Page 15 of His Untouchable Heart

The art world was a dangerous business, and Anthony had been in it long enough to know that. The question was: Was he playing by the rules?

I found him with his arms crossed in one of the smaller gallery wings, studying a newly arrived painting that didn’t belong to the gallery with his arms crossed. The perfect opportunity.

“Brioni suits, thousand-dollar wine, and now, possibly a private art collection?” I mused, stepping beside him. “I have to say, Anthony, you’re embracing a different lifestyle.”

He didn’t take the bait. “That’s none of your concern.” His voice was flat, clipped. He didn’t even look at me.

The coldness stung, but I wasn’t the type to retreat. “So that’s the rule? I can help track down stolen masterpieces, but I’m not allowed to ask why you suddenly care about luxury.”

He turned and leveled his gaze at me, and something flickered in his eyes—something he wasn’t saying.

For a second, I thought he might actually answer. But instead, he simply said, “Please, drop it, Gabrielle.”

And then he walked away, leaving me feeling like I’d just lost a game I didn’t even know I was playing.

I stood there a moment longer, trying to shake the sting of his parting words. But there was no time to dwell. I had work to do.

***********

After the gallery closed, the staff cleared out, leaving only Anthony and me. The glow of my laptop screen lit the space over my desk as I scrolled through old auction records. It was long past closing, but I wasn’t ready to leave—not without finding something that could take the place of the missing documents.

I took a sip of my now-cold coffee, willing my eyes to focus. The trail leading back toA Lady and Gentleman in Blackwas there—I could feel it. I just needed one solid link to prove it had once belonged to my family.

Soft footfalls approaching snapped me from my thoughts.

I looked up, my pulse hitching, as Anthony leaned against the doorway, a glass of bourbon in his hand. His tie was loosened, and the top button of his dress shirt was undone, giving him an almost disheveled elegance that was impossible to ignore.

“You’re still here?” His voice was lower than usual, rougher.

“So are you.”

He took a slow sip, then stepped inside, his gaze drifting over the files scattered across my desk. He was close now, close enough that I could catch the faint scent of bourbon and something darker beneath it—something undeniably him.

For a moment, he didn’t speak. Neither did I.

But the air between us shifted, charged with something unspoken. Finally, I broke the silence. “Why are you avoiding me?”

His jaw tightened. A long pause stretched between us before he exhaled sharply, setting his glass down on the desk. “Because if I don’t,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur, “I’ll do something I can’t take back.”

The words settled in my chest like a live wire.

Anthony met my gaze then, and his mask slipped for the first time in days. The tension was suffocating, a breath away from something neither of us was ready for.

Then, just as quickly, he stepped back, gripping the edge of the desk like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Goodnight, Gabrielle.”

And with that, he walked away, leaving me staring after him, my heart pounding.

CHAPTERSEVEN

Anthony

I dragged myself into the fitness center, feeling like I’d barely slept. The restless night had left a weight on me that even caffeine couldn’t shake. The place was already filling up with Miami’s elite—bankers, CEOs, and trust-fund kids who paid personal trainers to sweat for them. I usually found comfort in my routine, but this morning, everything felt off.

“Jesus, you look like hell.” Damian’s voice cut through the hum of treadmills and clanking weights as he tossed me a bottle of water. “Rough night?”

I grunted in response, rolling my shoulders before setting up the free weights. “Didn’t sleep much.”

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