some very, ah, unique variations of my name. I find it quite amusing. I think you two would get on very well.”

“Your suit,” she whispered.

“Nothing a little water and a dry cleaner can’t fix. Now tell me how you two met.”

“Oh God, I didn’t.”

“No, you gave a PG version, which, I have to admit, was much less entertaining. Apparently you found me irresistible, and I was obsessed with you and couldn’t leave you behind.”

“Oh. Well, that is kinda the truth.”

I winked. “I am obsessed, so yes. I don’t think you found me too hard to resist at first. But I grew on you.”

“Like a fungus,” she muttered.

I grinned. There she was.

She took another sip of her coffee, waiting.

“After that, the two of you got along like a house on fire. You asked about his daughter, he showed you pictures, you got him to laugh and share stories about her.” I shook my head. “I have no idea how, but you charmed Richard. You charm everyone, Little Bee. He adored you. Both of you drank too much wine. We closed down the restaurant. He even insisted on us attending a private showing happening tomorrow night, as his guests. He’s already sent the information this morning.” I shook my head. “And the sculpture is mine. He called the son last night and told him I was the only person he should sell to. I spoke to him after and called my lawyer. The funds were transferred first thing. The sale is complete.”

“So, everything is okay?”

I leaned over, brushing the hair away from her face. “Aside from the headache I’m sure you have, everything is fine. But no more nervous drinking.”

“I was trying to be so good. I thought if I didn’t talk, I wouldn’t say it. I kept sipping my wine so I had something to do. But then he said it. I think it was as if the floodgates opened.”

“Pretty much,” I replied. “You were off to the races then.”

She passed a hand over her head and smiled ruefully. “Sorry.”

The movement caused her shirt sleeve to fall. The bruises on her upper arm were a deep, vivid purple this morning. I glared at them, my anger instantly flaring. She followed my gaze, pulling on the sleeve and shaking her head. “It’s fine.”

“Richard and I had a little chat about Winters as well. He thinks he is the lowest of lows. His reputation in the art world is even worse than I thought. He started out well enough, then veered down a road he should never have been on.”

“But you said he had a collection himself.”

“He does. And there are some nice pieces in it. But he is unscrupulous in his dealings. How he acquires them. And he wants them for the wrong reasons. For greed. Bragging rights.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”

I brushed my hand down her cheek. “Are you up for some sight-seeing today, or do I need to take you back to bed?” I grinned. “You want me to ravish you with my rocking Richard?”

“Oh God, I am never drinking again.”

On that, we could agree.

* * *

We spent the next two days acting like tourists. I took her to all the places she wanted to see and others she’d never heard of. Hours passed like minutes, every moment with her a revelation of more Brianna. I couldn’t get enough. I wasn’t sure I ever would. I loved watching her discover things. The cute V between her brows as she studied a painting or some other piece of art and then the smile as she found the beauty. She became animated, wanting to share what she saw. Her hands moved, she talked fast, and her joy was limitless. There was little we disagreed on. She preferred paintings and loved tapestries. She admitted she wanted to touch the sculptures—to feel the lines. I reminded her that would get us arrested but she could feel up my sculpture anytime she wanted.

That made her laugh.

We ate in little cafés; she baked more cookies. I made love to her in the sunlight. On the terrace, high above the city. In the kitchen as the cookies baked. She showed me the dress she had bought, and I assured her it would be perfect for the function we were attending as Richard’s guests.

We danced. She loved to dance as much as I did, although she insisted she had little experience. When I informed her it was all in the leading, she had rolled her eyes. But we fit well, and she followed like a dream, almost floating. In the sun, in the dark of the night, it didn’t matter. If she was humming, I caught her in my arms and we spun together, lost in the little bubble we had created.