Page 27

TWENTY-SEVEN

Anthony

Paul

I pace in the drawing room, my long strides wearing a path in the century-old Turkish rug. We waited half an hour for Vivianne to exit the bathroom before I grew concerned.

Merlin was emphatic about turning off the cameras to maintain her privacy once she entered the bathroom. When we realized she was no longer in her room, I was stunned.

A quick search of the video feeds led us to discover her path. And, of all the places she could have gone, why did she pick that particular door?

I want to be the one to retrieve her, but Merlin insists he is the one to fetch our guest. That leaves me to pace.

Why did she head to the cave?

Merlin escorts her up the stairs and back to her room. Vivianne goes willingly, although her eyes cut left and right as she moves down the hall. Merlin locks the door, this time securing it with a secondary lock.

I don’t intend to make her a prisoner, but I can’t risk her wandering into the wrong room in the next two hours. The cave was bad enough, but I have business associates arriving soon.

Hmm, maybe I can use this to my advantage?

Merlin leaves to change into his butler uniform while I head upstairs. I could barge in, but I rap on the door instead.

“Yes?” Her hesitant voice hitches my breath.

“Vivianne…” I clear my throat. “May I come in?”

“Paul?” Her feet brush against the carpet as she rushes to the door. “Paul.”

I unlock the door and twist the knob. The door swings inward, and I pause, stunned by her untouched beauty.

After an evening under the influence of Rohypnol, the long drive to my chateau, and a drug-induced fugue, she still manages to look stunning.

She stands by the window, arms wrapped tightly around herself, golden hair catching the fading sunlight. The moment she sees me, her eyes flash with relief and fury.

“You must have many questions.”

Her initial expression of relief, and maybe something more, morphs into one of anger. “You kidnapped me. Locked me in a room?—”

“I did no such thing.” Well, I did lock the door.

“But…” Her gaze cuts over my shoulder, looking down the hall, probably thinking about what she found at the bottom of the spiral stairs.

It was stupid of me to leave the door to the cache unlocked. Merlin didn’t say a word, but his recrimination will come later.

Vivianne uncrosses her arms and stomps over to the window seat. Snow flurries flutter in the air, spinning and twirling in a magical dance as they blanket the landscape in white.

And what a sight lays beyond that window.

Merlin’s distant ancestor bought the chalet for the view as much as for the natural caves below. It passed through the generations, one of the few things the prestigious family retained through the ravages of two world wars and many economic upheavals.

The Swiss Alps, with their sheer majestic peaks, reach to the sky. Snow covers the craggy peaks nearly all year long, and beneath the steep cliffs, trees dig their roots into the rock, lifting their branches skyward to absorb the sun’s radiance. Off in the distance, down on the valley floor, the waters of Lac Léman reflect the gray pall of the wintery sky.

Instead of pursuing the cave, Vivianne crosses her arms and sets her chin, ready to argue or accuse—time to nip that in the bud.

“You were drugged?—”

“By you?”

“Not by me.”

“What’s going on?” Her voice trembles, barely above a whisper.

I close the door behind me, my heart racing. The fear in her eyes cuts deep, stirring a primal urge to protect her. But I hold back, giving her space.

“I can explain?—”

“Explain?” She cuts me off, taking a shaky step forward. “I wake up in a strange place, locked in a room, with no memory of how I got here. Then I find a cave full of priceless art, including a painting that shouldn’t exist.” Her voice rises with each word, panic edging in. “Am I your prisoner?”

The accusation stings, even as I understand her fear. I move closer, hands raised in a placating gesture. “No, God no. You’re here for your protection.”

Vivianne’s eyes narrow, searching my face for any sign of deception. “Protection from what?”

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. “There was an incident at the auction. Someone tried to kidnap you.”

“Me?” All the color drains from her face. She sways slightly, and I instinctively reach out to steady her. My hands on her arms seem to snap her back to reality.

“What?” Her voice is barely audible. “Who…Why?”

I guide her to sit on the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of her. Our faces are inches apart, and I can see the conflicting emotions swirling in her eyes—fear, confusion, and something else. Something that makes my pulse quicken.

“You were drugged,” I explain gently. “I brought you here to keep you safe.”

Vivianne’s gaze drops to where my hands still rest on her arms. She doesn’t pull away, but she trembles beneath my touch.

“That doesn’t explain the lock on the door.” A hint of accusation lingers in her tone.

Guilt twists in my gut. “I didn’t want you wandering around disoriented. I should have been here when you woke up. I’m sorry.”

“Who drugged me?” She looks back up at me, tears threatening to spill over. “Why would anyone want to take me?”

I swallow hard, the weight of secrets pressing down on me. How much can I tell her? How much should I tell her?

“It’s complicated,” I begin, choosing my words carefully. “There are people in the art world who operate outside the law. People who would do anything to get their hands on certain pieces.”

“People like you?” Vivianne’s eyes widen with a new fear.

The accusation hits hard. I pull back slightly, giving her space even as my instinct screams to pull her close and comfort her.

“I’m an art broker,” I say, my voice low and intense. “I deal in rare and sometimes—controversial pieces. But I don’t hurt people. I brought you here to protect you.”

“And the painting in the cave?” She shakes her head, disbelief written across her features. “The copy of The Lovers ? How do you explain that?”

My heart races. This is dangerous territory.

“It’s not a copy.”

“That’s impossible. The original is—” Vivianne goes very still, her face paling further.

“In your family’s estate?” I finish for her. “Are you sure about that?”

Vivianne’s eyes are wide, searching, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths. Her fingers grip the edge of the bed, knuckles white with tension.

“What do you mean?” Her voice wavers, a mix of fear and disbelief. “Of course, I’m sure. I grew up with that painting. I know every brushstroke.”

