Chapter Twenty-Five
Ashlynn
This time, when I woke up, Steele was staring at me. His arm was around my waist, pulling me close to his side. It was so odd to be lying in his room. The comforter tumbled off the bed at some point and landed on the floor, and the black sheets were bunched around Steele’s waist. I averted my eyes when I saw the bulge there. He was definitely up.
“Good morning, beautiful.” His voice was husky, his eyes seductive. The stubble on his chin was thicker than the night before, and his eyes were bright from a good night”s sleep. Part of me wanted to run barefoot across the estate and flag down the nearest car and get the hell out of here. The other part wanted to climb on top of Steele and enjoy him until our bodies were exhausted from pleasure.
From the look in his eye, I knew he was thinking of the second scenario. His face darkened, and he reached out a hand to cup my cheek. Every rational part of my brain was screaming to stop this madness. But, instead, I leaned into his touch, and watched as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. My eyes focused on his bare chest, and I yearned to touch his strong muscles as he moved on top of me.
“Ashlynn,” he said, opening his eyes. “I need you.”
I trembled a bit by his phrasing, excited to be desired by this man. He could have his pick of women, but he wanted me. I leaned towards him and met his lips with mine, and he greedily took over, kissing me harder than the night before. I was still shook from the way he cared for me, taking the time to show me just how good things could be with him. He was gentle and tender. The revelation of his name nearly stopped my heart.
Daniel.
It was such a beautiful name, and it fit him so well. I moaned his true name now, and his entire body seized and he attacked my mouth anew, working his body and moving my legs where he wanted them.
I was already wet for him, and he slipped in easily, his mouth parting a bit with the pleasure of being inside my body. Watching him enjoy me was undeniably sexy. I’d never felt so powerful as I did in this moment, watching this man come undone.
He moved quickly, finishing us both off in under five minutes. I sighed as I came, still tired and exhausted from the emotional upheaval. Steele rolled over and looked up at the ceiling.
“Do you want breakfast?”
It was such a normal question. I found it odd to be in this man’s room, in a French estate, with an art thief, about to eat breakfast. It was starting to seem like a normal relationship, and that made me uneasy.
“Sure,” I said, pulling the sheets up over my body. Steele frowned, looking down at me as he stood up.
With one swift motion, he pulled the sheets completely off of the bed. I instantly curled inwards, both due to the cold and embarrassment.
“Stop that right now. Don’t hide yourself. You are an incredibly attractive woman. Every single part of you deserves to be worshiped.” He pulled my legs out and lifted my knee up, skimming the surface with his lips. “Later tonight, Ashlynn Phillips, I will show you just how your body should be treated.”
I reddened as he left the room. I pushed myself out of the bed and quickly went to his dresser, pulling out a large, dark shirt. I wanted to be covered. I didn’t want him to compliment me or make me feel good about myself. I wanted him to be rude and evil. I wanted there to be no guilt when I watched him die at the hands of my father. But even though I tried to deny it, I knew it was an illusion.
I stepped into the bathroom and washed my face. I figured Steele would be coming back in, and I felt unkempt and gross.
Just as I was done in the bathroom, the door opened and Steele entered the room, carrying a large tray. He was shirtless, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His knees hit the bed, and he laid back with his back on the headboard. I hesitated, but Steele gave me a scowl and patted the other side of the bed emphatically. I gave in, the smell of bacon drawing me close.
I wasn’t sure who’d arranged the tray, Glinda or Steele, but there were a couple of croissants, fresh cream and strawberries, and bacon and sausage. There was a rose on the tray as well, and I blushed when I thought about what Steele had done with the rose the previous night.
Steele drank a cup of coffee, and I brought a glass of orange juice to my lips. He watched me drink, his eyes unmoving from my face.
“You’re making me nervous.”
He kept his gaze trained on me. “You make me nervous. You make me question everything I’ve ever known.”
I gulped, the guilt tugging at my insides.
Steele didn’t seem to notice and scrolled on his phone while I played with my food.
“Ashlynn?”
“Yes?”
“I have to go run a meeting for one of the foundations I’m on the board of. After that, I have a surprise for you.” He didn’t look up from his scrolling, missing the shocked look on my face.
“What kind of surprise?”
“You’ll see,” he said mysteriously, and then kissed me on the lips like a husband off to work. “Can you be ready to go in an hour?”
“Yes,” I stammered, still unsure as to what the hell was going on.
“Good girl,” he said, as he left his room. I found myself getting turned on by his phrase so I figured a cool shower would be in order.
