Then he winked.
Actually winked!
The gesture was infuriatingly self-assured, as was the quiet chuckle that followed. Then he eased back just enough to restore a sliver of distance, as though granting me space to recover from the very reaction he had engineered.
I cleared my throat, attempting composure, though my pulse had not yet steadied.
“You’re insufferable,”I muttered, avoiding his eyes, and his smile deepened, satisfied in a way that suggested he had achieved precisely what he intended.
The next painting was not a portrait but a landscape, a vast countryside beneath a bruised sky, a manor perched upon a distant hill. The style was different and much older. A small brass plaque beneath the frame bore a date that made my stomach tighten.
Another followed it, this time a fortress rising from a cliffside, waves crashing violently below. Then came a snow-covered estate surrounded by dark pine forests. After that, asprawling city rendered in architecture that belonged to another century entirely, one more ancient this time.
“So many places,” I murmured, more to myself than to him.
“Yes,” he replied, though this time there was no teasing in his tone.
“You obviously travelled extensively,” I said, glancing up at him again, searching for something in his expression that might contradict the implications forming in my mind. That these weren’t just landscapes, but pieces of a past he had actually walked through, lived in, and left behind.
“I have resided in many countries,” he corrected gently, his gaze steady and unflinching, giving nothing away like I hoped.
“For work?” I asked, unable to stop myself as I pushed for more.
“For existence.” The simplicity of the answer made my breath falter. His jaw shifted faintly then, not in irritation, but in something that felt like resolve. As though he had chosen his wording carefully and refused to offer me more.
“The United States is relatively young,” he continued after a moment, his tone conversational, almost detached, as if we were talking about the weather. Not the fact that he was likely centuries old! Wow, talk about an age gap, it was enough to make my head spin.
“There were… other homes before it,” he replied cautiously, as if he knew where my thoughts would spiral to.
The portraits hung behind us now as we walked away from that same familiar face staring out from different centuries of paint and canvas.
We reached the end of the gallery, where the draft that had teased along my skin now tightened its hold. It curled along my spine with quiet insistence, drawing a shiver from me before I could disguise it.
He felt it.
Of course he did.
“You’re cold,” he observed, his voice lowering slightly as he turned fully toward me, the faint draft still threading through the gallery behind us.
“I’m fine,” I began automatically, though another shiver betrayed me, subtle but undeniable.
He did not argue, but instead, he reached for me. His hand closed gently around my wrist, not restraining but effectively halting me mid-step before I could continue forward. With quiet ease, he turned me to face him. The movement was smooth, controlled, and far too intentional for my pulse to remain steady. But added to that was the way his intense gaze searched my face, as if assessing more than just my temperature.
Then the backs of his knuckles brushed along my cheek in a tender gesture that had my breath catching in my throat. They traced a path downward, gliding over the curve of my jaw, down the side of my neck, leaving warmth in their wake.
Then, without breaking eye contact, he shrugged out of his suit jacket in one fluid motion. The fabric slid from his shoulders with effortless grace before he lifted it and swept it around me in a single smooth arc. The lining settled against my skin, cool at first, then warming quickly beneath his hands as he drew the lapels together across my chest.
His palms lingered there before smoothing the material over my shoulders, adjusting it with careful precision. He watched his own actions as he pulled the fabric slightly closer around me. The motion drew me forward a fraction, but it was enough to close the remaining space between us. Instinctively, my hands rose to his chest to steady myself, the solid line of muscle beneath his shirt grounding and entirely distracting all at once. Goddess, but was there any part of him that held any softness?
I slowly looked up at him, and this ended up being a mistake. I knew it the moment his eyes darkened subtly as they met mine, something intense flickering behind those icy blue depths.
“I have warned you before,” he said quietly, his voice dropping lower still.
“Warned me?” I asked, my voice barely sounding like my own.
“About looking at me like that.”
The words hit me as if they had skimmed over my skin like a touch.My fingers tightened against his chest before I could stop them.He leaned down then, slowly enough that I could have tried to pull back if I’d wanted to.
