“Last weekend,” he explained. “At the Central Park West auction. It was the painting in the study, where—”
“I remember,” she said. “I’m just surprised that you do.”
“How could I not? It was in that room that… it was the first time I touched you. You might say the painting made quite a lasting impression.”
When she returned his warm smile, Jared nearly sighed with relief. He hadn’t meant to lead her down the path of her past, into bittersweet memories of her father that she clearly wasn’t ready to share.
“Tell me about your interest in the LaPorte painting,” he said, shifting back to what he hoped was less emotional ground.
But Arianne was done talking. She shook her head, a new defiance creeping into her eyes.
“I think my interview is over, Mr. Blackwell. So why don’t you tell me how you acquired it.” She held his gaze, unflinching in her steely determination. Jared was again reminded of her confidence at the auction last weekend, not to mention her ferocity in the bedroom. Closet. Basement. Everywhere he’d taken her…
Here’s a woman who knows what she wants, and isn’t afraid to go after it.
“I work with a very reputable buyer,” Jared said, shifting again—fruitlessly, he realized—against the uncomfortable bulge in his pants. “He knows my tastes, and contacts me when something that may be of interest crosses his path.”
“Like the LaPorte?”
Jared nodded. “He acquired it for me about three years ago. It came from an estate auction, I believe.”
“You believe? Or you know?”
“Does it matter?”
“You tell me.”
“I hardly see what you’re getting at, love.”
“Can I have another drink?” She held up her glass, shaking it until the ice cubes rattled.
When Jared returned with fresh drinks for both of them, she took a long pull, then finally said, “What I’m about to tell you cannot leave this room.”
Jared waited for the punch line, but it never came. “You’re serious?”
“Do I have your word?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said, though he couldn’t imagine what was so secretive about a perfectly legal transaction he’d made years ago with a broker who’d made dozens of similar transactions for him before and since.
“At one time the piece belonged to a collector in the West Village,” Arianne said. She took another sip of her drink and closed her eyes. “The same man who owned the Hermes statue in your basement.”
“Really? That’s interesting. The pieces are so different—I didn’t even acquire them at the same time.”
“Well, it’s not just the former owner. They’ve got something else in common, too.” Arianne opened her eyes, her face a mask of seriousness.
Jared leaned forward in his chair.
“I mean it, Jared. This information is… I don’t want to say classified, because I’m not a government agent, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“It crossed my mind.”
She smiled, then her face turned serious again. “It’s more like… Okay. Think of it like—like underground information. The stuff that gets people hurt if it falls into the wrong hands.”
Jared’s first reaction was to laugh, but he’d barely uttered a chuckle before the severe look in her eyes chilled him to the core. She was being deadly serious.
What are you getting yourself into here, Blackwell?
“The LaPorte and the Hermes,” Arianne said, “along with the rest of the man’s collection—approximately seventy million dollars in art and artifacts—were stolen from his apartment five years ago, never recovered. As far as I know, yours are the first pieces to surface.”
Stolen? Never recovered? Surface?
Jared’s head was spinning. His buyer had assured him that the painting and statue, like all of his purchases, were on the up-and-up. Granted, he hadn’t personally tracked the art back to its last known source—not since their first few purchases together a decade ago—but maybe he should have.
Jared trusted his buyer. But that didn’t mean the man didn’t take shortcuts now and then. The art world was full of strange and underhanded dealings—of that much, Jared was certain.
He just never thought it had applied to him.
Jared narrowed his eyes. “Arianne. How on earth do you know this?”
“It’s my job.”
“And your passion, it would seem.”
She nodded, that strange resentment clouding her gaze again.
He took a long pull of the cognac, then said, “You still haven’t answered my question. How, specifically, do you know about the LaPorte and the Hermes? And while we’re at it, the Whitfield, the Saccari, and probably hundreds of other pieces we haven’t even discussed.”
She was unfazed—or an incredible actress—because she didn’t even flinch. “I can’t reveal my sources, but I assure you the LaPorte and the Hermes statue are from a stolen cache. The theft was never reported to the authorities. I suspect the collector wanted to keep his name out of the papers.”
Jared nodded. That much, he could understand.
But Arianne’s story was still full of holes.
“So you investigate art heists for a living, then?”
“Not… not exactly. But as a consultant, I do come across a lot of information that people who do investigate art heists would find interesting, to say the least. If they knew what I’d discovered tonight…” She trailed off, her eyes glazing with thoughts Jared could only imagine.
He set down his glass and rose from his chair. In a heartbeat he was hovering over her, his arms caging her in, his breath stirring the hair that had come loose from her braid.
Her eyes widened, the first indication in an hour that she realized she might be getting in over her head tonight.
“If that was meant as a threat,” he said evenly, “I suggest you rethink your strategy. I don’t take kindly to threats, implicit or otherwise, especially when they come from a woman whom I’ve invited into my home for a single purpose.”
Arianne shifted in the chair, her eyes dark with desire. “What purpose is that, Mr. Blackwell?”