I took the tray off the bed and placed it on the coffee table. What kind of surprise would Steele plan? Another event? Some dirty little sex game? Although, after last night, I couldn’t imagine he would have anything ultra dirty in mind. The way he slowly made love to me last night was so pure. I’d never experienced such a true connection—and it frightened me to my very core.
I finally went back to my borrowed room and into the bathroom to take a shower and dress for whatever Steele had in store for me. I turned on the water, opting for a warm shower instead of a cold one at the last minute. I got in, amazed that even the shower curtain was brought over from my old apartment. The warm water hit my back and washed Steele’s scent off my body. I smelled like a mixture of the two of us, and I had a feeling that after last night he smelled of me too. I found myself wondering if he would shower or want to keep the smell of me on him all day. He certainly enjoyed my scent when he—I quickly turned the water to cold and punished myself for my thoughts. No more thinking about Steele. I’d have to condition myself to disregard him.
I shampooed my hair, enjoying the familiar brands I was used to. My sugar cookie scented body wash was even brought over, and it made me think of Christmas as I lathered up.
I dried off and blow dried my hair, letting the ends fall in loose curls like Steele preferred. Whenever my hair was free, he loved to wind the tendrils around his finger and—oh boy. This Steele boycott was going to be harder than I initially planned.
I dressed in jeans and a feminine, pale-blue blouse, and then I put on my black booties. I wasn’t sure where we were going or what the surprise was, but I wanted to look nice in case it included going into the city. I’d just finished putting on my make-up when Steele entered my room.
“You didn’t knock,” I said, pulling out a jacket from the closet.
“Everything in this house belongs to me—including you.”
I was going to fight with him, but he gave me a grin and I let it slide. He was goading me for fun. For whatever reason, Steele liked it when I disobeyed and pushed him. The more I became a pain in his ass, the more—well, the more he seemed to want mine. I blushed at the thought, and then turned my head to hide it.
“Are you ready?”
I picked up my handbag and dumped my lipstick in it. “As long as I’m dressed sufficiently for whatever you have planned.”
His blue eyes moved up and down my body. “You’re always perfect.”
I tried not to let his comment get to me. His praise was getting harder and harder to ignore.
Steele left the room, and I followed him as he made his way to the garage. It was starting to get chilly. I shivered, wishing I’d brought gloves or a scarf.
Steele seemed to know what I was thinking. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you warm,” he said with a wink.
Today’s car was a Bugatti. He opened the door for me, and then started the car. I watched idly as the countryside passed by for a few minutes. Steele glanced at me out of his peripheral vision, like usual. He was hyper aware of everything I did, and it surprised me that he had no idea that I was plotting a major betrayal against him. I tried to shove the thought aside as it washed over my brain.
“Now are you going to tell me where you’re taking me?”
Steele moved his eyes back to the road. “When my men packed up your belongings, they found a photo album and a large box of pictures. Based on what I saw, I’d wager that you’re an amateur photographer. I’m taking you to several of the photography museums in Paris.”
My mouth dropped, completely inelegantly. “You—you—”
“Jerk? Asshole? Those are usually the words that come out of your mouth when describing me.” He laughed, finally glancing at me to read my reaction.
“No, I’m just surprised is all. I didn’t think that, well, that—”
“That I had a heart? Me neither.”
More teasing. This lighthearted side of him was starting to grow on me. He seemed somewhat boyish, with an innocent charm.
“I just can’t believe you’re doing this for me.”
“Ashlynn, you should have figured out by now that I’d do anything for you.”
Then grant me my freedom, I longed to say. But it would just make him angry and ruin the day. I was actually excited to see the museums, and my father would be here soon enough. There was no need to do anything but enjoy this afternoon. With Steele.
Instead of our normal silent car ride, Steele peppered me with details about my life.
“What made you interested in photography?” He held the steering wheel casually, his other hand resting on his knee. His fingers twitched a bit, and I wondered if he was trying to decide if he wanted to reach out and grab my hand. I moved my hand to the center of my lap, making the decision for him. I refused to get any closer to this man.
“I took a couple of photography classes in college. I liked the way I could capture a moment in time within a single frame.”
“That’s rather poetic,” Steele said, glancing at me.
“What made you decide to become an art thief?”
He laughed, that same hearty chuckle that was starting to melt me. “The opportunity was there. I saw flaws within the system, saw how much power the board of directors possessed over their museums. I saw how little they actually knew about art, and how easy it would be to replace real treasures with replicas.”
“So, you pick a piece and then just swap it out?”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that. Usually a client reaches out to me about a specific piece. If it’s not in a museum I have control over, I find some way to get access–either by utilizing my connections, making generous donations…and so forth. Then, my team and I pull off the switch.”
