by Lauren Smith
Her dreams were coming true and yet she was still nervous about tonight. She was going to meet one of Wes’s clients and then she’d get to visit the Louvre. After that…well…she smiled. She would just have to wait and see. She glanced out the window at the distant Eiffel Tower. This was Paris, a land of dreams, a city of love…a world where she could be someone else. Someone she was meant to be.
Chapter 7
Wes leaned against the front door of his apartment, waiting for Callie to come down the stairs. He heard the soft click of her heels and then she came into view. The dark blue dress was cut conservatively but was sexy in a classy way, enhancing Callie’s natural style. The bright yellow overcoat was a perfect counterpart to the dress, which flared out slightly at her knees to give her more mobility. The navy blue heels had gold buckles on the toes and had enough height to accept her shapely legs but were not too high that she’d be uncomfortable. He knew his little cowgirl well now. She’d rarely worn heels, if ever, and was a stranger to dresses and heels.
He waved a finger in a circle, indicating for her to twirl. Callie blushed but performed a graceful pirouette. She’d pulled her long blonde hair into a ponytail at the base of her neck with a thick navy blue ribbon. Wes fought off the wave of desire as his body jumped into overdrive. A few hours earlier he’d had her beneath him in a bed, kissing her, his hands exploring her full curves. He’d almost come right there when she had. The look of shock, of delight, as she climaxed had blown his mind apart with thoughts of what would come soon. She wanted to be with him, and so long as he could take it slow, he would have her in his bed. What he hadn’t expected, however, was the series of strange emotions running through him like quicksilver. He shoved these soft emotions, ones of tenderness and sweetness, aside. They would not help him and he didn’t need them as a weakness.
“How do I look?” she asked when she reached him at the door.
He caught her by the lapels of her coat and leaned down to nuzzle her cheek.
“More tasty than whatever I had planned to eat tonight,” he growled softly and Callie made a tiny little noise between a whimper and a throaty purr. The sound went straight to his cock.
“Dinner, remember?”
He licked the shell of her ear and nibbled the lobe. She gripped his shoulders as he continued the sensual torture by kissing the sensitive spot just behind her ear. “We can be late.” His hands dropped to her back, pulling her closer.
“Won’t your client get upset?” Her husky tone made him momentarily forget everything besides her. It was so easy to lose himself when he was with her, like being pulled into the gravity of a bright sun.
“Wes, dinner,” she reminded more sternly. That barely cut through the warm haze of desire cloaking him. Dimitri Razin wouldn’t want to be kept waiting.
He exhaled, a little irritated that he couldn’t keep kissing those delightful little spots on Callie’s skin that made her shiver.
“Very well. There’s just one thing missing before we go.” He curled his hand in her ponytail and tugged slightly, forcing her head back so he could plant a lingering last kiss on her lips. Could he last a few hours without tasting her?
“What?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the leather box Jim Taylor had given him. He held it out to her.
“Wes, I don’t want any more jewelry.”
He curled her hands around the box. “You’ll want this. Your father gave it to me to give to you before we left for Paris.”
She opened the box and stared at the little seashell bracelet and then unfolded the small note. When she raised her gaze, her eyes were glimmering with tears.
“He says it was my mother’s. She loved the sea, just like me.” She removed the bracelet and tucked the note back in the box. “Can you put it around my wrist?” she asked.
Tucking the box into his pocket, he then took the bracelet and fastened it around her wrist.
When he was done, she brushed a fingertip over the little shells. “I never had much of my mother’s things. She didn’t have jewelry, or any heirlooms. She and my father were both poor and they put everything they had into the ranch. I never knew my father had this.” She wiped away a stray tear. It destroyed Wes to see her cry.
“I think he was waiting for the right time to give you something this special.”
She leaned into him, kissing him once more, sweet and light, but no less potent than any kiss they’d shared in the past. His chest burned with an inner warmth at the light kiss.