He bit her shoulder, marking her flesh with his teeth. “To be tied down.” He moved to her neck, nipping at the pale flesh there, then tracing a gentle circle with his tongue. “To be spanked,” he said, moving up to her mouth. He captured her bottom lip between his teeth and bit. When she cried out in pleasure, he whispered his final command. “And to be terribly, ruthlessly, mercilessly—”
“What the fuck?” The menacing voice startled them both, but Jared had only a moment to process it before a pair of rough hands grabbed his shoulders, hauling him to his feet.
Chapter Four
Faster than the stranger could react, Jared whirled around and grabbed his jacket, shoving him hard against the wall. “What the fuck are you doing in my house?”
The twat actually laughed. Holding up his hands in surrender, he jerked his head toward Arianne, a lewd smile spreading across his face. “I’m here to collect the woman.”
Jared tightened his grip on the man’s jacket, shoving him harder into the wall. If these were the kinds of thugs Arianne was used to encountering, no wonder she was dodgy about the subject of work.
“Let him go, Jared.” Arianne was behind him, her touch gentle on his arm.
“You know him, then?” he asked.
“He’s my driver,” she said coolly, at the same time the stranger said, “That’s none of your fucking business.”
“Neither of those answers explain what you’re doing in my house,” Jared said to the stranger. “Uninvited. Unannounced. And in case it wasn’t painfully obvious, unwelcome.”
“Door was open.” The guy shrugged. Jared mentally kicked himself; he’d been so distracted by Arianne that he hadn’t locked up after his guests.
“And?” Jared said.
“And I saw myself in.”
“And then you felt
the sudden compulsion to put your hands on me?”
Another shrug. “I thought you were hurting her.”
I need a fucking Doberman.
“Your concern is touching,” Arianne said flatly, increasing the pressure on Jared’s arm. Her voice was calm, bored even. But Jared saw something very different in her eyes.
Fear.
The kind that bordered on terror.
Jared was seething, his hands practically burning to hit the guy. If Arianne wasn’t here, holding him back, he’d already have the guy on the ground.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the man said. “Did I interrupt a private moment by the fireplace? How romantic.”
Jared shoved him into the wall again, fisting the jacket in his hands.
“Seriously, Jared,” Arianne said. “It’s fine. Let him go.”
Jared wasn’t so certain. Still, he didn’t want to escalate things any more than he already had, if only for her sake.
He released the man from his grip.
“See yourself out, driver,” Jared said. “Ms. Holbrook won’t be needing your services tonight.”
Ignoring him, the bastard took a step toward Arianne, smoothing the wrinkles from his cheap jacket as he crowded her. “Party’s over, baby. Let’s go.”
Baby?
Jared reached for him again, but Arianne got between them in a flash. Putting her hands on the man’s chest with a familiarity that suggested way more than a driver-passenger relationship, she said through gritted teeth, “Vincent, I said I’d call you when I was ready to leave. I won’t be ready for some time.”
“You need the bathroom or something?” the guy said. “We’ll find a rest stop. Time to hit the road.”
“No,” Arianne said. “I’ve made other arrangements. So if you don’t mind fetching my bag from the trunk and leaving it on the front porch for me, that will be all for tonight.”
The look that flashed in the man’s eyes was a pure, raging jealousy, a red-hot glare that made Jared want to knock the man’s bloody eyes out of his skull.
But Arianne held her ground, folding her arms across her chest, her own eyes lit up with a silent warning that Jared couldn’t decipher. Finally, without another word, the guy—Vincent—turned to leave.
But not before Jared caught a foul smirk curling his lips. Vincent muttered something underneath his breath—something that sounded an awful lot like “fucking whore.”
That’s it.
Jared took another step toward him, ready to lay the guy out. Arianne’s arms came around his waist, stopping him cold.
“Leave it,” she whispered.
Jared unhooked her arms and turned to face her, adrenaline coursing through him even as he heard the front door open and close. Jared was not prone to violence, but the encounter had him shaking with anger.
“He’s just… he’s a guy from work,” she said. “My driver, like I said. I can’t believe he came in here like that. I’m—God, it’s my fault. I should’ve texted to let him know I wouldn’t need a ride back.”
Jared waited pointlessly for the rest of the story, a game he was coming to expect—but not particularly enjoy—with Arianne.
“What?” she said defensively.
“The way he looked at you.”
“Yeah, Vincent is a legendary asshole.”
An asshole with whom you’ve got a history, love.
Jared wanted to press, but the last shred of logic in his mind convinced him to back off. Asking about her job, her reasons for being at his fundraiser, for snooping in his house—that was one thing. Asking about her romantic past? Absolutely none of his business. He would not—could not—be that guy.
“You should’ve let me hit him,” he said instead.
Arianne laughed, the sound eradicating the last of Jared’s anger.
“How very adorably overprotective of you, Mr. Blackwell.” She wrapped her arms around him again, looking up at him through those infinite hazel eyes. “But in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t like to rely on testosterone to solve my problems.”
Jared slipped his hand around the back of her neck, caressing her soft earlobe with his thumb. “No, you much prefer the shooting-silent-daggers-from-the-eyes approach.”
