Authors: Kate Perry
One corner of his mouth lifted.
"So what are you doing here?" I asked as I poured him coffee.
"Gabrielle, why do you act like this?" Madame frowned at me. "Rhys is an old friend."
I looked him up and down. He was
not
old. The friend part I doubted, too.
"Gabrielle is just being protective." He lifted the cup to his lips. "She doesn't trust me."
Madame looked between Rhys and me, her gaze curious and probing. I could see the wheels turning in her head even before the unholy matchmaking light lit her eyes. She knew of Jesse, but she'd never warmed to the idea of him. She'd actually pulled out champagne when I told her I broke up with him. I'd always thought it was because she didn't want me to get distracted from my vocation. Guess I was wrong.
"Rhys, Gabrielle is quite accomplished. She is being featured at Gallery 415."
"Is she?" he said as if I hadn't already told about the show. At least he didn't tell Madame about taking me to the beach—she would have been all over that.
"How long do you visit San Francisco?" Madame asked.
"It depends entirely on my business."
I pretended like I didn't notice the way he stared and I forked a massive chunk of cake into my mouth.
Rhys laughed, a low, rich chuckle that reminded me of the expensive chocolate he'd given me. But his laugh faded as I licked a bit of whipped cream from my lips. I could tell he was remembering licking the chocolate from them. Hell—I was remembering that, too.
"Très intéressant,"
Madame mumbled.
No, it wasn't. I quashed the sudden arousal, glared at him to let him know what I really thought, and focused on my cake.
"Rhys," Madame said in that strident tone she used when she was scheming. "Perhaps you will be able to attend Gabrielle's exhibition. She is quite talented. You will be enamored,
j'en suis sure."
I rolled my eyes as I shoveled in another bite. Enamored, my ass.
"Your intuition is flawless, Clothilde. I'm sure I'll find her"—he lingered on the word before continuing—
"work
fascinating."
"Gabrielle, Rhys is very knowledgeable about art. His collection far surpasses the little pieces I have."
Translation: he spent big bucks on art and had a house that rivaled a museum. In other words, be nice to him and maybe he'll be your benefactor.
I glanced at him from under my eyelids. By the heated way he gazed at me, I was pretty sure his idea of
benefactor
would involve owning my body in addition to my art.
My suspicions were confirmed when he said, "I collect things."
And he wanted to add me to the list.
The idea of him owning me—you couldn't convince me that he'd go for anything less than total possession— intrigued me even while I balked at it. A small part of me wondered what it'd be like to be under his care. A very small part.
Tipping my head to the side, I feigned ignorance. "What do you collect?"
"Anything that strikes my fancy."
I raised my eyebrows. A declaration, and right in front of Madame.
Not that she minded. In fact, she was eating it up. Beaming, she turned to me.
"Rhys est entrepreneur.
Very successful. He conquered many obstacles to win his place in life. Like you, Gabrielle."
"What obstacles?" I eyed his expensive sweater. No way were we anything alike.
"Let's just say I wasn't born affluent." His smile held an edge that told me very distinctly that this conversation was over.
"Isn't that interesting?" I propped my chin on my fist. I'd assumed when he said he grew up by the ocean in Wales, it'd been in a large manor home—the kind you saw in British period pieces. "How exactly were you born?"
"In the gutter," he replied in a hard tone.
I blinked. He meant that. I glanced at his scar again. What was he hiding? And why?
Madame patted his arm as if comforting him. "Rhys, Cécile says you bought her
pied-à-terre
in Paris. It is very nice of you to let her continue to stay there when she is in town,
non?"
Cécile? I frowned at him. Was she a girlfriend? Why else would he let her crash at his place after he bought it from her? I glanced at him to find him watching me, his gaze amused.
Bastard. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of admitting my curiosity, I tuned out their discussion on what was probably Rhys's millionth home and cut another piece of cake for myself.
I forked a bit into my mouth and wondered again what Rhys really wanted with me. A coincidence that he popped up everywhere in my life, including here?
Right.
So why did he decide to stalk me? He all but stated he wanted something from me. Just sex? The scroll? Frown. It was the only reason anyone wanted me these days. Except Jesse.
