Chapter 4
4
KERRIGAN
I n the two days that followed the gala, I replayed my dance with Aston like a cherished film, each frame imprinted on my memory. My mysterious Frenchman hadn’t even kissed me on the lips, but he’d left me wanting more.
Although he’d promised we would see each other soon, I couldn’t help but wonder if our paths would actually cross again. If they did, I hoped it would happen soon. Barely any time had passed, but I was already growing impatient.
I’d seriously considered popping into Belladonna Gallery yesterday to see if he was working. Luckily, Melanie had talked me out of that plan because there was no way to pass it off as a coincidence. Aston was too insightful for that. And I didn’t want to come off as desperate.
As I wandered the museum after finishing work for the day, I reminded myself that some mysteries were best savored slowly. Like a rare painting whose true beauty was revealed only when viewed from just the right angle.
Staring at one such piece, the echo of measured footsteps pulled me from my reverie. Turning, I expected to find one of the guards doing their walk-through. Instead, Aston was there, leaning casually against a marble column in a tailored suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and hinted at a life far removed from my own.
His low, velvety voice broke the silence. “I was hoping you’d still be here, Kerrigan.”
His French accent wrapped around my name like a whispered caress, sending a sensual shiver down my spine.
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I like to enjoy my favorite gallery during the quiet of closing time.” I tilted my head to the side, my brows drawing together. “Which is why I’m surprised you found me here when all of our visitors were ushered out ten minutes ago.”
“You already know I have many connections in the art world.” He straightened and prowled closer. “Asking for a small favor from your museum’s director was well worth being able to see you, petite miette. ”
Being called a little crumb shouldn’t have been sexy, but there was no denying the swirl of butterflies in my belly each time Aston murmured that nickname in his sexy French accent. Turning back toward the display I’d been enjoying, I asked, “So you’re not here for the Saraceni?”
Aston moved to my side and looked up at the Baroque painting that had been heavily influenced by Caravaggio's dramatic lighting and naturalistic detail. “There’s a quiet drama in Saraceni’s work that pulls you in. His paintings have that classic tenebrism drama, but there’s a certain tenderness in his execution. The way he balances shadow and color gives the whole scene this moody stillness like something is about to happen. The figures feel sculptural yet intimate, caught in these moments of tension that feel as though they’ve been suspended in time.”
I was impressed by his description. “You must be very knowledgeable about the Baroque period.”
He brushed off my compliment. “Obtaining the Saraceni was quite a coup for your museum, and I appreciate being able to enjoy the painting without the usual distractions. But I came for you… comme je l'ai promis .”
“You need to stop wielding your accent like a weapon.”
“Love is war, miette. ” Interlacing our fingers, he lifted my hand and brushed a kiss over my knuckles in a gesture that mirrored what he’d done when we first met at the gala. My reaction was more intense than last time, leaving me weak in the knees. “Why wouldn’t I use every weapon in my arsenal?”
“Why indeed?” I knew that the first part was only a saying, but hearing that four-letter word from his perfect lips made my breath catch in my chest.
A slow, knowing smile curved his mouth as he turned to me more fully. “Come with me, Kerrigan. Let me return the favor and show you something few ever get to see.”
I hesitated, savoring the thrill that danced up my spine. “Where?”
“Someplace special,” he murmured, tugging on my hand.
My attraction to him was so intense it left me feeling vulnerable. I probably should have said no and kept my focus on my job. But his voice, his eyes, the sheer magnetism of him—I was already undone. So I simply nodded.
“ Merci, petite miette.”
“De rien.”
His brows arched over wide eyes. “You speak French?”
“ Non. ” I shook my head with a soft laugh. “That’s about the extent of my knowledge, besides the usual phrases—like hello, goodbye, and excuse me.”
“I can teach you more if you’d like.”
“That private instruction you mentioned during the gala?”
He nodded. “Consider it a standing offer.”
Accepting his offer meant spending more time with him, which was something I very much wanted. “ S'il vous pla?t. ”
“Well played, miette. ” The smile he flashed at me was blinding. “You’re quite good at wielding your own weapons, and they’re abundant.”
“While I appreciate the sentiment, I have no doubt that you have the advantage in this game, Aston.”
Being around a decade older than me, he was bound to have much more experience there than me. It was impossible for him not to when I had neglected my dating life to the point of it being nonexistent while I focused on my education.
“You’ll be safe with me, Kerrigan.”
There was a weight to his words that seemed out of place for our sexy banter, and I took it as a sign of how much he meant them. “I’ll hold you to that.”
He led me through the hushed museum halls and out a discreet staff exit where a sleek black car waited. Aston opened the passenger door for me, and I slid inside, the leather cool beneath my fingertips. It was a nice contrast to the heat of the day.
After he climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine, he murmured, “This will be an evening you won't forget.”
I flashed him a teasing smile. “I’ll hold you to that as well.”
“As you should.”
We drove in silence for a while, the tension between us simmering, until we pulled up to a nondescript building tucked behind a line of trees. He guided me inside, through a minimalist lobby and into a private elevator. The doors opened into a gallery space bathed in soft golden light. The walls were adorned with art that took my breath away.
“This is amazing,” I breathed.
“I thought you’d appreciate it.”
His hand was at the small of my back, steadying me as I turned in a slow circle to take everything in. “You were right.”
“These pieces belong to private collectors, most of whom you’d recognize. Vellum & Vine manages the curation, and I sometimes bring special guests here.”
“Is that what I am, a special guest?”
He leaned in, his breath brushing my ear. “You're the only one, miette .”
Once again, there was an unexpected weight to his words. A depth that sent those darn butterflies swirling again because they spoke to my heart. “Then show me what you’ve got.”
He guided me toward a painting encased in a climate-controlled display. The lighting illuminated every detail—the cracking varnish and the burnished glow of oil aged to perfection.
“This is an original Veronese,” I whispered, stunned.
“Untouched by public eyes for over sixty years,” he confirmed. “The collector who owns it trusts me implicitly. As I hope you will.”
His words wrapped around me like silk, the room suddenly warmer, the space between us too charged to ignore. When I turned toward him, he watched me with that same restrained hunger I remembered from the gala. The heat in his gray orbs sparked an unfamiliar warmth deep in my belly.
“Aston…”
“Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice a rasp of temptation.
I couldn't. Not when I desperately wanted him to kiss me. “Why would I do a silly thing like that?”
“Just remember that I tried to stop,” he warned, his hand pressing against my lower back, just above the curve of my butt.
I twined my arms around his neck. “I won’t forget a moment of tonight. Not ever.”
His lips brushed mine, the kiss a whisper at first. A promise of more to come. Then his hands slid around my waist, pulling me closer as he deepened the kiss until the world narrowed to the feel of his mouth and the firm press of his body.
We were surrounded by priceless art that I normally would have given my left arm to peruse at my leisure, but the man holding me was the only thing that mattered. My awareness had narrowed to Aston. My entire focus was on him and the kiss he was giving me.
It was my first beyond a simple peck, but even I could tell this wasn’t a simple kiss. Aston didn’t rush, his lips sliding against mine in a slow and thorough exploration as though he meant to learn every inch of me with his mouth and tongue.
When we finally broke apart, my knees were so weak that I had to cling to his shoulders in order to remain upright. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep my wits about me if you keep kissing me like that.”
He smiled, wicked and unrepentant. “ Bien .”