Chapter 12 #2
Imogen looked down at the powdered sugar on her plate, and for a brief moment, she pictured herself lying naked across a silk sheet on a settee with this man staring at her intently from behind a canvas with a brush in one hand.
I do not hate the visual at all.
“Maybe next time,” she replied lightly, but when she glanced up, she saw heat flare in his hazel eyes.
“You’re into it,” he said as a statement rather than a question.
“I have never done anything like that before in my life actually. As a matter of fact, as my sister said yesterday, I don’t ever date.”
“Why not?”
“Bad experience last go-round.”
“And it put you off men forever?”
“Being cheated on wasn’t my jam.”
“Sounds like you got lucky. At least you didn’t get stuck with him.”
“You are definitely right there. And I’d rather be alone than be with someone I don’t love or trust.”
“You don’t seem like the type to offer to pose naked for random artists either.”
“No, definitely not. In fact, I don’t run across many of those underwater.”
He chuckled, finished his beignet, and brushed the powdered sugar from his hands onto the plate before him.
“You want a tour?”
Imogen nodded quickly as she chewed.
“Cool. Let’s start with the kitchen. I’ll get you some water and a napkin.”
For the next twenty minutes, Imogen was caught up in a state of amazement. His home was gorgeous. Soaring ceilings, original woodwork, exposed brick walls, exquisite curving wooden staircases and railings, and then he took her to his favorite room in the house—his attic studio and the rooftop deck.
“Oh wow. The light is incredible in here.”
One wall was filled with windows and French doors, with light, sheer curtains billowing in the morning breeze.
Canvases leaned everywhere against the three walls and sat in various stages of completion on multiple easels.
His artwork, she had noticed as she toured his incredible home, was stunning.
The canvases were covered with bright, colorful impressionist-style works that made joy bubble up from within her.
If she had to describe the vibe of his artwork, she’d call it happiness.
“I paint outside a lot. This room has the perfect setup with the rooftop deck.”
“Amazing. Like it was meant to be a studio.”
“I like to think so. It was unfinished when I inherited the house. This is the one room I finished off myself.”
“It was just waiting for you.”
“Maybe like you.”
Imogen turned slowly away from the windows to look at him.
When she faced him, he added, “I’m starting to think that you were, Imogen.” He took a step toward her. “You were just waiting for the right guy to come along.”
“I … I was surprised I noticed you that first day. At the tattoo shop. I never notice men.”
“Maybe they weren’t colorful enough to attract your attention,” he said as he closed the distance between them.
“I never thought about it like that.”
“Nature makes a lot of male birds and fish bright and colorful to attract the attention of females. Maybe you just needed more color to get you to notice.”
Imogen laughed silently as her gaze trailed over the front of his pink-and-blue throat. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Is it going to be a problem if I kiss you right now?”
She shook her head, and his fingertips came up to skim along her jaw. His lips lowered to hers, brushing and coaxing her into the soft kiss.
Heat lit in Imogen’s belly as her lips molded to his, loving the taste and feeling of a simple kiss.
He’d ghosted his lips across hers last night, but this kiss was deeper and more intimate.
His tongue traced across the seam of her mouth, and she opened to him.
His hand slid along her jaw and into her hair as he deepened it.
Imogen could kiss him for hours, but he pulled back.
His thumb swept over her lips. “Luscious. Sweet. You’ve just been waiting, haven’t you?”
“I guess so.”
He was going to say something else, but Imogen’s phone dinged with a message.
He dropped his hand from her face, and she had never been less enthused about technology as a whole.
“Do you need to get that?”
“It would only be Jury or my parents. Just one second. Sorry.”
“By all means. Family comes first.”
Imogen flipped open her clutch and retrieved her phone. The message was from Jury.
JURY
I’ve been kidnapped. Don’t worry. I’m not. You’re right … probably should’ve left things alone.
“What in the world?” Imogen said.
“Everything okay?”
“Not really.”
She held out her phone, and he read the message.
“What the fuck?”
Imogen tapped the Call icon and waited for Jury to pick up.
“Im, thank God. I’m on a boat with the lion guy. I’m so sorry.”
“Hey, you got a phone still?” She heard a man’s voice.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine, but he’s heading downriver. I don’t—”
The call cut off.
“Jury! No!”
She tapped the Call icon again, but this time, it rang until a generic voicemail recording played.
She called again. Same result.
She looked at Nic.
He was shaking his head. “Fucking Leo. Seriously, man?”
“You know him. You can call him. Stop him. Get her back.”
He let out a sigh and rubbed a hand over his beard. “I’ll call. But I’ll give you a fair warning: Leo does what the fuck he wants.”
“But you’re friends, right?”
“We know each other.”
“He was here.”
“Yeah. Hold on. Let me go get my phone.”
Nic left the studio, and Imogen stared out the window as she kept trying Jury’s number over and over again. No answer.
She’d said they were on a boat. Going downriver. That meant she could get on a boat and cut them off somewhere, assuming they went all the way downriver. She just had no idea what boat they were on. Or where they’d left from.
“Yeah, I hear ya, man. But don’t you think …”
He paused, and Imogen knew he had Leo on the other end of the call.
“I get it. Yeah, well … she does have a family. And I sure as shit hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Can I talk to him?” Imogen asked.
Nic paused. “Her sister wants to talk to you. Okay.”
He held out the phone as he tapped the screen to put it on speaker.
“Hi. This is Imogen Kilgore. You have my sister.”
“Your sister trespassed on private property before breaking and entering.”
Imogen winced. “Okay, so you definitely have my sister.”
“She was aboard my vessel—without permission—when we decided to take a cruise. I wouldn’t call it a kidnapping. She’s a stowaway at best. A potential thief at worst. If you call the police, I assure you, she will end up in handcuffs, not me.”
Imogen rubbed a hand over her forehead. “Can I just have her back?”
“After our cruise, perhaps she will have learned her lesson about prying into matters that do not concern her.”
“So, you won’t hurt her?”
“She is in no danger from me. We took her phone out of an abundance of caution. It will be returned.”
“Okay, but when can I see her?”
“You’re welcome to join us. I’ll send Nic our coordinates.”
“Wait, what?”
“Otherwise, it might be a while. We’re doing a sea trial.”
Imogen stared at Nic, and he plucked the phone from her hand.
“Drop me a pin. I’ll holler if we’re coming.”
“Bon. Au revoir.”