Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 36890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 184(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 184(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
I was impressed by his description. “You must be very knowledgeable about the Baroque period.”
He brushed off my compliment. “Obtaining the Saraceni was quite a coup for your museum, and I appreciate being able to enjoy the painting without the usual distractions. But I came for you…comme je l'ai promis.”
“You need to stop wielding your accent like a weapon.”
“Love is war, miette.” Interlacing our fingers, he lifted my hand and brushed a kiss over my knuckles in a gesture that mirrored what he’d done when we first met at the gala. My reaction was more intense than last time, leaving me weak in the knees. “Why wouldn’t I use every weapon in my arsenal?”
“Why indeed?” I knew that the first part was only a saying, but hearing that four-letter word from his perfect lips made my breath catch in my chest.
A slow, knowing smile curved his mouth as he turned to me more fully. “Come with me, Kerrigan. Let me return the favor and show you something few ever get to see.”
I hesitated, savoring the thrill that danced up my spine. “Where?”
“Someplace special,” he murmured, tugging on my hand.
My attraction to him was so intense it left me feeling vulnerable. I probably should have said no and kept my focus on my job. But his voice, his eyes, the sheer magnetism of him—I was already undone. So I simply nodded.
“Merci, petite miette.”
“De rien.”
His brows arched over wide eyes. “You speak French?”
“Non.” I shook my head with a soft laugh. “That’s about the extent of my knowledge, besides the usual phrases—like hello, goodbye, and excuse me.”
“I can teach you more if you’d like.”
“That private instruction you mentioned during the gala?”
He nodded. “Consider it a standing offer.”
Accepting his offer meant spending more time with him, which was something I very much wanted. “S'il vous plaît.”
“Well played, miette.” The smile he flashed at me was blinding. “You’re quite good at wielding your own weapons, and they’re abundant.”
“While I appreciate the sentiment, I have no doubt that you have the advantage in this game, Aston.”
Being around a decade older than me, he was bound to have much more experience there than me. It was impossible for him not to when I had neglected my dating life to the point of it being nonexistent while I focused on my education.
“You’ll be safe with me, Kerrigan.”
There was a weight to his words that seemed out of place for our sexy banter, and I took it as a sign of how much he meant them. “I’ll hold you to that.”
He led me through the hushed museum halls and out a discreet staff exit where a sleek black car waited. Aston opened the passenger door for me, and I slid inside, the leather cool beneath my fingertips. It was a nice contrast to the heat of the day.
After he climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine, he murmured, “This will be an evening you won't forget.”
I flashed him a teasing smile. “I’ll hold you to that as well.”
“As you should.”
We drove in silence for a while, the tension between us simmering, until we pulled up to a nondescript building tucked behind a line of trees. He guided me inside, through a minimalist lobby and into a private elevator. The doors opened into a gallery space bathed in soft golden light. The walls were adorned with art that took my breath away.
“This is amazing,” I breathed.
“I thought you’d appreciate it.”
His hand was at the small of my back, steadying me as I turned in a slow circle to take everything in. “You were right.”
“These pieces belong to private collectors, most of whom you’d recognize. Vellum & Vine manages the curation, and I sometimes bring special guests here.”
“Is that what I am, a special guest?”
He leaned in, his breath brushing my ear. “You're the only one, miette.”
Once again, there was an unexpected weight to his words. A depth that sent those darn butterflies swirling again because they spoke to my heart. “Then show me what you’ve got.”
He guided me toward a painting encased in a climate-controlled display. The lighting illuminated every detail—the cracking varnish and the burnished glow of oil aged to perfection.
“This is an original Veronese,” I whispered, stunned.
“Untouched by public eyes for over sixty years,” he confirmed. “The collector who owns it trusts me implicitly. As I hope you will.”
His words wrapped around me like silk, the room suddenly warmer, the space between us too charged to ignore. When I turned toward him, he watched me with that same restrained hunger I remembered from the gala. The heat in his gray orbs sparked an unfamiliar warmth deep in my belly.
“Aston…”
“Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice a rasp of temptation.
I couldn't. Not when I desperately wanted him to kiss me. “Why would I do a silly thing like that?”