Читать книгу The Game - Vanessa Fewings - Страница 8
ОглавлениеRising up and dispelling this temporary moment of stupidity, I saw a stocky security guard standing just inside the door and staring me down.
“Miss,” he said, louder than needed. “Place the painting on the desk, please.”
My breath stuttered. “I was just taking a closer look.”
“Desk, please.” His fingers clenched around his handgun.
With trembling hands I stepped forward and laid St. Joan faceup on the desk. Stepping back, I raised my hands in the air a little. “It’s not what it looks like.”
Yet it is.
Had there not been cameras, or guards, or any other state-of-the-art security, I’d have taken her away with me without looking back. From that guard’s expression he knew it too. With a wave of his hand he warned me to move farther away.
My back met the wall and I froze.
An ice-cold slither of fear spiraling down my spine.
The door opened farther and in stepped a delicate-framed Latino woman, forty or so, those laughter lines now taut with worry. “Ms. Leighton?” Her tone was infused with tension. “I’m Maria Perez.”
“We spoke on the phone?” I said.
The awkwardness forced a shameful silence.
She saw the painting and looked horrified.
“I’m so happy to meet you.” It sounded silly now, my politeness negated by my suspicious behavior.
“Take a seat,” said the guard. “LAPD are on their way.”
My feet refused to move. “Who?”
“We’ve called the police.” Maria’s gaze rose to the small camera set in the upper right-hand corner.
Its lens trained on me.
Panic-stricken, I stared down at St. Joan wondering if Tobias had set a trap. He’d known how beaten up I was about finding her again. He’d witnessed firsthand how incapacitated I’d been when she’d turned up at Christie’s. He’d been the one who had embraced me when my knees had buckled with the strain of realizing she’d not been destroyed.
Vulnerable, ice sliding down my spine.
Then he appeared like a suave apparition—
Tobias Wilder entered briskly and paused just inside the door, his expression unreadable. A flash of power in his dark green gaze as he glanced at his desk.
His glare rising to find me.
Igniting a tremble within as I exhaled a slow, nervous breath. God, I’d almost forgotten how gorgeous he was, how regal and breathtakingly dashing, the way his dark blond hair framed that handsome face, high cheekbones and that strong jawline. The way he moved demurely and yet with a masculine edge that emanated power. I’d swooned too many times at the way he liked to casually tuck his hands into his trouser pockets like he was doing now in that expensive bespoke suit, no tie, and his collar open to add an arrogant flair.
Few people would know that beneath all that formality his left upper arm was inked seductively with an Aborigine symbol and lower on his well-toned body, along the curve of his groin, were inscribed words in Latin. Both in a suit and out of one he’d once rocked my world. An annoying inconvenience remedied by remembering who I was dealing with—
Icon.
And that curve of his lips proved he was garnering pleasure from my reaction to seeing him again.
I’ve fallen into his trap.
Of course, I’d underestimated his brilliance, his foresight, his boldness to break all the rules and let the dust fall where it may.
My stare swept from him to Maria, and then sharply to the guard’s hand twitching on the gun.
“It’s all a big misunderstanding,” I pleaded with Tobias. “Can you tell them...she’s mine?”
“Mr. Byron,” Tobias said darkly. “What do we have here?”
The guard pointed to St. Joan. “Sir, she tried to steal that one.”
Tobias’s frown deepened. “I see.”
Drowning in the consequences of my actions, my mind swirling—that gun freaking me out.
Tobias stood there quietly, merely emanating his usual charisma.
I stepped forward. “Mr. Wilder, it’s wonderful to see you again.”
“Likewise, Ms. Leighton,” he said with a twinkle of mischief.
My tone turned serious. “Your security is top-notch. After a brief sweep of your gallery I’ve confirmed your cameras are well positioned—” I pointed to the guard “—your staff are alert and responsive, and your mechanisms are well concealed.”
Tobias looked amused.
My heart pounded against my rib cage as I steadied my nerves. “Mr. Wilder?” I arched a persuasive brow.
He walked toward the desk and reached for St. Joan and lifted her with ease. He carried the painting across the room and returned her to the wall.
Scraping my teeth across my bottom lip, I willed him to be fair at least, to see reason, to remember we’d shared a passionate love affair. We’d been a couple; once.
Seeing him again was destroying me.
When he turned to face me it was with a deliberate authority and I cursed his waft of heady cologne seeping into my senses.
“Mr. Wilder?” Maria asked for confirmation.
He gave a nod. “Maria, may I introduce Ms. Zara Leighton, art investigator extraordinaire.” He turned to the guard. “Well done, Anton, keep up the good work.”
The guard looked relieved. “So this was a drill, sir?”
