Must come with the territory of being a writer. Creative types could make you crazy.
Amelia blew her hair out of her eyes. These days it seemed to defy every attempt to tame it. Maybe Amelia just needed to lop it all off. “Okay. Just supper, though. No cocktails, and no knitting at a coffee shop later.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mandie tugged her into a hug. “So glad to see you willing to get back out there and live a little.”
She blew a raspberry. “Right. I’ve been a hermit, wasting away.”
“No, but you’ve been down.” Marnie glanced sideways at her as they left the library. “What would you do if Aden Bourne showed up in your life today and begged forgiveness?”
What an odd question. “I don’t know. I keep trying to decide if I just had these huge delusions, or if I meant anything to him at all.”
“Oh, I think he’s totally into you. He’s just scared.”
Amelia shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself to fend off the cold. “I don’t know. I guess I never will. I wanted more than he would ever be willing to give.”The tube rattled along, and Amelia dozed while Marnie knitted. She started when Marnie touched her arm. “This is us.”
“Where are we eating?” Amelia asked, stumbling after her friend.
“You’ll see.” Marnie led the way, and Amelia followed, trying to shake off her nap. She needed to get more sleep, darn it.
When they ended up at Giacomo’s, Amelia sighed, remembering her first supper with Aden, how magical everything had seemed at the start. “Oh, hon, I don’t know.”
“Don’t be silly. You love it here. Oh, shoot. You go in and get us a table. I need to take this call.” Marnie turned away, tugging her cell phone out of her purse.
“Okay.” Suppressing her sudden irritation, Amelia walked inside, stopping at the front stand.
“Miss Amelia! Your date is here.” Mona, the hostess she saw the most, grabbed a menu and waved her toward the back.
“Oh, no. I was with—“ She turned, but Mandie was gone. What the heck?
“He’s so handsome.” Mona nodded toward a table where Aden Bourne sat, staring at her with his deep, dark brown eyes as if willing her to come to him and sit down.
“No. I’m not doing this.” And she was going to ream Mandie. The woman wrote literary fiction, not romances. What the heck had she thought she was doing, abandoning her to Aden’s machinations?
Aden jumped to his feet. “Wait. Amelia, please. Let me buy you dinner and hear me out. Then if you want to go, I’ll pay for your cab.”
She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t want to hurt anymore, Aden. I need off the merry go round.” Her belly ached, her nerves dancing under her skin. She wanted to hug him, to take the sadness out of his face with a kiss, but Amelia also needed to protect her heart.
“I know. I promise, this is about you and me, not work, not being scared.” He reached out to her, his expression so earnest that she took his hand and let him pull her to the little table for two. Aden sat across from her and stared into her eyes. “I know you might very well be done with me, but I need to tell you what I know.”
“And what’s that?” What did he know now that he hadn’t known a few short weeks ago? The longest weeks of her life.
“Let’s order dinner first.” He raised a hand when she opened her mouth to berate him for avoiding the subject. Again. “That way you get a meal out of it even if you don’t believe me.”
“Fair enough. How did you get Marnie in on your scheme? You barely know her.”
“I had her name, and I knew she was a writer. I’m a PI, right? She wasn’t hard to find since she wasn’t hiding. She’s a closet romantic, did you know? She did threaten to beat me with a shovel if I hurt you.”
“Good for her.” Amelia settled in her chair, waiting through ordering and wine and half an appetizer before she lost her patience.
“Aden—““I was wrong, Amelia. Wrong to play fast and loose with you.” He grimaced. “I told myself it was just work, that we were good together but it would never last. I was scared.”
“Of me?” Amelia knew she was the least intimidating woman on the planet. “Why?”“Because I’ve known a lot of women. None of them made me feel what you do.” He picked up his wine glass, then stared into it a moment before putting it down. “We’re good together at work, yes, but we’re good together in other ways, too.”
“I thought so, but you confused me. Hurt me.”