“As long as it gets the job done.” She batted her lashes at him, her eyes still glowing in the firelight as he continued to stroke the back of her neck.
But behind her playful words and sensuous gaze, uncertainty lingered. No matter what she said, Jared knew the man in his house tonight was much more than just a driver. They had a past—one that the man clearly hadn’t gotten over. For all Jared knew, they had a present, too. It’s not like he and Arianne were exclusive—they’d only met a week ago, and they’d spent more time enjoying the particulars of each other’s flesh than talking about the particulars of their relationship status.
But one thing was certain: Even in their short time together, Jared had already learned that Arianne was a woman of many, many layers, and no matter how much of her body she’d given over to him, her past—her secrets—weren’t so freely shared.
Arianne yawned, a look of utter exhaustion taking over her beautiful face. Jared felt it too; the weight of the evening’s strange turn of events had finally caught up with them both.
“It’s been a long night,” he said, kissing her lightly. Her lips were full and soft, parted in such in inviting pout that even the barest brush of a kiss made Jared instantly hard. Truthfully, he wanted nothing more than to bring her into his bed, to dive inside that delicious mouth…
But she could barely stand. She needed to sleep.
And he needed to be alone with his thoughts.
“Come with me, love,” he said.
After they retrieved her bag from the front steps where Vincent had so dutifully tossed it, Jared led her upstairs to his bedroom, helping her out of her clothing and tucking her into bed, soft and nude and devastating against his cool gray sheets.
“Aren’t you joining me?” she asked, stifling another yawn.
He kissed her forehead. “Soon. I’ve got a few things to take care of downstairs.”
“I can think of a few things for you to take care of right here.”
God, how he wanted to take her up on that…
“And I’ll do just that,” he said, “in the morning. I promise.”
“You’re leaving me alone?” She smiled, her eyelids heavy. “I may be a little rusty, but I’m pretty sure this is not how sleepovers work.”
“Think of it as delayed gratification.”
“More like an epic tease.”
“You can barely stand,” he said.
“I thought you were going to tie me down?” She held out her wrists. “You don’t need me to be on my feet.”
“No, but I do need you to be conscious.”
“Okay, fine.” She sighed dramatically. “You win. Again.”
“What did I tell you about that?”
“I see you’ve got quite the competitive streak.” She reached up and ruffled his hair, sending a shiver down his spine. “It’s kind of cute.”
“Kind of?” He leaned in close, nuzzling her neck. “I’m very cute. Admit it.”
“And I’ll do just that,” she said, imitating his words, right down to the English accent. “In the morning. I promise.”
The stretch of hallway from his master suite to the top of the stairs had never felt so long, so lonely. He felt Arianne’s eyes on his back as he walked away from her, and it took every bit of willpower not to turn around, sprint back down the hall, leap into his bed, and take her.
But he couldn’t dismiss what had transpired tonight. Not just the strange encounter with her driver, but her questions about the Hermes statue, the LaPorte painting, everything she’d told him about the stolen artwork.
Arianne had shown up tonight for a reason that went well beyond her consulting work—there was no convincing him otherwise. Her knowledge of art was too extensive, too precise. And she certainly hadn’t been crossing
Jared’s path all week out of sheer coincidence, no matter how badly he’d wanted to convince himself otherwise.
Then there was the snooping. He could understand that bit about seeking a connection to her father—it sounded perfectly logical.
He just didn’t know if she was telling the truth.
And he really, really wanted her to be.
Fuck.
The last woman he’d let into his bed—into his heart—had burned him so badly, Jared didn’t think the scars would ever fully heal. And now, the first woman who’d gotten under his skin in an age was already keeping secrets, and technically they weren’t even dating yet.
After checking everything out on the first floor, and locking and arming the security systems for the garage and house, Jared headed back upstairs and hopped into the shower in the guest room.
Beneath the rush of hot water, Jared closed his eyes, trying desperately to release the tension, but all thoughts led back to the woman in his bed. After a week of wondering, of obsessing, he’d finally learned her name tonight. But everything else about Arianne Holbrook—her past, her career, her family, her whole bloody story—was an absolute mystery.
One Jared was determined to solve.
Chapter Five
The unmistakeable scent of bacon pulled Ari from a decadent dream about her English lover, the effects of which still lingered between her thighs. Reluctantly she opened her eyes, the dream vision receding as she slowly acknowledged her unfamiliar surroundings.
Jared Blackwell’s house. Annandale-on-Hudson. Staying the weekend.
She was alone in Jared’s king-sized bed, the sheets cold and smooth beside her.
Did he stay up all night?
As the morning sun blazed a path through the edges of Jared’s elaborate window tapestries, everything in Ari’s body was wound tight. Even without slipping her fingers over her clit, Ari knew she was wet and ready, recovered from last night’s exhausting passion and more than eager to feel Jared sliding between her legs, skin on skin, his lips and teeth teasing her nipples…
God, where was he? She wanted to tiptoe down the stairs naked, hunt him down—perhaps she’d find him working in his study, or watching television in his media room in the basement—and have wild morning sex.
Bared to the Billionaire: The Complete Series Page 14