“Thank you, Wes.”
He clasped her hand in his and they left the apartment. Michel was waiting to drive them to Fouquet’s. It was a fairly trendy restaurant in many aspects, but the food was excellent and the atmosphere was pleasant enough for a business meeting. Merry lights of the restaurant illuminated the red canopy roof that covered the outdoor seating areas as they arrived. Tourists already filled the outdoor tables, chatting and dining. Wes escorted Callie straight to the main doors on the corner of the building. When they walked inside, Callie’s eyes grew round and her lips parted in a little O. That didn’t help Wes. He’d just gotten control of his body again and she was making him hard thinking about her lips wrapped around his shaft.
“It’s so beautiful. I’ve never eaten at a fancy place like this before,” she admitted.
Wes studied the restaurant, trying to see what had impressed her. Rows of white cloth-covered tables were surrounded by armless tall red chairs studded with gold pins along their frames. Chandeliers with more than a dozen electric candles each filled the room with a soft, warm glow that reflected off the light walnut wood-paneled walls.
A secluded table in the back had a lone man drinking wine.
“Ahh, there’s Dimitri.” Wes guided Callie toward the man and the table in the back.
“Wes,” Dimitri said and chuckled as he stood and offered a hand in greeting. Wes shook it and nudged Callie forward. She’d been hanging behind, letting him shield her with his body. No doubt because Dimitri was intimidating. He was a tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed Russian, good-looking and far too confident when it came to women.
“Sorry, we’re late. Dimitri, I would like you to meet Callie Taylor. Callie, this is Dimitri Razin.”
Callie smiled and shook Dimitri’s hand but he pressed a lingering kiss to her knuckles and she instinctively moved toward Wes. He was glad for two reasons. She was learning to trust him, and she preferred him to Dimitri. Wes was no fool. Dimitri was a natural womanizer. More than one beautiful lady in Paris hadn’t been able to choose between Wes and Dimitri and they had taken her to bed together. But Wes had no intention of ever sharing Callie.
“You did not mention this was to be a mixture of business and pleasure, Wes.” Dimitri winked rakishly at Callie.
Wes steered her to the nearest chair and helped her sit. Then he took the seat slightly closer to his friend.
“The pleasure is mine. Only mine.” He shot Dimitri a warning look and the Russian nodded faintly, indicating he understood.
“I’ve had the best wine in the house brought down. The waiter will return to see to our order.” He held out menus to Callie and Wes.
Callie thanked him and focused intently on her menu as though it contained the secrets of the universe. She was very shy, but he would make sure she wasn’t shy with him when they were alone.
“So what is this piece you’ve had sent to the Louvre?” Wes asked.
Dimitri had connections with the President-Director of the Louvre and often had pieces stored there when he needed them to be authenticated.
His friend passed Wes a glass of wine and one to Callie. “It’s a Sargent, one I’ve not seen on the market before. You know how much I like his work.” He turned to Callie. “Do you know Sargent?”
She nodded, eyes brightening with interest.
“Callie’s an artist,” Wes informed his friend, feeling proud of Callie and her talent. It was one thing to show off a painting, but another thing to show off an art
ist, one who was living and breathing right next to him, one he’d kissed, one who tasted like sunshine and encouraged dreams he’d thought long lost to him. He wanted to shout his excitement from the rooftops, and then he wanted to closet himself away with her, taking her to bed for days.
Dimitri’s gaze narrowed in sudden interest. “You are an artist? No wonder you have my friend so fascinated with you. Wes Thorne lives and breathes art.”
Wes sipped his wine and raised the glass in a silent toast to his friend. “As do you, Dimitri.”
“Not like you, my friend.” Dimitri turned back to Callie, smiling and brushing his dark hair out of his eyes, as he seemed to realize he’d caught Callie’s undivided attention. “Wes understands art, while the rest of us simply appreciate it. The patterns, the techniques, all the things that define that art, including an artist’s heart and soul, that is what he sees that the rest of us do not.”