Aden nodded, meeting her gaze head on. “And I’m sorry for that. I want another chance.”
“I don’t know.” Hope began to build in Amelia’s chest, right around the vicinity of her heart. “I want to believe you.”
“I want that, too.” He gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “I’m not too shabby in the brains department, usually. I mean, I was smart enough to see you were intelligent, beautiful, and an amazing detective. You’re also a generous lover and so easy to talk to. What I wasn’t smart about was knowing how important you are to me.”
“I still don’t know that.” Amelia leaned toward him, wanting him to understand. “I need to hear how you feel, Aden, and then I need you to back those words up with actions.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “So, you’re willing to give me a second chance?”
“I think this might be fourth or fifth, Aden.” Amelia suppressed her own smile, trying to appear serious. “I am willing, but I need to know I matter.”
“Amelia, you more than matter.” Aden rose, tugging her to her feet and ignoring the stares of all the other diners with great aplomb. “You’re amazing. I want to be with you. I want to make love to you. I want you to be my partner. I love you, Amelia. No more running.”
Joy exploded through her body, and Amelia threw her arms around Aden’s neck to a smattering of applause from the wait staff. “I love you, too, Aden. So much. Please tell me this is real.”
“It’s real, Amelia. I promise. I know what to do now.” Aden bent his head to kiss her, taking her mouth with a passion she’d never felt before in her life.
She believed him, believed he was going to try hard to make this thing between them work. Amelia couldn’t wait to find out where their next adventure would take her.
The End
CHAPTER ONE
Art galleries made Aden Bourne itch.
Once upon a time he’d liked them. His dad had taught him the importance of art, taking him to all the major museums in Boston by the time he was twelve. Those experiences had given him a real appreciation for the art world, which he’d held onto until just a few weeks ago, when Diane had broken things off with him.
Ah, Diane, with her mile high heels and her vanilla and honeysuckle scent. He’d really been a sucker for her—
“Did you hear me, Mr. Bourne?"
Aden glanced at his latest client, who owned a rather famous gallery on Newberry Street. She didn’t look like a sleek, uber-fashionable gallery owner, like Diane. Mrs. Riley resembled his Nana Bourne. Maybe Betty White.
“Missing painting. Must be discreet. No one can know it’s gone. I got it.” Distraction was a bad thing for a private investigator, and God knew women were a distraction for Aden. Maybe he just needed to swear off them for a bit. Women.
“Yes. Whoever took it also made off with the authentication we had, the list of provenance. That means they can sell it at any auction as if they actually owned the painting.”
Aden frowned. Okay, now he was paying attention. “Was this provenance kept in the same place as the painting?”
“No.” She clasped her hands together on top of her desk, the knuckles going white. “That’s what’s so disturbing about all this. Any documentation is kept in the office, locked in a filing cabinet, or in the safe, depending on how important the piece is. This piece is… important.”
“Okay.” Aden tapped notes into his phone, a habit his dad would have abhorred. His old man had been a cop, and a damned good one, but he’d believed in notebooks and pens, not technology. “Can you tell me why?”
“This is a rare and unique work. Girard Ledeux won an Annenberg Fund stipend three years ago. This work is from three years before he got his stipend, which, sadly, changed his art irreparably. This early work has a raw, visceral feel to it, evoking pain. Lovely and brutal. Collectors are willing to pay close to three quarters of a million for it.”
“Wow.” He blinked. Diane’s gallery moved in the three to ten thousand range. This was a whole different ballgame. “So, has anyone made you an offer?”
“Oh, several people have, but I had no intention of selling it until after I had the showing in two weeks. I wanted a bidding war at a silent auction, you see.”
“I see.” He made more notes. “Can you tell me how many owners the piece had? Would someone want it back?”
She bit her lip. “This is going to make me sound like an idiot, but I didn’t make the purchase. My partner James did. I know we had all of the paperwork, but I never studied it closely. I can ask him when he gets back from Russia, but his phone is out of service there.”
