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Okay, so he knew.
When she finally turned, he looked far more smug and self-satisfied than a man who’s learned he’s been robbed should look. He wore a crisp, dark suit and appeared as if he were on his way to a funeral. Hers, maybe?
“How did you find me?”
“Why don’t we have this discussion at that lovely expensive villa you bought with my money? It’s not far from here, is it?”
She’d just bought it a month ago.
“No, Mr. Niche.”
“Oh, it’s Mr. Niche, now. So formal. You think the formality will do you any good?”
His hand slid into hers, and for the first time in their association, she didn’t pull away from his touch. Maybe he could be reasoned with. He might make good on his arrest threat. But then again he might kill her if he got her somewhere private. Maybe she should take her chances with the police. Which option would be worse? Which might save her?
“Just relax,” he whispered. “I’m not going to hurt you. Much.”
It was close enough to walk, though each step dragged so that it seemed impossible one could span the distance by foot—even though she’d done it easily just that morning.
Her hand trembled when she tried to put the key in the door.
Lachlan’s fingers closed over hers. “Relax,” he said again as if simply repeating the word would have any effect on the way everything inside her convulsed over what he might do with her now that he’d isolated her from possible witnesses. He unlocked the door with a steady hand and walked in like he owned it.
And really, he kind of did.
“Not bad,” he said. “But I can tell you with this kind of money management you’d be a starving artist again inside of three years. Why don’t we sit out beside the pool?”
“So you can drown me more easily?”
He laughed, and the tightly bound breath that had been stuck inside Saskia’s chest came rushing out. Surely he wouldn’t laugh like that if he planned to kill her. It wasn’t an evil laugh; it wasn’t even a sleazy laugh. It was... musical somehow.
And all at once the guilt appeared.
Have I been dehumanizing him this whole time just so I could steal from him?It wasn’t a pretty thought. It didn’t match the trees and clouds and sky and all the beautiful old buildings that seemed like art installations on their own. There was no denying how uncomfortable he made her. And that one day in his study when he’d touched her inappropriately—she hadn’t imagined that. But beyond that one moment, had she created the image of a monster for her own convenience?
“Did you paint thetrompe l’oeilon the wallsyourself?”
“I did.”
“It’s good.”
Saskia tried not to let the compliment affect her. Who cared what Lachlan thought about it? She remained unconvinced he’d know real art on his own if it bit him on the dick.
She followed him to the terrace and sat in the chair he indicated. He reclined next to her and watched her for several minutes—so long she couldn’t stand the scrutiny and silence any longer.
“Lachlan, I’m sorry, I...”
He held up a hand. “No. You’re not sorry. You’re sorry you got caught. You’d rob me blind again if you thought you’d get away with it.”
A fair point.
“Holding back and giving me a lower quality forgery the first time was a nice touch. Lesser men might have been fooled. How much of my money have you spent?”
“Six million,” she mumbled.
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
“Six million. H-half of what you gave me.”
