The Chase

by Vanessa Fewings

  Joan had given her life for France, for God, a woman’s martyrdom too profound to comprehend. Standing before her I knew she was no longer ours because we didn’t deserve her. The truth of our unworthiness radiated from her.

  Self-hate spilled out of me as I struggled to catch air in my lungs.

  “Zara.” The voice sounded familiar, a kindness in his tone.

  Those butterflies returned to my chest, nudging out this dread.

  “Turn around,” he said.

  Unsteady, this numbness enveloping, this terror holding me fixed and trembling.

  A hand swept across my face and I closed my eyelids against the palm resting against them. This cruelest spell broken.

  I spun around—

  Tobias opened his arms, and I fell into them, warm and comforted against his chest, resting my cheek against him.

  “I’m here now,” he said.

  Nuzzling in, a sense of refuge in his hold and his familiar scent soothing these spiraling thoughts.

  My life had been a lie. Another sob escaped my lips.

  “Listen to me,” he whispered, “we’re going to walk out and you’re going to show no emotion. Do you understand?”

  I peered up and blinked at him, vaguely aware he wasn’t meant to be here. He looked dazzling in a three-piece suit.

  “Zara.” He tightened his grip. “Show no reaction.”

  “It’s her,” I stuttered out.

  “We don’t know that. There’s been no forensic tests to prove it.” He rested a fingertip on my lips when I protested. “I need you to trust me.”

  I went to answer but the words failed to leave my lips.

  He glanced over at Andrew, who was still standing respectfully at the back of the room. Tobias gave him a reassuring smile. “Looks like a fake.”

  I gripped Tobias tightly, hating this lie and feeling this betrayal of St. Joan twisting my heart. My fingers curled in his shirt as I silently pleaded with him to let me take her home.

  But she wasn’t mine anymore. Someone else had claimed her. Someone who must know the truth.

  “Zara, we’re leaving,” he said. “We’ll head out gracefully. Speak to no one.”

  Another nod as I crushed against his side, his arm wrapping around me as he led me toward the door.

  We walked past Andrew and the woman beside him, a fortysomething curator with overly bleached blond hair and her concerned expression following us out.

  Tobias snapped a command into his phone. “Bring the car round.” He shoved it back into his pocket.

  Out through the empty auction room, down the hallway, Tobias offering a polite smile to everyone we walked past.

  The chill of the night met us when we stepped outside.

  Puffing out cold air, proving autumn was barely holding on before winter.

  That familiar silver Bentley pulled up to the curb and we hurried into the backseat. I recognized Cooper.

  I sank low into the leather, shivering, my hand cupping my mouth to hold back the sobs.

  Cooper gave a kind smile in the rearview. “Where to, boss?”

  “Ms. Leighton’s place.” Tobias pulled me into a hug. “Fast as you can.”

  I managed to make it to my apartment before breaking down.

  Vaguely, I was aware Tobias had followed me into my flat, but I was too busy crying into my pillow to give him much thought.

  My dad had stood right beside me the night of the fire and together we’d watched our home go up in flames. We’d silently begged the firemen to move faster, save what they could. But afterward when the wreckage was examined, there came the awful realization the rest of the paintings were gone. Only the ones we’d managed to carry out had survived.

  How had I not seen through his lie?

  I’d stood right by his side outside the gate, both of us shaken from sleep, caught up in terror at what we saw. Our lives had gone up in flames.

  Were there more paintings out there?

  I’d trusted Dad more than anyone. He’d lovingly called me his “angel.” Yet he’d betrayed me like I’d never meant anything to him. Left me with nothing but a legacy of shame. With him gone it would be me who would have to face the art world, the press and the inevitable fallout.

  My life was over.

  “Can I come in?” Tobias stood in the doorway.

  My answer caught in my throat and to hide my embarrassment I buried my face into my tear-soaked pillow.

  The bed dipped and I felt him sit close. “Made you some tea,” he said softly.

  “Don’t deserve a cup of tea.”

  “Zara, the painting hasn’t been authenticated—”

  “I recognized it.”

  “Well, maybe your dad sold it before the fire? Perhaps he didn’t tell you?”

  I lifted my face and stared at him, swiping at tears. “He ran his fingers through the ashes of where St. Joan had once hung and sobbed his precious painting was gone.”

  “I’m sure there’s a good explanation.”

  “It doesn’t make any sense. Art was his life.”

  And at times it had felt like he’d loved art more than me.

  “Apparently, I’m quite the tea maker,” he said. “Here you go.”

  “I’ll never breathe again.” I buried my face deeper.

  “Please, sit up and take this mug out of my hands before I get third-degree burns.”

  I turned and pushed myself up and rested back against the headboard. “You made me a cup of tea?” I took it from him.

  “Why do you Brits call it a cup when it’s a mug?”

  “Don’t know.” I wiped my nose with my sleeve.

