25. Chapter 25 – Clay
W aking up with Lucy sprawled against me made the hint of a headache from the champagne dissolve instantly. It was late by the time we finally collapsed with exhaustion. But what a night.
“What are you looking so smug about?” Lucy muttered.
My eyes narrowed into slits. “What do you think?”
“If this is the part of the morning where you expect a glowing review, I’m not that girl.”
“That’s okay.” I dropped a kiss on her forehead, hiding my smile from her wary gaze. “You screamed enough last night that you’re still hoarse. That’s proof enough for me.”
She smacked a palm against my chest, but without any real force behind it. “I did not,” she protested, sounding grumpy that I’d called her out.
“You absolutely did,” I said smugly. “If Jack Reynolds high-fives me by the mailboxes today, you have no one to blame but yourself.”
She groaned, hiding her face against my shoulder. “Robertson, is this how it’s going to be from now on?”
“Me giving you abundant orgasms that wake the neighbors? God, I hope so.” I squeezed her into a hug, laughing when she squealed.
“No. I mean us, together.”
“Absolutely.”
Her beautiful face turned toward mine, her expression serene. “Good.”
“I love you, Lucy Millen.” Saying it made some of the rust in my chest flake away, like practice would make telling her I loved her easier every time I said it. I’d have to say it a lot.
Her eyes softened. “I love you, Clay.”
She seemed in a relatively giving mood. It wouldn’t hurt to ask. “Since I love you, and you love me, how do you feel about taking things to the next level?”
“What level comes after orgasms that wake the neighbors?” she asked, a smile flirting with her lips. “I draw the line at public nudity. We’re not bringing any of Gran’s artwork to life.”
I chuckled. “I had something slightly tamer in mind. But only if you discount Jack Reynold’s new respect for my prowess.” Lucy rolled her eyes, and I continued, “How would you feel about moving in together?”
“Your place or mine?” she asked.
I paused. For some reason I’d expected more of an argument.
“Don’t look so shocked, Robertson. I don’t want to fight all the time.”
I arched one brow. She winked. “Tomorrow, I want to be the one high-fiving Jack.”
After another round of love-making in the shower, we slipped into clothes, and I cooked breakfast for us. Lucy seemed content to sit at the kitchen table, sipping her coffee and watching me work.
“What should we do today?” I set plates of toast and scrambled eggs on the table for us. “Can I help you with packing after work?”
“I think we need to follow up with Agent Harris. I keep thinking about Chaz and the gallery.” She tugged at her bottom lip. “I don’t know what it takes for Agent Harris to get hold of Chaz’s sales records, but that’d be the first place I looked.”
“I can call him later this morning. I also need to either call Chaz or head to the gallery and get an idea of the night’s receipts.
” I felt a little guilty that we hadn’t stuck around to finish the evening, but Lucy and I’d had more important things to do.
I could never regret a second of last night.
Lucy nodded thoughtfully. “I need to spend a few hours at my studio and get caught up on work. Do you want to pick me up before lunch, and we can eat at one of the restaurants in Roche Harbor and head to the gallery afterward?”
“It’s a date.”
I took off for my office when Lucy left.
She was already making her mark at the house.
Something about that made me feel more settled than her words of love.
Like she’d truly let down her guard. Let me in.
Maybe she didn’t fully realize it, but I recognized how special that was.
How rare. My Lucifer didn’t trust easily.
Her inner circle was tight. And I was honored to claim a spot near the center.
***
Lucy was bent over a glass orb, safety glasses on, when I slipped into her studio.
As if she sensed my presence, she looked up.
A gentle smile suffused her features, taking my heart and melting it on the spot.
I could remember a time when she only frowned at me.
Being the recipient of her smiles, witnessing her obvious joy at seeing me, felt like the ultimate prize.
“Hey. Ready to go?” I asked around the lump in my throat.
“Yep. Just let me pop this in the annealing oven and wash my hands.”