Tobias folded his arms across his chest. “Ms. Leighton, how did you find our sensitized marble floor tiles?”
I narrowed my gaze on him. “Looks good to me.”
“Invisible lasers?” He smirked.
“Invisible.”
If Maria was finding any of this suspicious she had every right to.
“Ceiling entry points?” he asked.
“Next on my agenda.” I waved it off.
“Mr. Wilder.” Maria looked worried. “Doesn’t this painting belong to Christie’s?”
He considered her question. “It’s very good isn’t it. Very convincing.”
Her gaze shot to it. “It’s a fake?”
“We can’t have Ms. Leighton walking out with an original, now can we? Imagine what would happen if I had to tackle her to the ground.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “It’s either that or I’m Icon. What do you say, Maria?”
She chuckled. “Silly.”
Tobias gave a confident nod. “Thank you, Anton, Maria, I can take Ms. Leighton from here.”
A rush of relief came flooding in and I went from ice-cold to flushed at the thought of being left alone with him.
Tobias waited until the door shut behind them.
He turned to face me. “How’s the weather in London?”
Wrapping my arms around myself, I ignored his stupid question.
“How are you finding LA?” he added.
“I like the palm trees.”
He walked over to me until he was looming dangerously close. “Jade.”
Snapping me back to reality as I remembered he had an invisible artificial intelligence that followed him everywhere, his home, car and apparently here at The Wilder.
“Deactivate camera in this office,” he ordered.
Had I tipped my chin up I could have pressed my lips to his and felt his mouth upon mine.
“Jade, confirm please.” His breath was minty.
An automated sultry female voice perked up, “Camera off.”
His lips lightly brushed mine.
I stuttered a nervous breath. “She’s talking now?”
“An easy tweak.”
“That’s very clever.”
“I like to please.”
Oh, God.
Now was a bad time for my nipples to bead because he was pressing his chest against mine and he’d feel them.
It wasn’t merely his expression that had softened from moments ago, it was a familiar look of affection in those gorgeous green eyes I’d loved staring into back in London, when we’d shared an unmatched intimacy. Those memories came flooding back, making my body shiver against his as I recalled moving beyond the veil of friendship with this incredible lover. I marveled still at his strength that could control my body just so, fuck me into blissful oblivion from every angle and leave me quivering for more, manipulate me into endless positions of vulnerability, and all for my heightened pleasure. The way his mouth had once glided over my tender flesh as though worshiping every inch of my body, the way his kisses trailed lower still, bestowing an endless array of sensations with his tongue.
My cheeks flushed as my rambling thoughts ran off.
“I’m not going to kiss you,” I stuttered.
His eyes closed for a second. “I understand.”
Why did he have to say it like that? Why couldn’t he just return to the standoffish Tobias I’d first met?
Make this easier.
Because he’s Tobias Wilder, came my dark musing, and he’s got you right where he wants you.
“You came alone?” he said. “Impressive.”
“You ignored my calls?”
“I can reassure you I received all your cat GIFs. They did the trick. Forced me out of hiding, as you can see.”
I refused to smile. “You know why I’m here.”
He broke my gaze and let out a deep sigh.
“You can’t continue with this way of life.”
“My respect for art?”
“When we last spoke you confessed everything to me.”
He looked vague. “Confessed I love you.”
“You’re Icon.”
“To be honest I’m flattered.”
“I saw the evidence in your Oxfordshire home.”
“Fakes removed from the market.”
“Don’t.”
“Are we still discussing my need to kiss you? Or have we moved on?”
“Listen to me, you’re putting yourself in terrible danger. You’ll lose all this.”
“I’ve lost you, Zara, that’s all I care about.”
“Come with me to the police. Admit everything before it’s too late.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Shaking my head, I refused to be seduced further. “I’m going to submit my report this afternoon.”
“Report?”
“It’s ready to email over to Huntly Pierre. It details everything.”
He arched a brow seductively. “Everything?”
“Pertaining to my case, yes.”
“You and I had nothing to do with any of it,” he said, sounding serious. “I need you to believe this.”
“I’ll never know.” I gazed past him. “Jade, turn the camera back on.”
“I’ve reversed your access to her.” He smiled. “I love that color on you. Blue brings out your eyes.”
“I saw the paintings, Tobias. I know who you are.”
He gave a sympathetic smile. “Apparently, while I was away you found a Tibetan singing bowl and returned the stolen item to its rightful owner? Bravo.”
“You mean the one you placed on my kitchen table? And now my fingerprints are all over it. Because you put me in an impossible position.”
Those monks living in Bermondsey’s Buddhist temple, who I’d unwittingly stumbled upon thanks to Tobias’s mischievousness, had more than deserved the return of their sacred singing bowl. Only, for goodness’ sake, did it have to be me who’d committed the heroic and yet highly illegal act?
