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Her breath.
Her heartbeat.
When he spoke again, her heart and lungs came back online. “The woman in that painting was very dear to me. She was a muse of sorts, and without her, I never would have painted the things I’ve painted. But our relationship grew too... intense for her. She scampered off to the east coast, and all I had left were the paintings. I never forgave myself for selling the one I sold. I promised myself I’d never sell any in that series. I thought I wanted the painting, but the more time passed, and once I saw how much talent you were wasting... the short answer is no. I’ve moved on. The price is you, Saskia. Just you.”
He’d planned this for months while she’d believed she’d gotten away with it.
Quill stood and looked down at her. She felt herself shrink under that dark gaze.
“Collect whatever things you’ve accumulated that you want to keep and can carry. The jet is leaving to return to the states in three hours. You’re being watched, so don’t think about running. At least step onto the plane with some dignity. It’ll be the last you get for a good long time.”
5
Of course she thought about running—despite the warning. Maybe he was bluffing about having her so closely watched. Or maybe she could escape through a crowd. How many eyes could he really have on her?
And if he were just Lachlan Niche of Niche Industries—smug arrogant tech tycoon, casually collecting art to look more cultured than he was—she would have attempted it. It might have been worth the risk.
But he was Quill. He was everything. She’d gone to art school solely because of exposure to his work. It wasn’t until after she’d been there a while that she’d started to develop an appreciation for anything else—even the famous classic art.
He seemed to her now like a god—a resurrected miracle that hymns should be written to. Even without the ability to investigate his story, she knew on an instinctual level it was the truth. And despite his scary intensity and all the warning buzzers his presence had caused to go off inside her, she couldn’t help being pulled under the wave of his charisma.
Marcus and some other men loaded her things into the cargo hold while Saskia stood awkwardly out of their way. There was so much open space around her and no credible way to slip off unnoticed. She wondered how long Quill’s goon had known about this plan to bring her back in chains. Had he been the one sent to watch and follow her? Given his undisguised distaste for her, that had probably gone over well.
The plane was larger than she’d anticipated when a jet had first been mentioned, but then a tiny metal bird like what she’d imagined could hardly make an intercontinental flight. And it would be great if the plane didn’t sputter out and die in the middle of the ocean.
Quill stepped onto the platform of the stairs still in the same dark suit from earlier. He motioned for her. Saskia’s heart dropped into her stomach, and for a moment, she didn’t think she could propel herself forward. This was a thousand times worse and more intimidating than meeting the fake Joseph Quill had been. And she’d barely been able to stay standing under her own power that night. It wasn’t meeting Derick that had that effect, it was simply theideaof Quill.
There was no doubt in her mind he would expect sex on demand—in whatever way he wanted it. And from his paintings, she knew exactly how he wanted it. If she were being honest, she wasn’t sure she was going with him over fear of prison. Oh, she believed his threat. She knew she would absolutely go to prison if she didn’t agree to be his willing concubine instead, but even without that threat... he was Quill.
Which was really the only fact her brain was willing to process at the moment. She’d lost this game before she’d even started. They both knew it.
What had happened to her repulsion? Was the draw of the artist so compelling that just knowing his true identity could change how she saw him so completely? He was still terrifying. That hadn’t changed. But she could no longer say the idea of him touching her was revolting. In the hours since he’d left her to pack her things, everything had sunk in. She wasn’t sure she wanted to escape him now.
But what if he was too intense—just like he’d been with the subject of the painting she’d forged? At least that girl had the option of leaving.
Saskia thought back to that moment leaned over his desk with Quill’s hand under her skirt. He’d been intentionally intimidating her, violating her personal boundaries. If she’d known who he was, would she have wanted his hand there? She didn’t know. She wanted the answer to beyes, because then she’d be able to make herself go to him. But she didn’t know.
She couldn’t believe she’d stolen twelve million dollars from Joseph Quill. Fuck. And the joke of thinking she could replicate his work and pass it off as the real thing... He must have had a good laugh over that when she’d left his study after the party that night.
Quill’s face darkened, signaling his growing impatience as she stood there like some idiot stuck in hardening cement.
“Saskia!” he barked over the engines. “Now!”
The men loading the cargo hold jumped at his voice. Even grown men were jumping. How could she be expected to fare better? She wanted to melt into the pavement when they stared at her like, “Better you than me, honey.” Or maybe they were watching to see if she’d walk up those stairs and get on the plane with him.
Maybe they’d jerk off later to thoughts of what he might be doing to her as the jet cruised over the Atlantic.
Quill’s eyes narrowed, and he took another step—a step that promised if he took just one more, he’d go down there and drag her onto the plane. And if he did that, there went that last moment of dignity he’d offered.
Saskia somehow found the strength of will to walk to the plane. He watched as she took each step but didn’t move aside to give her space when she reached him at the top of the stairs.
“Good girl,” he whispered when she brushed past.
A chill slipped down her spine as she crossed the threshold.
Inside, she was greeted with an interior that looked nothing like a plane. Curves had been built into the walls so that it looked like a swank living room. She sank onto one of the plush sofas and started to cry, her head dropping into her hands.
Quill entered moments later, said a few words to someone outside the plane, and then pulled the door closed, sealing them in.