  “Because most of you are bat-shit crazy, that’s why.” He reached for the box of tissues on the side table and handed it to me. “Anyone eating Marmite needs their head examined.”

  “I like Marmite.”

  “I rest my case.”

  I giggled but it morphed into a moan of despair. “He must have sold them and hung fakes in their place. Maybe he did it to defraud the insurance company? The art world? Surely he’d have considered they could have turned up?”

  “Maybe he needed the money?”

  “No, our estate was fine.” I brought my knees up and rested my mug on them.

  “What was his reaction? When he realized St. Joan was destroyed?”

  “Devastation.” My thoughts carried me back to that fire, the way he’d seemed so lost in thought, so dazed, shock stunning him into silence for the days and weeks that followed.

  I’d also lost some part of my dad that night.

  “It’s not like he ever painted,” I said. “He loved art but didn’t have a talent for it himself. Perhaps if he had I’d have given more thought to those accusations.”

  “Do you paint?” he asked.

  “No, you?”

  He shook his head. “Dabble in watercolors sometimes, but nothing worthy of anyone seeing them.” He winked. “A fox or two.”

  “I’d like to see them.”

  “How old were you?”

  “When the fire happened?”

  He gave a nod.

  “Ten. Can’t believe this is happening now.”

  “Where was your mom?”

  “She died when I was two.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “This was her place.”

  He looked around the room and then gave me a comforting smile.

  “Logan texted you?”

  “I’m glad she did.”

  “That’s why you were so close to Christie’s?” I asked.

  “Thought I’d surprise you at the auction house and take you out to dinner.”

  My tea was a golden brown and tasted how it looked,
brewed to perfection and soothing. “You shouldn’t be seen with me.” I realized. “Not with this scandal. Your gallery in LA will suffer. Not to mention your reputation.”

  Perhaps...before this revelation there might have been a chance for us.

  I scolded my rambling thoughts as I realized Tobias was just a friend who’d caught me midfall and had merely paused his day to be here.

  “I can handle it.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Let’s wait and see what they say before we condemn you to a life of cleaning chimneys.”

  “Cleaning chimneys?”

  “Isn’t that what happens to English people when they’ve fallen on hard times.”

  I burst out laughing.

  He gave a shrug as he grinned his mischief. “Maybe I do admit to reading too much Charles Dickens as a boy.”

  “Why were you at The Otillie?” I said. “The night we met?”

  “I was invited.”

  “By who?”

  “Miles Tenant.”

  Of course, the director of the gallery.

  “He’s always been kind to me.” I raked my fingers through my locks to tame them a little. “Not sure how he’ll react to this. Probably give me back Madame Rose.”

  “I’ll talk to him. Still, you’ve nothing to worry about as far as I can see.”

  Yet Tobias had trusted my ability to spot a fake when he’d taken me to the palace with him.

  I pulled the blanket higher. “Miles was so generous to hold that reception. God, it was also meant to be a celebration of all my dad did for the art community.”

  “Let’s not condemn him just yet.”

  No amount of regaling how my great-great-grandmother had been the toast of the royal Russian court would soften the strike of this current scandal.

  It wasn’t as though I’d seen behind the veil of Tobias’s personal world, either; his mercurial, complex nature was as compelling as those beguiling hard edges that he never failed to show.

  These unfolding moments where he revealed his true nature felt like a rare gift. This man was letting me in.

  “You were very quiet that first evening we met at The Otillie?” he said.

  “I was a little intimidated.”

  “By me?” He looked surprised and finished the rest of his tea and set his mug on the side table. “I’d borrowed the staff room to get changed. I’d have used Miles’s office but he’d had it painted.”

  “The restoration program.” I wrapped my hands around my mug. “Where had you come from that night?”

  “Dinner with friends.”

  “Perhaps I should have asked you this before we shagged in my office, are you seeing anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Me, neither.”

  “I know.” He gave a crooked smile. “Art’s your one true love. See, I remember.”

  My insides coiled with excitement that he seemed to get me.

  “I love The Otillie,” he broke the silence.

  “I remember you saying that at the meeting with Adley.”

  “You blew us all away with that trick you pulled on the Pollock.”

  “Trust me. That came from years of study and my unhealthy obsession with art. Too many evenings spent alone at the National.”

  “There’s worse things in life to be obsessed with.” His gaze fixed on mine.

  I never wanted him to leave. “What time is your flight?”

  “Anytime I like.” Tobias kicked off his shoes and joined me on the bed, sitting shoulder to shoulder next to me.

  I looked at him. “You have a private jet, don’t you?”

  His face crinkled into a smile.

  “Your pilot doesn’t mind being on call?”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “You pilot your own plane?”

  “Matter of convenience.”

  My jaw gaped. “That’s impressive.”

  “You recognized a Pollack from across a room. That’s impressive.”

  “When did you learn to fly?”

  “Twenty-one. Family tradition.” He broke my gaze.

  I wondered if he was thinking of his parents and I inwardly cringed, hoping it hadn’t been his dad flying the plane that went down.