Tobias looked amused. “Free will is a privilege.”
I pressed my hand to my heart. “You told me that right before your mom died in that plane crash she asked you to return the painting you were transporting. The one by Annibale Carracci, Madonna Enthroned with St. Matthew, to its rightful owner.” I reached out and squeezed his forearm. “You were nine years old. Do you see how it’s affected you?”
“Let’s discuss St. Joan. The painting you just stole.”
“I was merely taking a closer look. Checking her frame to authenticate her.”
“And your findings?”
A lump lodged in my throat and I tried to swallow.
“The original was destroyed in a fire apparently?” he added. “Surely that provides some reassurance.”
“Why are you doing this?”
He pressed his firm chest against mine and I rested my hands to hold him at bay, and yet my fingers scrunched his shirt.
Tobias leaned into my ear. “How did it feel when you held her?”
Turning my head to look at St. Joan, deciphering if these inner tingles were coming from being this close to her again—
His mouth brushed over my ear. “She belongs to you. Holding her felt right. Your connection is soul deep and worth more than her appraisal could ever be. You want her back.”
I cursed myself for looking away.
His last words to me in London hinted there was more to my family history and he knew a secret pertaining to her turning up at Christie’s auction house.
I couldn’t stir the courage to ask him what he meant.
Not yet.
“I wouldn’t have taken her.”
“Yes, you would.” He stepped back and the loss of him wrenched. “Jade, camera on.” He waited for confirmation and then refocused on me. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your time in LA, Ms. Leighton. We’ve enjoyed having you here.”
“I’ve only been here a day.”
“Pity to cut your visit short. Still, I know they need your certain set of skills back in London.” He gestured to the door. “Shall we?”
Following him out, I walked beside him through the foyer and onward out the glass door exit and into the sun.
“Tobias, please.” I tried to keep up with him.
He refused to make eye contact and bowed his head, taking long strides as he tucked his hands into his trouser pockets. “How did you like Madame Paul Duchesne-Fournet?”
“She’s breathtaking.”
“Isn’t she? I knew you’d like her.”
And I wanted desperately to go back in and enjoy her more with him beside me.
The formality felt like a dagger to my heart.
“Tobias, it was wonderful seeing you.” And I meant it. “I’ve missed you.”
At the end of the walkway he paused before a Rolls-Royce Ghost idling on the curb and his gaze swept over me. He looked like he was about to speak and then seemed to think better of it, his attention turning to the falling green hills and beyond them to the speeding cars rushing along a busy freeway.
“Say something,” I pleaded.
“Marshall will drive you to the airport.”
I glanced through the window at his chauffeur, the fortysomething, smartly dressed man with graying temples, waiting patiently.
“I’m not leaving.”
Tobias strolled to the back of the car and tapped the trunk.
Marshall released the trunk and Tobias lifted it the rest of the way. There, lying in the trunk, was my red suitcase.
My jaw dropped at his arrogance.
“I’ve taken care of your stay at the Four Seasons. Your minibar bill nearly wiped me out.” He gave a wry grin until it turned serious. “My jet is fueled and on the runway. It’ll land at Heathrow.”
“You can’t get rid of me.”
“St. Joan of Arc will be waiting for you in London.”
Oh, so this is how it was meant to end.
My heart ached that it had come to this, him blackmailing me with my own painting. More than this, what we’d had now more than ever proved an illusion.
“What will happen if I don’t get on your plane?” I searched his face for the answer.
Was he going to expose St. Joan to the world if I didn’t comply? A sharp stab of fear hit me when I read that in his expression.
He opened the rear door. “It’s over, Zara.”
My heart shattered into a thousand pieces and I refused to look at him, bowing my head as I climbed into the back seat, throwing my handbag ahead of me onto the soft leather.
His ironclad grip wrapped around my upper arm and he drew me out. Tobias yanked me toward him and cupped my face with his strong hands, crushing his lips to mine, and I surrendered, starved for him, needing his roughness. His mouth forced mine wider, his tongue feverishly lashing mine.
I gasped my relief to be back in his arms, swooning at the sensation of our tongues sweeping together, his mouth raging against mine and then softening to console. His eyes closed as he sighed wantonly into my mouth. When his hand slipped to my lower spine and he yanked me against him, my sex throbbed, making me shudder with femininity, my soul soothed and yet aching with the dread of leaving him.
He drew back. “Forgive me. I don’t know any other way.”
“I will stop you.” My gaze lowered to his mouth.
He ran his thumb over my bottom lip. “Why do you insist on destroying me?”
“Because what you’re doing is wrong.”
“I meant my heart, Zara.”
