by Dana Stone
She’d been rude, and Erin saw Forsyth’s brows hike a tad higher at her response. Had he done some research on her too? He said nothing, but settled on a sofa. She sat across from him, and asked, “What is it that you’re determined to discuss with me? Cam has already told you the gallery isn’t for sale.” Her mind was directed less and less toward business. Instead she thought about his long legs, the way his slacks fit him and the broad chest underneath his Armani jacket.
“The Metropolitan Museum is hosting an opening next week, Tristan said. “I thought it would be a good idea for me to be introduced with you as my date. You may not realize it, Ms. Cameron, but you have a solid reputation in the art world. It would be a real boon to my business if you’d consider selling and then working with me gallery-wise and...”
Unwilling to believe what he was about to say, Erin blustered, “You want to use me to forge your way into New York’s gallery scene?” She snorted in disbelief. “That is too precious.”
A furrow developed as his brows drew together. He leaned forward. “New York’s gallery scene is of no interest to me. Your gallery, however, is. I’d like to make the Cameron Gallery internationally famous, put it on the map, so to speak. Enlarge its reach beyond your wildest dreams.”
It pleased her to see the way he flicked his fingertips with his thumb. A telltale sign of his annoyance at her smart-assed comment. At present, her wildest dreams had nothing at all to do with enlarging the gallery’s popularity. The gallery wasn’t up for discussion. The only thing she wanted to enlarge was her knowledge of his intimate parts, all of them. Forcing her mind back to his offer, she shook her head to dislodge the fantasy image of him nude and ready.
“And what if I have no interest in selling to you or anyone else? My business is perfect the way it is. Cameron’s has an exclusive clientele, exhibits that are well attended and especially accepted by the elite. What more could I want?”
Besides him in my bed, underneath me while I rode him like a stallion. Get a grip.
* * *
Her face flushed as she spoke. Watching her, Tristan caught her speculative stare. Was she as attracted to him as he was to her? Was she thinking how good they’d be in bed? She was lovely, her eyes a light purple, clear skin that he yearned to caress, and those breasts were any man’s dreams. If he could bury his face between them he knew their softness would be too much to bear. He wondered if she was wet for him as he pulled a pillow from the couch and struggled to hide his hard on.
This meeting wasn’t going according to plan. He’d wanted to see her, make an offer for the gallery and then walk away after she sold to him. He’d bought many others in this way and he knew the Cameron Gallery was worth having.
Her quick response had caught him up short. Erin Cameron was confident enough to know she had a thriving business – and more than that, she had reliable help. He wished all his galleries were as well managed as what he’d seen of hers.
“I guess your answer to my request for a date would be no?” He grinned, reached out and placed a hand on her knee. “Are you sure?”
She slipped away from his hand when her pulse jumped. “I’ll be attending, but I already have a date,” Erin answered.
Erin Cameron was a beguiling, smart and sassy woman. The kind of woman he hadn’t met in quite some time. The kind he’d like to get to know better. Intimately.
“Oh, anyone I might know?” Tristan asked with a calm tone he struggled to maintain.
“I seriously doubt it. Giorgio and I have a history.” She shrugged. “He’s never mentioned you.”
He’d noticed she blushed deeply when she’d moved away from his touch. He stared at the luscious creature across from him and wondered if this Giorgio fellow had been in her bed.
“Does he live with you?” Tristan couldn’t help but ask. He had to know if she was attached. If not, then he’d make a play for her. Maybe he’d make a play for her anyway. As his words hit home, he watched her eyes widen before she covered her surprise.
“He lives in New York City. Now, if that’s all, I’d like you to leave.”
Regretting that he’d blown the chance to get to know her, Tristan rose from the sofa and smiled. “Thank you for seeing me. I look forward to our future relationship.” He turned and strode through the house, and out the front door without waiting for her to say a word.
On the doorstep, he adjusted his dick, drew in a huge breath of cool air and jogged down the steps toward his Jag.
Chapter 3
HER FEET HIT the floor running as he closed the door with a soft thud. Erin couldn’t believe he’d had the audacity to come to her home and that he thought, just like that, she’d give everything to him...