  “So do you normally sneak into homes and search out paintings?” I said.

  He grinned. “Sometimes.”

  “You’re not going to tell me how you knew that painting was there, are you?”

  “I always protect my sources.”

  “So when you’re not running around town hunting down pieces of art to buy up, you’re running a tech business?”

  “Yes.”

  “In LA?”

  “I also have an office in Canary Wharf.”

  There was no surprise Tobias owned offices in one of the swankiest districts in East London, with some of Europe’s tallest buildings.

  My heart did a leap when I imagined visiting him there.

  “We have a nice view of Cabot Square,” he added.

  “What kind of work do you do?”

  “Design software, mostly.”

  “Are your inventions part of that?”

  “Yes. We’re currently developing virtual keyboards, phones, that kind of thing.”

  “How does that work?”

  “Come visit me and I’ll give you a tour.”

  “I’d love that.” My toes curled with excitement.

  He took my mug off me and rested it beside his. “You’ll have to wear a hood over your face so people don’t recognize you.”

  It was too late to hold back on my sulk.

  “I’m joking, Leighton.” He turned to face me.

  He lifted my chin and leaned in to kiss me, his lips soft and gentle against mine, a contrast to the fierceness he’d kissed me with before.

  “Maybe a quickie will help,” I said.

  “Who said anything about a quickie?”

  Oh my God.

  Tobias unbuttoned my blouse, making quick work of the rest of my clothes as he tugged me down to the bed. He remained fully clothed for now, and I felt vulnerable against his unmatchable strength, these tingles in my chest causing my breaths to quicken.

  Shy of my nakedness, I held my arms against my breasts.

  Tobias eased my hands away and his softness morphed into a raw desire. “God, at first I couldn’t imagine how you’d fit into my life...it’s so very complicated...but now, I can’t imagine one without you. You take my breath away.”

  Would these words destroy me should I believe them?

  A shiver of arousal alighted within. “I want to see your inventions.”

  “Do you, now?” He rolled onto his side. “I can show you one right now. If you like?”

  “Really?

  “I’ve yet to showcase it.” He leaned in and licked around my nipple with the tip of his tongue and it beaded in response.

  I sucked in a sharp breath.

  His tongue swirling, lips sucking. “I’m rather proud of this brand-new invention.”

  “I can see why.” I burst into a smile.

  “Now this invention I’m about to show you is actually top secret.” He rolled on top of me and began kissing my chest, moving leisurely down my abdomen and lower, trailing kisses as he went.

  His head now between my legs, his short hair tickling my thighs.

  “This one’s going to need a lot of practice to refine.” His tongue flicked over my sex and he strummed my clit with the tip.

  “Oh my God.” My head crashed onto the pillow. “I volunteer as a test subject!”

  He chuckled in that deep husky way of his and set about suckling my clit, and I arched my back as my body went lax in his grip.

  “Wel
l, that’s an interesting response from my subject. Something tells me this invention’s going to be popular.”

  “Might want to trademark it!”

  “You mean patent?”

  “Yes, that’s what I meant...patent.” A shock of pleasure stole my breath when he circled his tongue slowly. “Oh, that’s...amazing.”

  He owned my sex with his mouth, literally mastering with each stroke, his fingers peeling back my folds and lapping either side of my sensitized sex, proving he’d not only commanded in the boardroom but here too.

  Wasn’t I meant to be inconsolable? Hadn’t my world just fallen apart? How did this virtual stranger have the power to soothe me beyond reason?

  Don’t think about that now. Enjoy it.

  Enjoy him.

  “Tobias, I’m going to come.”

  He growled against me as though his own arousal matched mine and I raised my head to watch this beautiful man focus between my thighs, my hand reaching out to grip his shoulder, digging my fingernails into his tattoo, taking in that intricate design, making out amongst those swirls and lines a small turtle in the center.

  A rush of carnal want possessed me and I stared at the ceiling, mesmerized. Needing this so badly, more than breathing, I reached for his head and my fingers curled in his dark blond locks.

  “Hands above your head,” he commanded. “Wrists together.”

  I flung my arms up to complete my surrender, giving myself over, my sex now his to play with any way he wanted, trusting, giving up all control to him.

  His mouth crushed back down onto me, filling me with these blinding sensations raking over my body, through me, and radiating out in waves of stunning pleasure, my body rigid when he reached up and caught my nipples in his fingers and began rolling and tweaking—

  A moan escaped my lips and I was too stunned by bliss to move.

  This climax sweeping me up and holding me in what felt like midair. Whimpering as I came, breaking through the silence.

  Tobias took his time to bring me down, licking and kissing between my legs, and not letting up on his affection.

  I cupped my hands over my face when he finally broke away. My cheeks on fire, my nakedness making me so vulnerable.

  “Now that invention is still under wraps,” he said. “I’d appreciate your discretion, Ms. Leighton.”