“So how many times have you done this?”
Another churlish grin from him.
“That many?”
“Name a piece.”
“The Scream.”
“Currently in an underground bunker in Turkey.”
“Really?”
A brief nod was all he responded with.
“The Statue of David?”
“Currently in Japan, as far as I know. It’s been stolen twice since I originally procured it.”
“The Execution of Lady Jane Grey?” That painting was one of my personal favorites.
“Ashlynn, you’d be better off naming pieces I haven’t taken.”
My mouth dropped. I didn’t realize how big his enterprises were. It was clear that his wealth was no doubt amassed by these ventures.
“What did my father do?” At this point, I was pretty sure that it was my father who had wronged Steele.
“Are you sure you want to know? He’s your father. As much as I loathe him, I understand that he’s your blood.”
“What did he do?” I whispered, eyes fixed on Steele. He hadn’t shaved that morning, and the bit of dark stubble around his chin made him look all the more handsome.
“My business has—expanded at a greater rate than I can currently keep up with. More and more European collectors have been setting their sights on pieces in North America. I don’t currently have the ability or connections to control the entire market there. Your father, on the other hand—”
“Sits on many philanthropic boards.”
“Correct. I actually acquired a Monet for him about six years ago. He got in contact with me about leading an American team.”
I remembered the day my dad brought home the Monet. He was so proud of it, telling me and my mother how he’d won it at auction. But it had been stolen. Tainted by corruption.
Steele continued. “His first job was at the Metropolitan. He was supposed to make the swap and send the real piece to me—but when I uncrated it, it became very obvious that he’d sent the replica.”
It honestly sounded like something my father would do.
“I’m sorry,” I said, truly meaning it. Not for Steele’s sake, but for my own. If my father hadn’t been such a bastard, I wouldn’t be in this situation, getting ready to betray this handsome man sitting next to me.
“It’s not your fault, Ashlynn. We can’t pick our family. If my parents hadn’t been my parents, I might have had a completely different life. A home with love. Warmth. Compassion. Joy.”
His hand crossed my lap and found mine, and he laced our fingers together before bringing our combined hands to his knee. He squeezed my fingers gently, and I squeezed his back, feeling the connection between us but dreading it just the same.
“I’m still sorry your life was so hard. No one deserves to be treated the way you were.”
“No, they don’t. Yet I had no problem mistreating you when you first came to me.”
His phrasing sounded like I was the one who found him, as if our meeting was somehow ordained, rather than a kidnapping.
“I’m sorry for it, Ashlynn. I shouldn’t have treated you that way. You’re a precious jewel—finer than any piece of art that’s come through my hands.”
It was a beautiful sentiment. Shit. I tried awkwardly to change the subject.
“So where first?”
“The Maison Européenne de la Photographie,” he said, the French rolling off his tongue beautifully. I wasn’t proud of it, but his flawless French was an instant turn-on. “And then I thought we’d visit the Henri Cartier Bresson Foundation.”
“That sounds amazing.” I couldn’t wait to spend all day surrounded by photography. I’d been working on improving my skills over the past year, and I hoped to be good enough in the next year to be able to make a side income off of it.
He parked on the roof of a garage again, and then we walked a block to the museum. His pace was casual, his eyes sharp and always on our surroundings. How many men did he have watching over us at this exact second? How did my father stand a chance?
The second we entered the museum, a guide met us at the door.
“Monsieur Steele,” she simpered, and I instantly disliked her. She was wearing a crisp black pencil skirt and a silk blouse that flaunted her perfect figure. She was elegant and had a kind of sophistication that instantly made me jealous.
Steele brushed her off. “We don’t need any assistance, Stacia. My fiancée is a talented photographer and I just wanted to show her around.”
I beamed at the compliment but stewed about the title again. The phrase fiancée escaped his mouth so easily, and with that big fat ring on my finger I was wondering if Steele had started to believe the ruse himself. But I didn’t have time to contemplate things—Steele put his arm around my waist and guided me farther into the museum.
As I immersed myself in the photos, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. This was why I’d stayed in Europe. I wanted to be inspired, to see the beauty in the world, to make my mark in the hopes that, someday, someone would see something I’d made, and they would feel joy.
Instead, I was a prisoner who enjoyed sex with her captor.
“What do you think, Ashlynn?”
He always took every chance he could to say my name. It sounded so mellifluous coming from his throat, his deep voice drawing out every syllable.
“I think—this is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
He looked down at me, his eyes sharp and focused as he peered into my very soul. “Tell me about it.”