A few minutes later, she followed me out to my truck. It was cold and cloudy out. Typical for early November. The true storms and threats of snow and ice usually moved in closer to December.
“Before I forget, my family is planning to visit at Thanksgiving.” I said it casually, checking her expression. “I’m hosting this year and want to make sure you’re okay with that.”
“Are they staying with us?” She shifted in her seat to face me. “Is it just your parents?”
Something in me eased at the nonchalant way she said “us.”
“They don’t have to. I know it’s going to be tight to get our households combined in only a few weeks. If having them stay in the guest room is too much, then I can get them a room at one of the B&Bs.”
Lucy’s eyes danced, a hint of wickedness taking over, and I steeled myself.
“Robertson, you’re offering me unrestricted access to the two people who know your every weakness?” She rubbed her hands together, looking gleeful. “I can’t wait.”
“Who are you, and what have you done with my Lucifer?” I asked.
She chuckled. “So long as you don’t make me cook, I’m happy to help host your parents for Thanksgiving.”
“You didn’t have plans?” I asked gently.
She lifted one shoulder. “Getting off the island for holidays is a pain. I didn’t want to sit in traffic to head down south.
I’d already warned my family I wasn’t coming this year.
” She arched one brow. “But never fear, you’ll get your shot at them in the spring. They’ve already booked the hotel room.”
I reached across the bench seat, tangling her hand in mine. “Then I’m glad we can be together.”
“I would have joined the Fenwick family festivities, but I’d much prefer being with you.” She added a delicate little shudder. “I’ve had my fill of Gran for a while.”
A stiff wind pushed the clouds across the sky over the water as Lucy and I dashed into the café, trying to beat the impending rain.
I’d arranged for Agent Harris to join us for lunch, and he raised a casual hand from a booth in the back.
Lucy didn’t need the hand at the small of her back to guide her, but I did.
I held her chair out for her, wrapping an arm around the back of her seat when I was settled. Agent Harris’s lip quirked. Message received.
I should be above such displays of possessiveness. Lucy smirked at me, but she also scooted her chair closer to mine.
“Agent Harris, nice to see you,” Lucy said easily.
“Likewise.” His gaze slid between us. “We missed you last night.”
I refused to feel guilty for telling Lucy I loved her. I shrugged. “We had places to be.”
“Hm. Well, anything new to report? I have to say, I don’t have much to go on. The DEA doesn’t approve of wild goose chases.”
“I think you should take a closer look at Chaz’s sales records. Especially those for A.A.’s work,” Lucy said.
“Why?” Agent Harris examined Lucy closely. “I doubt there are narcotics embedded in the paint.”
Our server arrived, and we placed our orders. Talking about narcotics and art fraud in the cheery café felt surreal. It was the kind of place where we should be discussing a sailing adventure with Rae and Zach. Or which wine pairs well with salmon. Not crime.
“But maybe they’re laundering money to cover for something else,” Lucy said.
Harris stroked his chin. “Tell me more.”
“It’s suspicious that A.A. is so prolific and so popular.”
Harris grinned. “Are you an art snob, Ms. Millen?”
“You can call me Lucy. And no. But any artist is going to have variations in popularity, or a piece that just doesn’t sell. Somehow, Chaz is turning 100% of A.A.’s shows in record time – it’s almost as if buyers have an ulterior motive.”
“That might explain why some of the locals are snapping up A.A.’s art,” I added. “Maybe it’s the gallery’s way of washing the cash for whomever they’re working with.”
Agent Harris seemed to consider our idea. “It’s one of the easier ways to launder money. But the black case is a pretty thin link between the Dawkins death and your gallery owner. I don’t know that I’m going to get a judge to give me a warrant for his records.”
Lucy’s chin jutted in a familiar show of obstinacy. “Then we’re just going to have to get you some proof.”
I closed my eyes, counting to ten. I didn’t want Lucy anywhere near danger. But she was stubborn enough to go alone if I didn’t help.
“What do you need?” I asked Agent Harris.