Page 108 of Disarming Caine

My love was an intense woman in so many ways who threw everything into her passions. It was one of the things I admired most about her, despite it occasionally frustrating me.

“If we could go anywhere in the world, where would you want to go first?”

She shifted along the bench, moving to a different set of papers. “We already took care of Pompeii, so that crossed off number one on my bucket list. Probably Paris? I’ve never been there, either.”

I sucked in a deep breath, feigning my horror loud enough for her to hear it. “An art historian who’s never been to Paris?”

At this, she finally turned around. “I’m a claims adjuster.”

“Your talents are wasted.” I put down the knife, which I’d not actually done anything with, as I’d been studying my muse. “I know I’m not the only one telling you this.”

She shrugged. “But if I’m going to stay in Brenton, that’s what I’ve got.”

My soul wished to cheer. Rejoice in her choosing to stay to be with me. But her heart was not fully engaged with the plan. I spoke slowly; the words fighting to remain inside. “So… don’t stay in Brenton?”

She stilled, the staring and blinking resuming. Elliot Skinner had given her this research to remind her of where she belonged, which was not working as a claims adjuster. How strong was the lure of returning to the FBI?

“You don’t belong in this small town. You’re meant for more.”

“I promised I’d stay until you got back.” Her jaw flexed, and one hand ran over her cheek. “After that, I…”

Every muscle in my body urged me forward, to take her in my arms and tell her how I felt, yet again. Perhaps even mention Papa’s thoughts about backing an investigative company. But she had decisions to make—ones I already had—and she had to make them of her own accord. “Samantha Caine, I would follow you anywhere in the world, if you would have me.”

She blinked rapidly, chin dipping. This was either news to her, or she’d finally actually heard it. And apparently it was too much. She spun back to her research, moving pages about, rustling them together.

I had to release her from the panic, change the subject. “How about Venezia? Have you ever been there?”

She shook her head, saying nothing.

“Then I suggest we start with Paris and Venezia. How about once I’m done in Napoli? Or June for my birthday?” We would ride a gondola under the Bridge of Sighs and kiss at sunset as the bells of San Marco tolled. Perhaps that would be the time to propose to her? We would have been together almost a year and it would easily be the most romantic moment of either of our lives.

I sighed at her silence and pulled out my phone, switching the music streaming through the room. Something soft, relaxing, and romantic. A serenade.Perfect Symphony, the song we first danced to at the hospital gala in August.

She straightened, rolling her shoulders and neck, the tension easing.

This was my cue. I crossed the room to her. “Need a break?”

“No, I’m just a little sore.” She stretched both arms up over her head, twisting side to side. “I’m not used to working a desk.”

I dug my thumbs into her traps. When she winced, I immediately stopped. “Too hard?”

“No.” She patted my hand and let her head roll forward. “It’s perfect.”

I snuck a quick kiss on her neck and resumed kneading the knots in her shoulders. “Have you figured anything out yet?”

“The FBI had this case for years. I’m hardly going to crack it in a couple of hours.”

“Except you know where…” A photo in front of her caught my attention. A middle-aged man with the Constable behind him. I stood next to her. “Is this the owner?”

“Yeah.”

I turned to her. “I know him.”

“You what?”

“He owns a gallery in Los Angeles.” I picked up the printed photo, scanning the others next to it. “I met with him and a few other brokers and gallery owners in New York last summer.”

“Really?”