Page 9 of His to Possess
He stepped closer, and I had to fight the urge to back away. The air between us felt charged, electric. "Come now. We both know there's more to it than that. I noticed how you were studying it earlier. You recognized something, didn't you?"
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. A painting like that most certainly wasn't something I expected a man like him to pick up, yet he did it anyway. And now, as he spoke about noticing the way I looked at the work, I wondered why. Could it have something to do with my silent assessment? "I'm an art assessor. It's my job to study paintings closely."
A smile played at the corners of his mouth, but it didn't reach his eyes. "And what did your studying reveal?"
I was torn. Part of me wanted to confide in him, to share my excitement over what could be a monumental discovery. But the rational part of my brain screamed caution. I had been burned before by trusting too easily and by revealing too much. I most definitely wasn't about to make that mistake again.
"I'm sure you understand the delicacy of these matters. Without a proper examination, it would be irresponsible of me to speculate on the work's origins."
He chuckled, a low sound that sent shivers down my spine. "Always the professional, aren't you? But I wonder… what would it take to make you drop that carefully constructed facade?"
My breath caught in my throat. There was no mistaking the hunger in his eyes now, and it had nothing to do with art. This wasn't the first time I'd experienced something like this. These filthy rich men thought they could have anything they wanted—including other people. Many were able to sweep women off their feet with their wealth, too, but I had never been one of those women. Never been tempted to surrender to the invitation before, either. But my God, was it difficult not to indulge in it now. I should have been repulsed and walked away right then. But instead, I felt a forbidden thrill coursing through me.
"I think you're misunderstanding the situation."
He leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear. "Am I? I don't think so. I think you and I understand each other perfectly."
I pulled back, needing to put some distance between us before I did something I would regret. But even as I stepped away, I could feel the pull of his presence, like a gravitational force I couldn't escape. I was about to politely excuse myself when his words stopped me in my tracks.
"I have a proposition for you. I need a consultant to assess my private collection for insurance purposes. Would you be interested in taking on such a project?"
I blinked, caught completely off guard. Of all the things I had expected him to say, this wasn't it. My mind raced, trying to process the implications behind his offer. Was this a genuine business proposition, or was there something more sinister lurking beneath the surface?
"I… I'm flattered," I stammered, trying to regain my composure. "But I already have a position at the Art Institute. I'm not sure I'd have the time for additional consultations."
His lips curved into a knowing smile. "I'm sure we could work something out. The compensation would be substantial."
I opened my mouth to decline, but he cut me off with a wave of his hand.
"Before you refuse, there's something else you should consider." His eyes locked onto mine, intense and unwavering. "As part of the consultation, you'd have full access to the supposed Turner watercolor. To study, to authenticate, whatever you need."
My breath caught in my throat. The opportunity to examine the piece up close and to potentially confirm its authenticity. It was almost too good to be true. My fingers itched with the desire to get my hands on that canvas and to uncover its secrets.
But the rational part of my brain screamed caution. This man was dangerous, unpredictable. Taking this job could open Pandora's box. The rest of me, though, didn't care. My passion overcame most of my logic—or threatened to, at least. My heart pounded inside my chest as I tried to collect my thoughts.
This was the kind of offer that could cement my place in Chicago's art world, to prove that I still had what it took.
But as I looked into his steel-gray eyes, I saw something that made my blood run cold. There was a hunger there, a predatory gleam that had nothing to do with art. I had seen that look before, in Paris, and I knew exactly where it led. I just needed to decide whether the risk was worth the outcome.
Memories of my time in Europe flooded back, threatening to overwhelm me as they rushed back in a nauseating wave. I tried to chase them away—that was the past. This was the present, and, potentially, my future.
Mr. Compton watched me intently, his eyes never leaving my face. I wondered what he saw there—the conflict, the desire, the fear? Did he know how close I was to saying yes, despite every instinct screaming at me to run?
I heard myself say, "I'll think about your offer." The words seemed to come from someone else, someone steadier and more confident than I considered myself to be. I was surprised by my own composure, even as my heart raced beneath my carefully controlled exterior.
His eyes lit up with interest, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Excellent. I'm sure you'll find the opportunity irresistible once you've had time to consider it fully." He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. "The Turner alone is worth your time, wouldn't you agree?"
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stand my ground. "It's certainly an intriguing possibility. But as I said, I need time to consider all aspects of your offer—both the insurance assessment and the watercolor."
"As you wish. I look forward to hearing your decision."
I turned to leave, needing to escape the intensity of this man's presence and my own conflicting desires. "Thank you for the offer, Mr. Compton."
As I walked away, I could feel his eyes on me, burning into my back. The auction house suddenly felt stifling, and I made my way to the exit, my mind a whirlwind of possibilities and potential, and very dire, consequences.
Chapter 4
Rex