Maybe in sex, never in business.
Her certainty wavered as she thought how undaunted he’d seemed when she avoided his advance and assured him the gallery wasn’t on the market. That self-assurance was a major part of his personality which attracted, yet rankled Erin to no end.
Her, and Cam’s, usual brush-off attempts wouldn’t work when it came to Tristan. He was obviously used to getting his way, as was she. Engaging in a battle of wills was the last thing Erin wanted. Why couldn’t Tristan Forsyth just go away?
Erin dialed Giorgio’s number and left a message when he didn’t pick up. She needed more than an extraordinary outfit now. She desperately needed him to accompany her to the opening and he hadn’t agreed to go with her. With a light sigh, she hung up and shut off all the lights but one that she left on for Mrs. Hardy’s return.
She dozed off with a folder of photos spread halfway across her bed. Somewhere in the middle of an erotic dream about Tristan Forsyth, of all men, Erin sat up with a jerk. It had seemed so real. Breathless and sexually aroused, she knew that if he’d been there at that moment, she would be ready and willing to have Tristan – every inch of him.
He’d worked his way up her legs, his lips and tongue caressing her inch-by-inch. When he reached the sensitive spot between her legs, his tongue did amazing, crazy, and wild things to her.
Erin squeezed her legs together, unwilling to go there, but unable to stop thinking of snippets of the fading dream. It had seemed so real.
“Damn, damn, damn him,” she muttered as she flopped back against the pillows, her pictures crushed and fluttering to the floor.
Moments later, she slowly made her way downstairs to the kitchen. Mrs. Hardy’s coat dangled from the peg near the door. She’d returned from the cinema without Erin hearing a sound.
A hot cup of tea, some cookies and a magazine lay spread out before her, Erin’s thoughts kept jumping from the magazine, to the dream, to her meeting with Tristan. From one to the other they went, until she could have screamed in frustration. She sensed the only way to get him out of her head would be to get him out of her life for good. But, how? How could she force him to leave her, and her gallery, alone?
Rubbing her hands over her face, Erin brushed the hair off her forehead and slapped the magazine shut. Her tea and cookies were left behind as she once again climbed the steps to her bedroom and sank into the soft mattress.
She tossed and turned until dawn, then got up to wander the room. Eventually, she flung the drapes aside and gazed out the window. Fog swirled low to the ground, as she gazed at flower beds that seemed to float above it. With her mind muddled, Erin sighed, showered and readied for the day. “No sense wasting any more time worrying,” she muttered.
In the kitchen, Erin dumped the cold tea from her midnight sojourn, into the stainless steel sink. While coffee perked, she picked through the remaining mail from the night before.
A letter with her attorney’s return address stopped her dead. What did he want? She opened the envelope and pulled out the three-page letter. Her hands trembled as she read the words. She flipped a page, scanned it, flipped to the last one and then began all over again.
“No way,” she murmured. The rotten scoundrel had approached her attorney. He’d made an offer for the business, the hous
e and all that went with it. How could he? Why would he? She slapped the papers onto the table, poured a cup of coffee and paced the kitchen. Was his visit to measure her response to selling because he thought she’d already received the offer? Erin flicked the papers with her fingernails.
Rather than do a slow burn over Tristan’s arrogance, Erin scanned the computer in her home office and studied her findings. Forsyth had a family history that stretched back generations in the Scottish highlands. His education was exceptional... He’d attended Cambridge University in England, then completed a couple years at Harvard, in Boston. His business acumen was formidable.
Could she get rid of him the same as those others who’d tried to purchase her gallery since her parents’ deaths? Was Tristan’s interest merely in her business or was there something more? She’d gotten the impression the evening before that he’d decided to take their so-called business relationship to a more personal level.
His list of galleries included one in Spain. Rick Garcia, a valued friend, had been bought out by Tristan. Could he shed light on Tristan’s reasons for continuing to acquire galleries?
