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She was still reeling from Sam’s sexy kiss and now Michael’s hot, passionate one was sending her soaring.
When he finally pulled away, he asked, “What can I get you to drink?”
“Nothing, thanks. We had champagne on the way over.” Given the electricity humming through her veins, it really was a miracle she could speak. And coherently, even. It was a bit surreal to have Michael kiss her in front of Sam. She hadn’t thought that one through. But it didn’t seem to faze Sam. He looked as turned on as she felt.
Michael suggested, “Why don’t we give you the tour before dinner?”
“To placate me?” she jested.
“Something to cross off your list so you can enjoy the evening.”
He took her hand and the three of them traveled the maze of long, wide corridors adorned with intricately designed tables, elegant side chairs, elaborate mirrors, sculptures, and paintings. Michael pointed out all the rooms and she could fully understand how Sam had gotten lost in the beginning. The place was huge. And clearly, no expense had been spared.
It was a good hour later when Sam opened double doors at the end of one wing and announced, “The art gallery. Such that it is these days.”
Scarlet stepped into the massive room. She surveyed her surroundings, mentally noting the framed pieces and more sculptures. Then she did a closer visual inspection of the walls. There were some empty spaces, but the gaps didn’t necessarily indicate there’d recently been a painting hanging there—and would be again as soon as she left the premises. There were no holes from nails, no variance in the shade of paint that might suggest those holes had just been plugged and touch-ups performed that looked fresher or newer than the older paint.
Of course, that didn’t mean the entire room couldn’t have been repainted in the two days since Michael had summoned her and she’d arrived. Yet Scarlet did not get the sense that the missing artwork had been returned to this gallery and was thus stashed away during her visit.
It was all very peculiar. Where the hell were those paintings?
Certainly not here.
She said, “Everything looks to be in order. Do you mind if I interview random staff members?”
“Suit yourself,” Michael confidently said.
Scarlet stopped to speak with a few housekeepers and an electrician, two of whom had been on-property the evening of the theft, though they’d been outside mostly, working the party. Scarlet had a feeling that would be a common response, since hosting five hundred people at an outdoor event likely required all hands on deck—and because that had been the answer given when employees had been quizzed by the FBI.
The trio made their way to a dining room. A smaller, less formal one, much to her relief. The table was already set for three and a sommelier was on hand to discuss wine selections and pour. The meal was exquisite, though Scarlet’s appetite was a bit scarce. Partially because her mind was wrapped around the disappearance of the art collection. But mostly, she was thinking beyond dinner. Specifically, what would transpire when she, Michael, and Sam retired to the guesthouse.
Butterflies took flight in her stomach and she felt a little giddy, which she could maybe blame on the wine but knew better what the real reason was. She was antsy over the rest of the evening. Anxious to see Michael and Sam naked and hard.
Wanting her.
Heat burst on her cheeks. This was quickly becoming the longest dinner ever.
Both men kept the conversation light and she was grateful for that. She wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on anything too mentally taxing.
They had crème brûlée and coffee in a separate room, in front of a tall fireplace. The drapes on the windows and patio doors were pulled back to showcase the grounds and the falling snow. It was all very lovely and even cozy, despite the enormity of every room.
When dessert was over, Michael said, “We’ll take a car to the guesthouse. It sits on the back portion o
f the estate.”
Anticipation could be a real bitch. It clawed at her. Hitched her enthusiasm. Made it difficult to breathe.
Michael and Sam escorted her to the foyer, where they were handed their coats by the butler. Sam helped her into hers. They left the main house and Michael drove them down a winding pavered path carved into the trees that lined each side of the estate as well as the acreage beyond the mansion. The three-bedroom guesthouse had a gorgeous wood-accented entryway and sweeping staircase, numerous windows, and a heated swimming pool and spa.
Sam built a fire in the living room hearth as Scarlet admired the views through the glass panes along one wall.
Michael stole behind her and whisked her hair over her shoulder. He kissed her temple, then asked, “Do you want wine or water? Anything?”
She gazed at his reflection and smiled. “I want to know that the two of you are still going through with this.”
“We’re here, aren’t we?”
She faced Michael. His mouth sealed to hers. His hands clasped her hips just as her fingers fisted the front of his shirt. The searing lip-lock went on and on. Until Scarlet was completely breathless.