“Russia.” Man, this one might take some work. “Right. Is there any other information you can give me? Where did James buy it, for example.”
“That I can look up, I think.” She turned to her computer, then hit print after a few moments of searching. She blacked out something with a magic marker. “Here. This is a receipt for the transfer from the gallery in Philadelphia where James procured the painting.”
“Thanks.” That was something, at least. “If you think of anything else, call me immediately. I’ll start looking into previous owners.”
Why hadn’t he stuck to taking pictures of cheating spouses? Those cases were boring, but easy as pie.
Oh, right. Aden hated to be bored. He bared his teeth in what he hoped was a polite smile when she showed him out. His Nana would beat him if he was rude to a nice lady like Mrs. Riley. He paused outside the gallery to tug out his phone so he could Google the artist and painting in question. The last sale had been in a gallery in Philadelphia, and Aden hoped that catalog would be online somewhere.
Holy crap. Over 100000 results on Girard Ledeux. Aden had no desire to hunt through all those entries. Maybe he needed to hire an assistant. He glanced up, realizing where he was and smiling. Or, he could go to the library and get his personal assistant services for free. Librarians loved research, right? They were also mostly little old ladies, and that breed loved Aden.
That sounded like the perfect plan.
Chapter Two
“Excuse me, there’s no one at the delivery desk. I need to look at an art catalog. Can you tell me who to talk to?”
Amelia Patrick glanced up from staring blankly at her computer, her gaze falling on the hottest man she’d seen since she moved to Boston. Talk about tall, dark and handsome. She preferred her language dead, but she liked a man who sizzled with life.
Ed, who worked in the music collection, just snorted and jerked his head toward Amelia’s desk. “Try Patrick. She has the time.”
No frowning, she told herself. It will give you wrinkles. Her mother said that all the time. She grinned at the thought, and stood, drawing the man’s notice. She did have time to help even if it wasn’t her shift on the delivery desk. Or if what this man wanted wasn’t her specialty. This particular public library had more territorial specialists than any academic library Amelia had ever worked in, and they tended to snub the new girl. She had to pay her dues, and she wasn’t from a Boston family, so that put her even lower on the totem pole.
The collections made everything worthwhile. Not to mention helping this lovely man was way more exciting than wondering what her cats were doing up in her apartment.
“I can help you, Sir,” she said. “What was it you were looking for?”
"I need to see if I can find a catalog for a specific showing.” He smiled at her, the expression in his dark brown eyes warm and maybe a bit surprised.
Amelia surprised a lot of their patrons, young as she was. “That might be more an online search than a delivery desk issue, but if you want a hard copy I can look for you.” She led the way to the delivery desk, knowing the computer there had more search memory than the one at her desk.
"I'm easy. I really just need to see if they list any previous owners, that kind of thing.”
“So you’re interested in the provenance?” That might lead her in a very different direction than a catalog.
“Vaguely, yeah.” He chuckled, a deep, husky sound that sent shivers down her spine. “I’m a private investigator, and a client of mine is hoping to track down the painting. Any information I can find will be helpful.”
“Hmm.” Amelia loved a challenge, and this one might require some deep digging. “A private investigator. That sounds romantic.”
He handed her a card, his mouth twisting in a wry smile. “Aden Bourne, and not really. Sorry to burst your bubble, but it’s really a lot of scut work.”
“Welcome to my world.” Was she flirting? Gracious, he could pass for a male model, or maybe an action movie hero. Every woman he met probably came on to him.
“You mean Boston Public isn’t glamorous?”
“Oh, the building is, for sure.” Amelia chuckled, typing a quick search string into the computer. “Who else had John Singer Sargent paintings in the lobby? But library work can be pretty staid.”
“You don’t look staid to me.” When Amelia glanced up, Aden was staring at her, his smile sliding into something more intimate than his previous polite expression.