I stand, pacing the room, feeling her gaze follow my every move.

“The art world is—complicated. There are layers of deception, secrets buried under more secrets.”

“And where do you fit into all this?” She rises, her stance defiant despite the tremble in her voice. “Who are you?”

I turn to face her, the distance between us charged with unspoken tension.

“I’m someone who can navigate those layers. An art broker, yes, but also…A facilitator. I help return stolen art to its rightful owners, but you know this.”

“Do I?” Vivianne’s brow furrows, confusion and curiosity warring on her face. “That doesn’t explain the painting in the cave. Or why someone would try to kidnap me.”

I move closer, drawn to her like a magnet. “Think about it. Your family’s collection is rumored to contain uncounted treasures. Your expertise in forgeries makes you a valuable asset in this world. There are many reasons some people would want to kidnap you. The least of which is to gain access to what your family holds.”

Her eyes flash with understanding, then narrow with suspicion. “And what about you? The same could be said of you.”

The question hangs in the air between us. I reach out, my fingers brushing her arm. She doesn’t pull away, but I feel her shiver at the contact.

“Right now, what matters is keeping you safe. We need to trust each other.”

Vivianne’s gaze locks with mine, searching. I see the conflict in her eyes—the desire to believe me warring with her natural caution.

“How can I trust you when I feel like I don’t know you?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

I step closer, closing the gap between us. The scent of her—jasmine and something uniquely Vivianne—fills my senses.

“You know me better than you think. Everything between us, every moment—that’s been real.”

Her shaky inhale fills the space between us, and her pulse flutters at her throat.

“Paul…” She starts, then falters.

“I’m asking a lot.” I cup her face in my hands, gentle but firm. “But we’re in this together now, whether we like it or not. I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

For a long moment, she’s silent. I can almost see the gears turning in her mind, weighing every word, every action. Then, almost imperceptibly, she nods.

“I don’t have much choice, do I?” There’s a hint of wry humor in her tone, a crack in her defenses.

“You always have a choice, and I promise I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe.”

The tension in her body eases slightly. She leans into my touch, just a fraction, but it’s enough to send a jolt of electricity through me.

“So what happens now?” she asks, her voice steadier.

I stroke her cheek with my thumb, unable to resist the pull between us.

“Now, we prepare. The auction at Lac Léman is still happening, and we need to be ready.”

Vivianne’s eyes widen. “You still want to go through with it? After everything that’s happened?”

I nod, my gaze never leaving hers. “It’s more important than ever. We need answers, and that’s where we’ll find them.”

She takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. “Alright. I’m in.”

A surge of admiration—and something deeper, more primal—courses through me.

I lean in, my forehead resting against hers. We breathe the same air for a moment, the world narrowing to just the two of us.

“Together,” I murmur.

“Together,” she echoes, her breath warm on my lips.

Vivianne’s shallow breath falters, trembling on the exhale. Her pupils dilate, gaze darting to my mouth before locking with mine.

A flush creeps up her neck, coloring her cheeks. My thumb grazes her cheekbone, feeling the heat radiating from her skin. She presses into my palm, eyelids fluttering.

I lean in, erasing the space between us. Our lips meet, soft at first, then urgent. Vivianne’s sharp intake of breath mingles with my low groan.

Her fingers thread through my hair, nails scraping my scalp. My arm snakes around her waist, pulling her flush against me. She molds to my body, every curve fitting perfectly.

The taste of her—sweet with a hint of something darker—floods my senses. Vivianne responds in kind, her lips parting, inviting me deeper.

The kiss grows heated and desperate, a clash of lips, teeth, and tongue.

My hands slide down to her waist, pulling her flush against me. She fits perfectly, like she was made to be in my arms. I deepen the kiss, tasting her, drowning in her scent.

She responds energetically, her fingers tangling in my hair. A soft moan escapes her, the sound shooting straight to my core. I back her up until her legs hit the edge of the bed, never breaking the kiss.

We tumble onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs and heated breaths. I trail kisses along her jaw and down the column of her throat.

Vivianne arches beneath me, her body a live wire of sensation.

“God, Vivianne,” I growl against her skin. “You have no idea how much I want you.”

Her nails rake down my back, igniting sparks along my spine. “Show me,” she whispers, her voice thick with need.

I pull back just enough to look into her eyes, searching for any hint of hesitation. What I see takes my breath away—trust, desire, and something deeper, something that makes my heart race.

“Are you sure?” I ask, even as every cell in my body screams to continue.

In answer, Vivianne pulls me back down, her lips crashing into mine. The kiss is searing, leaving no doubt about what she wants.

My hands roam her body, memorizing every curve, every dip. She shivers under my touch, her own hands exploring with the same intensity.

I’m lost in her—the taste of her lips, the feel of her skin, the little sounds she makes as I touch her. The world narrows to just this moment, just us.

Suddenly, a sharp knock at the door shatters the bubble we’ve created.

“Monsieur de Gaulle?” Anthony’s voice filters through the wood. “Your guests are at the gate.”

Reality comes crashing back. The auction. The danger. The secrets still hanging between us.

“Guests?” Vivianne asks.

I rest my forehead against Vivianne’s, both of us breathing heavily. Her eyes flutter open, a mix of frustration and understanding in their depths.

“We should…” she starts, her voice rough.

I nod, reluctantly pulling away. “Yeah. We should.”

As I stand, straightening my clothes, I can’t help but feel the shift between us. Something fundamental has changed, a line crossed that we can’t uncross.

“What happens now?” Vivianne sits up, running a hand through her tousled hair.

I turn back to her, drinking in the sight of her—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, eyes bright with lingering desire.

“No more pretending.” My voice is low and intense. “We face whatever’s coming. Together.”