Within seconds, she’d dialed Rick’s phone number and waited for it to connect. While it rang she figured out the difference in Spain’s time of day compared to that of the US. Assured of the time, Erin heard Rick’s voice.
“This is Garcia,” Rick ground out.
“Rick, its Erin Cameron. Have I caught you at a bad time?” she asked
“Erin, how are you, my dear? I was thinking of you just yesterday. I’m glad to hear your sexy voice,” Garcia said with a chuckle.
Erin grinned and asked, “I’m calling to ask your opinion. The last time we spoke, you said Tristan Forsyth purchased your gallery two years earlier. How have your dealings been with him? He’s here in the States and is nosing around my gallery. Made an offer to buy me out and he said he hoped I’d stay on and work for him afterwards.”
“That’s what he’s been up to, eh? He was here two weeks ago, asking questions concerning American galleries. I didn’t have much to tell him at the time. Even though I didn’t want to sell out to him, Tristan made an offer that was too good to pass up.” Garcia was silent for a moment and then said, “The collaboration has worked out well. Marie is happier than ever, and I’m home more to enjoy the family.”
Skeptical, Erin asked, “That’s the reason you accepted? For a better family life? Honestly?”
A deep chuckle crossed the line. “I know it’s hard to believe, but think about how much time and effort you put into your work, Erin. Gallery owners eat, sleep and breathe art. Am I right? I was away so many hours a day my kids were telling their mother a stranger was at the door.” Garcia’s laughter rumbled like thunder. “It was me.”
“In your case, you made the right decision. I have no family, so why not be absorbed in work?” she murmured.
“Tell me, has Tristan made a good offer?”
“He’s been at the gallery, then came to the house last night and talked about it. He never said a word about money, but this morning I found he’d been in touch with my attorney with a financial offer for the gallery. It was generous, but I’m not interested. To say I’m unhappy about the whole thing is an understatement.” Erin groaned.
“There’s something to be said about the way Tristan runs his businesses. He treats the sellers more like affiliates than owner and employee, Erin. When I agreed to Tristan’s takeover, it was with the stipulation that I’d still be in charge of the everyday operation. We work together to promote and schedule exhibits. He’s brilliant... lonely, but brilliant.” Garcia snickered. “He’s a bachelor. Did you know that?”
“I do.”
“He’s also very rich and while he’s competitive, he’s a decent sort,” Garcia said.
“Rick, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to wish Forsyth on me. You’re beginning to sound like my housekeeper. She thinks he’s the best thing since popcorn. Honest to God, I’m not interested in romance. I just want him to go the hell away. Far away.”
Listening to Rick chortle, Erin wondered what he found so hilarious. When he simmered down, Erin said vehemently, “This isn’t funny. He seems determined to wiggle his way into my gallery, to take what’s mine, and I’m not having it. That’s why I called you.”
“What can I say, Erin? He’s a good man, an astute businessman, and detached. Have sex with him, marry him if you wish, but consider selling to him. A word of warning, my dear. He doesn’t give up when he wants something badly. And his persistence always pays off.”
“Gee, thanks. I already figured that out,” she said with a sigh. “I thought you’d be more resentful at having your gallery swept out from under you, Rick. He must have made you a helluva deal.”
“I admit, at first I was leery about selling something I’d worked so hard to establish. You knew that. Then I saw the benefits of having more time with my family and letting someone else carry the ultimate responsibility. The ability to take a step back was too good to let pass. Don’t get me wrong, I still work hard, but Tristan has made my life easier.”
Irritated that she hadn’t gotten the answers she wanted, Erin said, “I refuse to allow that to happen to my gallery. It’s been in the Cameron family far too long to let it go now. I’m not in dire financial straits, though things are tight in the market, and I don’t need or want someone to take over the reins. Thanks for listening to me rant, Rick. I appreciate it.”
She rang off and turned toward the open door. Mrs. Hardy waited with a cup of hot coffee and a croissant on a tray. “You’re up early, Miss Erin. Didn’t you sleep well?”
