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“This is too much, Vincent. They wouldn’t pay for the gallery and a weekly wage. It makes no sense,” she whispered, but he brought his lips to hers in a powerful stroke, silencing her protests. She sunk into his embrace and melded into him. Her body fit into his like it had been made for him, and he craved more. So much more.
He didn’t allow her to voice another concern until she’d finally relaxed fully into him. When he finally pulled away, leaving her breathless and flushed, he spoke. “Your life may be more dangerous with me, but from here, you’ll be protected and guarded, as you won’t just be mine, but the mafia will consider you an asset. Accept the offer, Kiera.”
She considered. He saw how hard she thought about having her own gallery and being paid a salary to run it. “If I accept,” she started. “What does the mafia get in return?”
“They claim all profits you make from your business as taxable income, and they claim that they only pay you a dividend. In reality, you can take home all earnings. It ensures that you owe nothing on taxes each year, but the mafia books come across as legal. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship,” he explained in the way James had explained to him.
“But couldn’t they run it alone without a middleman and keep the profits?” she asked.
He shook his head. “If you have tax or legal questions, I can put you in contact with James Nolan, an acquaintance of mine,” he told her. “But I can assure you that you get nothing but fullbenefits from this arrangement, and I’ll keep all illegal dealings from the doorsteps.”
She nodded slowly. “And when I leave in a year…”
“You are free to go.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Are you positive?”
“I already signed all the paperwork. It’s official the moment you say yes.”
He didn’t expect her response. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she squealed and pushed herself into him. He held onto her, embracing the feeling of rightness that washed over him at her touch.
When she finally released him, she fished in her pocket for her phone, pulling it out between them. “I do have one more question,” she said, scrolling through the contents. “I painted something that I intended to give to you, but now that I have a gallery, I think it would be nice to display.”
He raised his brows as she finally glanced back up toward him. He didn’t know what to expect, but the mischief in her expression told him he needed to prepare for what he’d see. She handed him the phone, and he glanced at the screen.
The laugh that erupted from him was one of pure amusement and unrestrained joy. He peered up through his lashes at her. “Oh really?” he asked.
On her phone, she had pulled up a photo of a painting she must have recently done. She lay across the canvas, painted perfectly—every curve of her proportionate to reality. She sprawled across a cream-colored bed, her eyes beckoning for a lover, for him.
“I just thought I should ask for your input,” she shrugged with a wicked smirk.
“I think,” he stated, “I’d like to see it in person and compare the painting to its subject.”
Her seductive smile told him that she agreed. His smile remained as he looked down at the woman who had done more for him than she’d ever known.
California or not, she wouldalwaysbe his.