Wes wanted to laugh, but deep down, he sensed Dimitri understood people the way he understood art.
“I can see what you mean,” Callie said, shooting Wes one of those equally intelligent and curious looks.
Dimitri laughed in delight. “You are a perceptive lady. All good artists must be.”
“The best artists see something for what it could be, not just what it is.” Callie reached for her glass of wine and took a taste. Her hazel-green eyes settled on him and what he saw there heated his blood. The dewy-eyed innocence wasn’t there, but an ancient knowing glint, as though there were things she saw and understood better than an average woman her age. It was a fleeting glimpse of the worldly artist she would someday become, the person he wanted her to be.
“I think, my friend”—Dimitri signaled their waiter with a little wave—“that you have found a most unique woman.”
My masterpiece. Mine. He nodded at Callie. Well played, darling.
The waiter arrived and they placed their orders. Dimitri seemed fascinated by Callie and before long Callie was chatting with an ease and friendliness he hadn’t seen before. Dimitri, ever a collector of human information, soon pried out such kernels of information like the fact that cobalt blue was her favorite color, the best night of her life was watching a meteor shower with her parents when she was four, just before her mother passed away. Wes’s stomach had clenched at the thought of her so young, only four, and that a fuzzy memory tinted with the warmth of her mother’s love had left such a lasting impression on her. He was glad she had that memory of her mother. Not all children were so lucky.
He for one was the product of two wretched examples of human nature. Grandpa Thorne was the only family member other than Hayden who Wes officially acknowledged. His own parents were a pair of polecats scratching, biting, clawing, with no thought or care as to those around them. When he’d left for college, he only came home to the island because he loved it, not because his parents were there. Someone had to keep an eye on his friends and, most important, his sister. If he had to run into his parents a few times a year at public events, it was something he would endure.
Callie pushed back her chair and both men rose to their feet as she stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the ladies’ room.”
“What has you in such a black mood?” Dimitri asked when Callie was out of ear shot.
Wes shrugged. “Thoughts of the past, they turn me black.” He rarely admitted weakness, but Dimitri was someone he trusted.
“There’s no reason for that. You see the lovely lady who just left? She likes you. That has to erase all dark thoughts from a man when a woman like her wants you.”
“Believe me, she is a hard one to get into bed. She’s in love with my childhood friend. That’s not an easy thing to erase from her mind.”
Dimitri’s dark brows rose. “Let me guess. She loves the man marrying your sister?”
“How did you know that?” Wes gulped down a large portion of his wine.
“The lovely Hayden Thorne no longer single? That news raced across continents quicker than you can imagine. I heard it in Moscow twelve hours before the news was officially announced.”
“Amazing how news like that spreads.” He glanced around the restaurant and then leaned closer to Dimitri. “What do you know of the black market for Goya paintings?”
“Goya?” Dimitri mused. “His sketches are the most popular items, smaller, easier to steal. Why do you ask?”
Wes pulled his phone out and showed a picture of the Goya forgery to his friend. “This is an unbelievable forgery of a piece I helped acquire for some friends on the island. They were robbed by a professional. I’m hoping to find it on the market and see it returned to the rightful owners.”
The Russian laughed softly. “And you want me to get in touch with old contacts?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Let me have a night with your woman and I will do whatever you wish.” There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
“Anything but that.” Wes kept his tone light, but his words were steel.
“I expected as much. Very well. You will owe me and I’ll collect that favor when the time comes.”
“Thank you.”
If anyone could find something on the black market, Dimitri Razin could.
* * *
Callie left the bathroom and paused at the entryway back into the dining room. At the table she saw Wes lean over and show something to Dimitri on his phone. She couldn’t help but wonder what that was about.
Secrets. Wes must have many. She had so few. He, as did Dimitri, saw through her so easily. But she was learning to see the world the way Wes did. Being around him was eye-opening. And being near him physically was changing her, too. Now that she’d come to the decision that she would be with him, she was both nervous and excited.