“I’m fine, I had to make an overseas call and wanted to get a head start today since I’m meeting Giorgio later. I’ll be stopping by the gallery and my attorney’s office before I head for New York.” Erin nibbled the croissant and sipped the strong brew Mrs. Hardy set on the desk. “You’re supposed to take the day off today, remember?”
Mrs. Hardy nodded, and went out the door. Over her shoulder she called, “How was your meeting with Mr. Forsyth last night?”
Her hand stopped halfway to her mouth. Erin dropped the croissant and scooted after her. She watched Ms. Hardy amble toward the kitchen.
“How did you know he was here?”
Mrs. Hardy turned to Erin with a sweet grin. “Why, I met him in the driveway as I was leaving. He asked if you were home and I said you were. Did it go well?”
Her hands on her hips, Erin snapped, “He wants my business, our home and everything else I own. How do you think it went?”
Erin watched Mrs. Hardy’s face pale and her brows rise in surprise.
“Surely you’re mistaken? He was so polite and charming. Mr. Forsyth wouldn’t throw us out on our ear, would he?”
“Not if I have anything to say about it, he won’t. In fact, he may find he’s taken on the wrong owner. His inability to take no for an answer is most annoying. Now go and enjoy your day. Leave the housework. I’ll put the dishes in the dishwasher before I get going.”
Erin returned to the desk and connected to the Internet once more. She scrolled down the screen, looked at pictures of Tristan with several different women and the dates and locations that were noted below each. He was popular with women. Erin smirked. They probably just wanted to catch a billionaire. “Not me,” she muttered under her breath. “I have no use for him – other than I bet he would be great in the sack.”
The chair creaked when she hunkered down and tipped it back. Tristan, in her bed, was an appealing thought. The visual brought heat to her lower parts, quickened her breathing and hiked her pulse. With a soft chuckle, she wondered what it would be like to have him, all of him.
With a shake of her head, Erin shut down the computer and prepared for her next meeting with the handsome charmer. Cam would have the day off.
* * *
The red Porsche careened around corners, hugging the inside. Glued to the ground in a gooey bubblegum way, the fast, powerf
ul car held steady as Erin drove like the wind toward Greenwich. Her first stop would be Starbucks, then on to the gallery.
Parked in the usual spot, Erin strode into Starbucks. Stuart served her a macchiato and asked if she wanted anything else.
“Nothing more, thanks,” Erin said with a wide grin.
Behind her, a familiar voice asked, “No breakfast, Erin?”
Stuart took the money she offered while he watched Erin and then stared at Tristan.
With a quick glance over her shoulder, Erin remarked, “Not that it’s any of your concern, but your newfound friend, Mrs. Hardy, made breakfast for me this morning.” Mrs. Hardy’s part in setting her up for Tristan’s visit still stung a bit. The housekeeper hadn’t realized what the sale of the gallery could mean to both of them should Tristan succeed with his ambitions. The loss of Cameron Gallery was unthinkable, but to try and forge a new life elsewhere for her and Mrs. Hardy was definitely not on her to-do list. Would he consider keeping Cam on if he took over the gallery? Would they lose their home or would he leave that for them? She remembered the written offer in which the estate and the gallery were connected. She gritted her teeth over her great grandfather’s idea of deeding the two properties as one.
“Out of sorts today, are we?” Tristan said with a grin.
A step away from him, Erin shook her head and lied, “Not at all, it’s about to be a busy day.” On the way to her car, Erin heard footsteps close on her heels. The heady scent of his cologne reached her as she turned.
“By the way, Tristan, why would you contact my attorney with an offer instead of making it directly to me?”
“When you were unreachable, I thought another avenue might catch your attention. Its business, not personal,” Tristan said with a sharp-edged tone.
In an effort to get the last word, she remarked, “Remember that.” One thing she knew for sure, she would try to keep this from becoming personal, though to Erin, the gallery was already that and so much more. Her car tires squealed as she drove from the parking lot. Anger burned deep in the pit of her stomach while she worried over her next move with the enigmatic, handsome rake. All she seemed able to think of lately was him, in the nude, in her bed... Good grief.