Maybe Madame sent him to check me out. I studied her. I wouldn't put it past her. She could be devious (once, she engineered a whole weekend party in Napa just to set up one of her friends with a man). I'd have to ask her when I got her alone—no way was I having that discussion with her in front of Rhys.
"I need to get going."
Madame's cup clattered onto its saucer. "Are you not going to paint?"
"I'm out of time. I have to get to work." I washed my dishes, set them to dry, and wiped off my hands before I kissed her good-bye. "
Jevous appelerai, Madame."
Rhys stood up, as well. "Perhaps I can give you a lift."
"No."
Madame blinked.
"Pourquoi pas? Il n'est pas meurtrier."
Not a murderer? Yeah, I wasn't entirely convinced of that.
"My car is waiting outside. It's no trouble." He gave a disarming smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"I can take the bus." I flashed a fake smile, as well.
"You complain that the bus does not come so well here," Madame pointed out. "Rhys will drive you to work."
Even ten minutes in an enclosed space was too long. Trusting him wasn't the issue here—I didn't trust myself. I seemed to have developed a weakness for expensive-looking men.
Well, one in particular.
Only I knew better than to butt heads with my mentor. I wouldn't argue, but I'd do my own thing. I bent down and kissed her. "Talk to you later, Madame."
"Perhaps Rhys will help you become inspired,
n'est-ce pas?"
The twinkle in her eyes was unholy. "Of beauty, he is
connaisseur."
I shook my head. "I don't—"
"I'm happy to help," Rhys interrupted from behind me.
Close behind me.
Feeling the heat radiate from his body, I stiffened. It was almost like it was reaching out and wrapping around me like a cocoon.
I didn't like feeling this way—like it was out of my hands and I was at his mercy. I glared at him over my shoulder. "Do you mind?"
"No, actually."
"But I'm sure
Cecile
will," I said with a saccharine smile.
"Perhaps. She did have her sights set on me for her great-granddaughter."
Oh.
He flashed his wicked smile at me before leaning down to kiss Madame on either cheek. "A pleasure as always, Clothilde."
Beaming, she patted his cheek.
"Venez me rendre visite."
She shot me a sidelong glance before winking at him. "I make sure to have your favorite sweets,
non?"
He gazed at me. "I find myself more intrigued with the spicy of late rather than the sweet."
Whatever. I turned and strode out of the kitchen.
Rhys caught me at the front door—literally. One moment I was about to walk out, the next his long fingers wrapped around my arm.
"That eager to get to work?" he asked, pulling me to an abrupt halt.
I faced him, feeling
tu ch’i
bunch up inside me. I clenched my hands to keep it from spilling out. Not that I'd mind zapping him, but I wouldn't want to bring down Madame's house—she had too many priceless pieces of artwork. "You know, I'm happy to set you up with someone so you have something better to do than pester me. I'm sure Vivian would love to take a drive around the block with you.'"
"Vivian?"
"A woman I work with." I bared my teeth in a smile even as my body throbbed. I'm pretty sure it was
tu ch’i's
pulse. At least that's what I was telling myself. "She's super sweet. You two are perfect for each other."
"I don't want perfect, love." He drew me closer to him. His gaze roamed over my face, scorched a path down my neck, over my body, and back up again. It stopped at my lips for a heart-pounding second before locking on my eyes.
An image of the two of us popped into my mind. Naked, we were pressed so close that I couldn't tell where he began and where I ended. Fire wrapped around us, and I burned wherever he touched me. His mouth latched first on to one nipple and then the other, his hands gripping my waist like he needed to be grounded and I was his rock. He licked his way down my belly right to the spot that was dying for his touch. He breathed on me, hot and moist, and it excited me more than I ever would have believed possible.
Then his tongue swiped over me, leisurely and confident. Heat burst inside me, unleashing
tu ch’i.
Its molten energy spilled from me to him, bathing him in energy without harming a hair on his head.
"Come," he whispered urgently.
I blinked, suddenly back in Madame's foyer. "What?"
"Come," he said again, leading me out the front door. "My chariot awaits."
