Page 40 of His Untouchable Heart

“She has every right to be,” Juliette murmured. “But if she does…”

We didn’t finish the sentence. We didn’t have to.

“And what if it’s not what he thinks it is?” I added. “What if the painting isn’t worth the risk he’s taking?”

Gabrielle exhaled through her nose, sharp and frustrated. “Honestly? I’m not convinced Curtain knows anything about art. He probably accepted it as payment from someone who owed him and assumed it was valuable because it looked old and expensive.”

“That sounds… exactly right,” Juliette added.

I nodded slowly, the possibility settling like a stone in my gut. “So, he could panic if the truth came out. Act out. Especially if he thinks someone’s been playing him.”

“We don’t poke the bear,” Gabrielle said, more firmly now. “Not yet. Not unless we have to.”

I looked over at her, the lines of fatigue around her eyes clearer in the soft light. She hadn’t slept well the night before. Neither had I.

“So we keep going,” she said. “You’ve ‘come back from Dallas.’ I’m ‘feeling better.’ We show up at the gallery, and we work like everything’s normal.”

Juliette raised her glass. “Just a duo of boring professionals, hard at work on restitution cases.”

“Exactly,” Gabrielle said. “We wait for Curtain to come to us.”

I wrapped my arm back around her waist and pulled her gently against me again. I didn’t say what I was thinking—that this whole plan felt like building a house on wet sand.

But it was the only plan we had. And for now, we were working our plan.

The conversation faded again, and the quiet settled in like a soft blanket around the three of us. Below, the bay rocked gently against the yacht, casting silver ribbons across the dark water as the city lights shimmered in long, broken lines. The breeze had mellowed, just a whisper now, warm with a trace of salt and something sweet—maybe honeysuckle, maybe a memory.

Gabrielle leaned into me again, her thigh brushing mine, her skin bare and warm under the hem of her sundress. I turned my head, letting my lips find the soft curve where her neck met her shoulder. Just a press at first. Then a kiss. Then another.

She sighed, her hand sliding over my forearm where it rested across her stomach. Her body arched slightly into mine. I trailed my fingers along her outer thigh, slipping just beneath the edge of her dress.

Juliette groaned—loudly. “Oh my God. Seriously? This is what I get for not having a plus-one?”

I didn’t stop kissing Gabrielle, but I grinned against her skin.

“Unfair,” Juliette went on. “I’m over here wrapped in a throw blanket like a sad Victorian ghost, and you two are about to reenact a steamy romance right here in front of me.”

I pulled back just enough to glance at her and said, “Nope.”

Then I stood, scooping Gabrielle up into my arms with zero warning. She gave a surprised laugh, her arms looping around my neck, legs swinging as I started toward the stairs.

“I can walk, you know,” she whispered, smiling.

“I like the view from here better.”

Juliette raised her glass and called after us, “You two are disgusting.”

“You’re just jealous,” Gabrielle answered, laughing.

Juliette rolled her eyes, but I caught the smirk just before we disappeared down the stairs.

Behind us, I heard her mutter, “Fine. More wine for me,” and the soft pad of her footsteps, heading toward the guest cabin.

By the time we reached the suite, Gabrielle’s breath was already shallow against my neck, and my pulse was keeping pace.

Whatever tomorrow brought, we still had tonight.

The lighting in the master suite was warm—muted. The round bed looked like it belonged in a movie that should’ve come with a parental advisory. Above it, a mirror stretched across the ceiling, reflecting just enough to feel decadent without being too ridiculous.

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