Page 1 of Temptation

Chapter One: Confirmation

Tennessee “Tenn” Aston sat across from Ron Parker, an old friend and private investigator he hired to follow his wife in front of the Tatte Bakery and Cafe in Boston. After they spent a few minutes catching up, Tenn got to the point. “So, what did you find?”

“She's having an affair, sorry.” Ron pushed the file across the table at him. “Guy's name is Joel Hudson. He's a salesperson at the dealership.” Tenn flicked through the pictures, his heart sinking as he saw proof his wife was sleeping with another man.

“Well, if I didn't think it was possible, I wouldn't have hired you.” Tenn passed over the check for his services. It was money well spent because, in his opinion, the contents of the folder were priceless.

“I, uh, did some extra digging, no cost.” Ron passed over another file. “The guy is married. His wife is the head librarian at the Boston University Visual Arts Resource Library. She either knows and doesn't care or is even more in the dark than you were.” Tenn opened the file and saw the man his wife was cheating on him with, looking down at an attractive woman with long, thick, fire-engine-red hair. She laughed at him as they walked, his arm around her shoulders as he kissed her cheek. Tenn was sure he knew her from somewhere but couldn't put his finger on where. “I took that picture two days ago. I don't think she knows.”

“You think I should tell her?” Tenn sighed as he contemplated that confrontation. “I don't know what I want to do about this.”

Ron leaned forward, a cryptic expression on his face. “Tenn, how long have we been friends?”

“I don't know. Ten, fifteen years?” Tenn shrugged. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Have I ever steered you wrong? Trust me. Tell her.”

Tenn studied her picture again. Why did she look so familiar? Making up his mind, he nodded. He'd want her to tell him. “Thanks, Ron. I will.” He stood up to leave. “Grab a beer when you get back?”

“Absolutely.”

----------

Tenn stood in front of Boston University's Library of Visual Arts. It was almost closing time, and he was hesitant to enter, find Joel Hudson's wife, and tell her that her husband was cheating on her with his wife. Adjusting his glasses, he ran his hand through his thick, black hair. He would want to know. He tightened his hand on the folder and went in to find her.

He approached the resources desk, and a woman around his age with bubble-gum pink hair cheerfully greeted him. “Hi, can I help you?”

“Yeah, I'm looking for a Quinn Hudson. She's a librarian here.”

“No librarians with the last name Hudson. You must mean Quinn Turner.”

“Uh, she has bright red hair.” Even her name was familiar, but he still couldn't figure out why.

“Yeah, that'll be Quinn Turner. Just a second.” She picked up a phone and hit a button. “Hey Jake, where's Quinn right now?” She listened for a second, eyeing him curiously as she drummed her fingers absently on the desk. “Thank you!” She drew the “you” out, then hung up and smiled at him. “Quinn's on the third floor. Take a right when you get off the elevator, go down the hall, and she should be in the first room on the left.”

“Thanks.” When Tenn got off the elevator, he followed the directions and came to a large room full of shelves of large books of photography and artwork prints. Quinn Turner between a cart of more books, and a table, sorting them into piles. He cleared his throat to get her attention, and she looked up, smiling at him.

“Hi, looking for something in particular?” Tenn blinked. The photograph didn't do her justice. The red hair was definitely not natural, but it suited her perfectly; her smile was warm and welcoming, and she had a full bottom lip made for biting and a perfect cupid's bow top lip. Her eyes were emerald green and framed by dark lashes. He swallowed. Immediate attraction. Fuck, he was going to kill Ron. He knew what he was doing by sending him here.

Realizing he was staring; he swallowed again and cleared his throat. “Yeah, we need to talk.”

Quinn raised a dark, arched eyebrow. “We do? Do we know one another?”

“No.” Tenn shook his head. “My name is Tennessee Aston -”

“From the Museum of Fine Arts?” Her eyes brightened as she interrupted, looking excited. “You got my email?”

“I'm sorry; you emailed me?” Tenn was thrown off and blinked in confusion. Did she already know and was trying to reach him?

“Yeah, I'm trying to put together a series of lectures by people in the Visual Arts community. You're the foremost art historian on the East Coast! I wanted a meeting to see if I could convince you to speak.” She looked him up and down. “You look different on your book jacket.”

“The stylist played up the stuffy English professor-look for that.” Tenn nodded and smiled, understanding why she wouldn't have recognized him. At six-two, with broad shoulders, he was wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and a hoodie under his black leather jacket instead of the dress shirt and tweed jacket he had been put in. He wore horn-rimmed glasses, but his black hair was longish, wavy, and messy, not combed down and professionally styled. He knew he looked more like a nerdy biker than an art historian, something the stylist said would make people not take him seriously.

“No kidding.” Quinn chuckled. “If that's not why you're here, why are you looking for me?”

The smile fell from his face as he remembered what he had come to talk about. Doing it at her place of work seemed wrong, so he decided to meet her somewhere neutral. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“A drink?” She bit her bottom lip, and Tenn found himself fighting the urge to do the same. Where the hell was this coming from?

---