My body trembled with this cruel need for him, as though my mind and body refused to agree this desire couldn’t be more wrong.
“Go.” His lips curved into a smile. “Before I change my mind.”
“What will happen if I stay?”
He shook his head and nudged me into the car and closed the door to seal me inside.
The Rolls drove me away from him.
I peered out to watch Tobias walk back toward The Wilder, his sadness seemingly as torturous as mine. The way he scraped his fingers through his hair hinted at his confliction.
Being wrenched away so suddenly made my chest tighten and I concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths to calm.
“LAX won’t take long, ma’am,” Marshall piped up.
“How long will it take to get there?” I forced a polite smile.
“Half an hour. The 405 looks good. Would you like me to turn up the air-conditioning?”
“No, thank you.” This dreadful chill was already making me tremble.
I don’t want to leave.
There was so much more to see and do and I’d always wanted to visit Rodeo Drive, I painfully mused, pop into Tiffany & Co., and maybe dine in one of the fine restaurants near my hotel, and then of course visit the private art galleries there.
Slumping in my seat I pushed those superficial thoughts away and faced my anguish. I’d failed myself, failed Tobias, and I couldn’t bear the thought I’d let him down because I’d not been strong enough to do what had to be done. I’d let my fear of exposure to scandal affect my judgment.
Icon was taking on history itself and his capture was inevitable. This beautiful man who’d watched his parents die in front of him would be tortured for the rest of his life because of this tragedy. Tobias was playing out some kind of retribution as though trying to salvage his past and dull his pain.
He needed a friend. An advocate who cared. Someone who could make him see sense. Or at least find a way to prevent him from ruining himself.
As I ran over my options I came to terms with the fact that whatever was in my suitcase I could live without.
My hand slid toward the door handle.
The door handle wouldn’t give.
I was bloody well locked inside this Rolls-Royce.
The luxury leather-and-chrome interior highlighted Tobias’s grand lifestyle and in any other circumstances I’d have been thrilled to be taken to the airport in a chauffeur-driven car or have a private jet waiting for me. All I had to do was resign to my fate and I’d be sipping bubbly and heading back to my Notting Hill flat.
Luckily, Marshall hadn’t caught my subtle attempt to escape. Staring through the front window I could see we only had one red light left and we’d be on the freeway. Rummaging through my handbag with my fingers tracing over my passport, I shoved it to the bottom of my purse.
“Oh, no.” I raised my gaze to look at Marshall in the rearview mirror. “I left my passport in the hotel safe.”
“Ma’am, I checked you out of the Beverly Wilshire. Nothing was left behind.”
“You packed my stuff?” I hated the thought of this stranger handling my underwear.
“The concierge took care of it.”
My jaw tightened at the injustice. “It was right in the back of the safe. They missed it. We have to go there.”
“Let me have the concierge take care of it. She’ll have your passport transported to meet us at the VIP lounge at LAX.” He tapped the screen on the dashboard. “Beverly Wilshire.”
With a forced smile, I feigned gratitude for his thoughtfulness and listened to him request the staff to retrieve my passport from my room.
“I know where I left it.” I sounded chirpier then I felt.
Marshall’s eyes met mine in the rearview.
I gestured my relief. “UCLA. I was showing an old professor of mine how different they look now. This issue with the EU had us changing them.” I waved it off as though it was boring. “Would you mind taking me there?”
“The university?”
“Yes, the campus.” I pulled out my phone. “I’ll text him.”
It wasn’t too much of a lie, though. I’d not had the time yet to visit Gabe Anderson—one of my favorite professors at my old alma mater, The Courtauld Institute of Art. Two months ago he’d returned to California to teach Asian art history, a subject he was obsessed with. I didn’t think I’d be taking up Gabe’s invitation to visit him so soon and neither would he.
After Tobias, Gabe was the only other person I knew here.
Marshall turned left when the light flashed green and navigated us east away from the freeway.
It’s going to be okay.
Clothes, that’s all I had in my suitcase, oh, and makeup too. I could go without all of it. There were plenty of shopping malls here so I could buy all the essentials later.
This decision had so many consequences—not the least of which was Tobias’s lingering threat of ruining my reputation if he exposed St. Joan as authentic. He’d gone to so much trouble to steal her from Christie’s after an unknown collector had shipped her from Europe to London for final endorsement. Icon had snatched her away before the specialists had gotten to prove she was real. His ulterior motive was now glaring. That painting served as leverage.
Damn him, he knew the effect he had on me.
The ghost of his kiss lingered on my lips and he still had my hands trembling, or perhaps this was merely the tension I’d been holding from the thought of seeing him again. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t let him throw me off my reason for being here.
Yet here I sat, thrown.