She wasn’t going to think of Fenn. That was still a thorn in her heart. Thorne…in her heart. She almost laughed at the pun. Thorne indeed. It would be too dangerous to fall for a man like Wes. She would have bet her life that if she grabbed the nearest dictionary and looked up “heartbreaker” Wes would be there staring up at her from the page, brooding and too seductive.
And I’ve sworn off all men, so why am I letting him get too close to me? Because he’s irresistible…
Pulling herself out of her thoughts, she walked back to the table. The two men straightened and stood as she took her seat. The waiter returned with their meals before she could try to come up with some way to ask them what they were talking about while she’d been gone. They likely wouldn’t have told her. Dimitri was a man of secrets and a people reader. He was right about Wes, the way he viewed art. It was so obvious now, how he loved art because of its purity of expression. She sensed Wes preferred to avoid facing some of reality. Art was his escape. Callie was much the same.
After dinner, Dimitri volunteered drinks, but Wes said they should get to the Louvre. Michel was there, waiting to drive them to the museum. Dimitri took the passenger seat while Callie joined Wes in the back of the Porsche. Michel drove down the Rue de Rivoli and paused beside the large Louvre, where a pedestrian passageway opened up to the inner courtyard of the Louvre itself. They all got out and quickly walked through the passageway. When they entered the courtyard, the dark night gave birth to an amazing sight and Callie gasped.
The sky, a blue like Wes’s eyes, made a vibrant rich backdrop behind the rising gold pyramid of glass and steel. A pool of water, black from the night, reflected the pyramid upside down. Beyond the pyramid, the Louvre’s pale stones turned gold from lamps lit along the walkway facing the structure. The sight was breathtaking. Centuries of history were here. Inside the walls were some of the most famous works done by true geniuses. Her throat tightened as a wave of longing and awe swept through her. She was about to enter the hallowed halls of true masters. She, who knew so little of technique and had no formal training, rather than be daunted by facing these masters, felt invigorated. Tears of joy stung her eyes.
“Callie, are you crying?” Wes moved in front of her, c
oncern filling his gaze. The golden lights of the Louvre’s courtyard reflected in the dark pools of his eyes. “What’s the matter, darling?” he asked again. “We haven’t even gone inside yet.”
She brushed away a tear. “I know. I just can’t believe that I’m here.”
“I promised to give you this,” he reminded her. “There’s so much more I want to offer you.” He held out a hand, palm up. An invitation. A temptation. One she couldn’t resist. She placed her hand in his and they entered the pyramid by climbing down the stairs into the underground entrance of the Louvre. The hall of the pyramid, the coat check rooms, and information and ticket windows were all dim now. A man stood waiting for them. He was a lean, dark-haired man in his fifties, good-looking in that way Frenchmen were as they aged.
“That is Pierre Monde, head of the administrative offices,” Wes explained as they reached him.
“Bonsoir, Monsieur Monde.” Dimitri shook his hand and stepped back to allow Wes and Callie to meet him.
“This is Callie Taylor.” Wes nodded at the man as he greeted Callie. “I understand we’re here to view a Sargent. Could I show Ms. Taylor a few pieces from the collections before that?”
“Of course.” Pierre lifted up a radio and called for a security guard. A man in a security uniform appeared and walked over to them.
“Monsieur Mignon can take you to any gallery you would like to see.”
“Excellent.” Wes looked at Callie and then back at the guard. “How about the Egyptian antiquities?”
Callie grinned. She loved Egyptian history but had never seen any artifacts in real life. Wes tightened his grip on her hand, and she looked up at him. He did that often, reached for her hand, and she knew every touch he gave meant something. It was as he’d told her a month ago in the tack room at the ranch. Every action he did had a distinct purpose. So what was the purpose for him to hold her hand?