My cheeks burned with embarrassment and then anger—at myself for launching into such a vivid daydream. Or nightmare, depending on how you looked at it.
I was so busy beating myself up that I didn't realize he'd taken me all the way to his car until he opened the passenger door.
"Wait." I braced my hands on the roof to keep him from pushing me into the seat. "I never said I'd let you take me to the bar."
He smiled in that bare, minorly amused way of his. "Are you scared of me?"
"I'm not scared of anything" Except perhaps
tu ch’i,
but it seemed to be behaving itself at the moment.
"Then what's the harm with me giving you a ride?"
I immediately pictured myself straddling him, rocking on top of him in delicious abandon. My cheeks burned hotter "Somehow I doubt that's all you're offering me."
He stepped into me so I was pressed between him and the car. "If I offered you more, you wouldn't accept."
The contrary part of my female makeup bristled at his assumption. But of course I wouldn't accept more. Really.
He smiled slowly and bent his head so his hot breath brushed my neck "Gabrielle?"
I shivered—a combination of his presence and the way he said my name. I'd never liked being called Gabrielle— too formal for me—but coming from him it sounded round and sexy and scarlet. "Yes?"
"Get in the bloody car."
"Fine. But only because I like the leather." And because I had questions to ask him.
He stepped back and held my elbow to help me in.
"I'm perfectly capable of getting in a car on my own," I grumbled. But he'd already closed my door and gone around to the other side. I waited until he pulled away from the curb to say, "I'm surprised you drive."
"How is it surprising?"
Rubbing my temple to ease the constant ache I had of late. I angled myself toward him. "I would have thought most guys who are as obviously well-off as you would have a chauffeur."
"I like to be in control."
"No kidding?" I deadpanned. "I would never have guessed that about you."
He shot me a look that I declined to interrupt. Then he said, "No one speaks to me like this. They don't dare."
I shrugged. "Then I feel sorry for you."
"Do you?" He glanced searchingly at me again and resumed full concentration on the road.
I looked at the way his hands held the steering wheel. Masterful. I bet he'd be masterful in bed, too. I remembered the daydream I had and flushed all over again. I would have fanned myself if I thought I could get away with it without him noticing, but I knew there was no chance of that.
Annoyed at the turn my thoughts had taken, I went on the offensive. "Why were you at Madame's house today?"
He cocked an eyebrow at me. "I didn't realize it was a crime to visit one's friends."
"Oh, please." I crossed my arms and glared at him. "Credit me with some intelligence. You didn't happen to just show up there, just like you didn't happen upon the bar I work at."
"What do you think is going on, Gabrielle?"
That was the problem—I didn't know. I couldn't exactly ask him if he was following me because of the scroll. I tried changing tactics, hoping he'd let a clue slip. "You never said what you do."
"I'm in acquisitions."
"Acquisitions." I pursed my lips. "That's as detailed as saying you collect things."
He said nothing, but he looked annoyingly amused.
I shook a finger at him. "For the record, I'm not some bauble you can buy because you fancy it. So get that look out of your eye."
His lips did that barely amused thing again. "Precisely what look is that?"
"The one where you're thinking of gobbling me up." Put that way . . . Not that I'd be interested. Much. "What do you acquire?"
"Whatever I think I can sell at a profit. Mostly businesses, but occasionally other matters, such as estates or art. If the deal is big enough."
Running my hand along the leather, I said, "You must do pretty well."
"I'm good at what I do." He glanced at me. "Is your headache back?"
I blinked at the sudden change of topic, realizing I'd been absently massaging my temples. I dropped my hand "I didn't sleep well last night."
"Perhaps you're sleeping in the wrong bed."
I frowned at the edge to his voice. "It's none of your business what bed I sleep in. The Pour House is coming up on the right. Pull over in that bus stop."
Surprisingly, he did as I said. I thought for sure he'd fight me.
"You're assuming you know me," he said.
"Don't tell me mind reading is part of your skill set," I retorted, trying to make light of it Truthfully, it was freaky. I already felt more linked to Rhys than I wanted to be I didn't need more evidence of it.