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“Nope. Not at all.” The heated weight across my chest lifts slightly. My eyes lift to meet his. His hooded blue gaze sends heat straight to my core. My thighs press together, creating friction against the sensitive bundle of nerves. I don’t know what hold this man has over me, but I both crave it and fear it.

Leaning forward, I brush my lips over his in a soft kiss. His hand threads through the hair at the back of my head, drawing me closer as he deepens the kiss.

The taste of him overpowers the faint taste of tikka on his lips. His hand falls away as I break our kiss. Sitting back, the ghost of it mingles with the burning sensation of spice. The feeling nearly overwhelms me as I watch his still-raised eyebrows creep higher. Shaking his head, he takes another perfectly balanced bite of tikka.

Weightlessness and motion jostle my body in the darkness. When I peel my eyes open, the profile of a strong jaw dips to greet me with a smile. His strong arms snake around me, squeezing me closer to his chest. The instant warmth relaxes me further, and my eyes flutter. On an inhale, his earthy scent of pine invades my nose. Turning my face into his chest, I take another deep inhale, memorizing the scent of him.

Too soon, the soft cushion of the bed meets my skin. My body registers the absence of his warmth the moment he unwraps his arms. Cool air rushes to fill the space. Desperate to evade the cold, my hand closes around his wrist. I look up with a silent plea.

Pressing a gentle kiss along my cut palm, he smiles at me. Then, he slips under the covers behind me. My body instinctively shuffles closer to his side. Warmth from his body wraps around me like a blanket. His presence—a balm to my nerves. For the first time in a long time, I drift to sleep without running down an internal list of what-ifs.

16

My eyes pry open against the onslaught of the sun beaming through the windows. An overwhelming sense of emptiness has me rolling onto my back. His indentation on the pillow is still present. I run my fingers along the surface. Still warm.

He just left?

At least he didn’t try anything. Wait. Why didn’t he try anything? What the fuck is wrong with me? Why am I freaking out?

The door to the en suite is open, so I slip out from between the covers and step to the doorway. Empty.

“Hello?” A tightness in my throat has me pausing. I want him to respond, right? Yes.

How else will I know where the strange man is in my house? After several silent moments, I shuffle downstairs, peering around for any signs of Ethan. As I walk through the empty living room, a note on the kitchen island catches my eye.

Made you coffee.

P.S. Thank you for last night.

A smiley face punctuates the end of the note. Of course, his smug ass left me a fucking smiley face. The scent of hot coffee pulls me across the kitchen. Savoring the first sip, I smile. I guess there are worse things than having a stalker who knows how to make a fresh pot of coffee. Shaking my head at what my life has become, I walk upstairs to prepare for the day.

Sitting at my desk, I hone in on my inbox, willing it to read itself. The speaker of my slightly outdated desktop computer rattles as it alerts me to a new email. Lennox’s collection tests have come back inconclusive for two of the vases. The non-invasive tests rarely provide conclusive results, but it’s always worth a try. Every time I send one in for invasive sampling, I feel like I’ve sent it off to be tortured…toes removed…ears clipped. Poor little things.

The results of the X-ray fluorescence indicate low nickel to cobalt compounds in the chemical composition of the pigments on the vase. Typical for a maiolica vase. However, the metal and metalloids in the pigment are incredibly abnormal. Results showing arsenic, aluminum, tin, and lead on the same vase at these levels is highly irregular. I hate irregularities like this. It’s never good. Aluminum shouldn’t have been introduced with the others until the nineteenth century. Even then, the others wouldn’t be present.

Rubbing my eyes at yet another problem to solve, I take out my phone and text Lennox. Hopefully, he’s able to meet soon and discuss the results. I can only hope that he’s willing to trust our lab to do the autopsy on his vases. He responds nearly instantaneously, confirming lunch with me tomorrow. Which means I’ll be spending the rest of my day and tomorrow morning researching various elemental studies, developing some explanation for the inconsistencies in the pigment. Fuck.

The unanswered questions run through my mind continuously throughout the day. Pouring myself a cup of tea, I head into the study. Opening my laptop, I pull up some field research results on the specific chemical compounds found in the glaze. After a few hours, my mind turns to Ethan. No new messages.

My stomach sinks. A tightness wraps around my throat, causing my nose to tickle.

Why do I feel so drawn to that man? It’s more than just shared interests. This connection magnetizes my very being. His eyes were a lure, and I walked straight into his trap.

Walking into the kitchen, I pull down one of Zarya’s sleepy-time teas and prepare a cup. Taking a long sip, I sigh as warmth spreads throughout my body. The pads of my fingers begin to feel numb.

Each step up the staircase becomes increasingly sluggish. Reaching the bed, I collapse into the comforter and wait for the tea to take me.

The following day, I arrive at the restaurant. A hostess escorts me through the flotilla of white tables and red carpet, the place excellently ornate and yet warm. As we come to the table, she steps aside and pulls my seat out for me.

Lennox remains seated, sending me a leering look from behind his whiskey glass. A shiver runs down my spine. Lowering myself into the seat, I throw him a quick smile, hoping to dispel the hollowness in his gaze. My hopes are dashed when the coldness of his features remained fixed in place. Hooking my purse over the chair, I let out a little cough.

“Good afternoon,” he says running his finger along the top of glass. His demeanor is devoid of any enthusiasm.

“Afternoon…I have the results from the lab!” He’s never once forgotten to rise or greet me with a smile. I know the results weren’t exactly what he wanted to hear, but I didn’t think it would upset him this much.

“Oh yes, what did you confirm? You said they were inconclusive?”

“Yes, so the results show that the vases are potentially not Florentine, but perhaps from a different region, and made later than what was originally thought.” Reaching down into my purse, I pull out the report. Placing the binder on the table, I discuss the major points of the results.