Page 85 of Wasted

“You’re right. The authentication that says the painting is fake was done after it was donated to the museum.” He lifted his gaze, colliding with Victoria’s hazel eyes.

“Clinton Glenn substituted fake paintings for Thomas’s real ones after they were donated. And Thomas had proof.”

“Wow. Glenn’s a thief. He must’ve sold them on the black market. Or is going to when he thinks he can get away with it.”

Lines crossed Victoria’s forehead. “So then Glenn would be the one who searched Thomas’s office and knocked me down?”

“Looks that way. Though there must be a reason Ryan was so mad to find you here and his sister threatened you to stay away from the house.” Cillian rested his hands on his hips. “We should probably keep searching in case there’s something else to find.”

She checked her wristwatch. “I’m late for Max’s lunch. I need to go.”

“I’ll go with you.”

She quirked one eyebrow as she picked up her purse from the desk. “To my house?”

“I think it’s about time I meet the rest of your family.”

A smile shaped her mouth. “How can I say ‘no’ to that?”

His pulse took off at a record-breaking sprint. Maybe he was getting somewhere with Victoria Weston after all.

She was starting to let him back into her life, starting to flex and change in good ways. And, maybe, she was starting to love him again.

Victoria’s living room had never felt so tiny. She walked to the coffee table in front of the sofa and set down the tray, her cheeks warming as she felt Cillian’s gaze on her.

He sat on her small sofa, his long legs and large frame taking up an inordinate amount of space. In reality, his mere presence, his intense observation, and the electricity that seemed to surge every time she came within a foot of him, were likely the reason her house seemed to have shrunk even smaller than its usual size.

“How do you take your coffee?” She reached for the navy blue mug she’d chosen for him and filled it with the steaming brew.

“Black, thanks.” Amusement colored his tone.

She dared a glance as she lifted the mug from the tray and handed it to him.

His fingers brushed hers on the handle.

A shock blazed up her arm.

And the same spark flickered in his eyes.

She tried to breathe through her nose as she looked down at the other mug on the tray and added a spoon of sugar. She backed away and sat in the armchair a safe distance away from him.

Poor Max sat in the corner there anyway, and she needed to comfort him with her presence. The dog stared at Cillian with his steady, piercing gaze, his ears perked and body tense.

She rested her hand on his velvety head. “It’s okay, Max.”

“He’s not the friendly type, I see.” Cillian returned the dog’s observation as he rested one ankle on his knee in Robert’s favorite relaxed pose.

“He used to be. He started to become fearful of strangers when he was six months old. I still don’t know why.”

“Does he ever warm up to new people?”

“It helps if they don’t stare at him.”

Cillian’s gaze switched to her, and he smiled. “Got it. I’ll pretend he isn’t there.”

“He can get used to some people with patience and time.”

“I can be patient.”