“You’re, yeah, uh, you’re welcome.”
He looks askance at me. “If you’ll excuse me?”
“Sure.”
I lick my lips, staring, wondering if I’ve lost my mind. But I remember how we talked about art that magical night, how he spoke about the time-stopping aspect of it. He said he liked to lose himself in paintings. Then he calledmea painting, and it didn’t feel silly or like a line.
It felt real. It felt like the start of something.
He strides across the room with that same confidence I’ve seen countless times in my traitorous dreams, takes a drink from a waiter, then turns, scanning the room.
When he sees me, a jolt goes through his entire body, like he’s just been electrified. His hand tightens around the stem of the glass until it trembles and liquid sloshes over the rim.
CHAPTER 4
RAFEAL
Iforce my hand to relax before I shatter the glass. I can’t move, can hardly breathe. She’s there. Ava. Ava, who is supposed to be dead, who drove off the rainy road before I reached out, to find her, to apologize. To claim her again.
My head is a mess, thoughts rushing as the rest of the hall slips away and it’s just us. Her and I like that one magical night almost a year ago, our eye contact like nothing I ever felt before.
She looks good. Better than good. Dressed professionally in a blazer and loose-fitting pants, hair tied up, but with a few disobedient strands here and there, giving her an artistic, sophisticated look. Even from here, I can see the flush in her cheeks.
And somehow, hell, she’s gottencurvier. Her hips are thicker. Her thighs look more tempting, which should be impossible. My cock twitches in my pants, entirely inappropriate. Because she’s not going to want to screw after the way I left her.
But she’s alive. Relief floods me along with confusion. Why would Nico lie to me? But it’s the bone-deep relief that hits first, immediate and overwhelming. I move across the hall, meaning to speak with her, but she turns and walks quickly away before I can reach her.
The door slams so loudly behind her that people turn. Faces I recognize. Legitimate art dealers. Illegitimate people like me. Those who skirt the edges.
Like the man who approaches me now. Adrian Kovacs, pale-eyed, of Hungarian descent, and a good friend of the consigliere of the Hungarian mob. He taps his manicured fingernail against his champagne glass. “What a pleasure to see you here, Mr. Bellini.”
I smile tightly, even as my world spins. “Likewise.”
“Is there any reason you scared my employee into abandoning her post?”
I swallow a ball of fury.
She’s alive!
“Your employee?”
“I saw you staring at her, doing that classic… what should I call it? Mob stare?”
“Ava Ward works for you,” I mutter stoically. “Since when?”
Adrian narrows his eyes. “I don’t see what business that is of yours.”
He’s too confident for a man without mob backing. Ava’s apartment was in Hungarian turf, andthisman is a good friendto the Hungarian consigliere… did he have something personally to do with this mess? Is that why he’s acting so damn cocky?
I lean forward and lower my voice. “My business is none of your concern.”
“True,” he says, ice in his eyes. “Except when it comes to my employees.”
“You’re imagining things,” I grunt. “It’s probably best if you walk away.”
Fear flickers in his otherwise stone-cold expression. He inclines his head, then leaves, moving to a nearby group.
I take a sip of champagne and walk to the edge of the room. Take out my cellphone and call Nico. No answer. I leave a message, “You’ve got some fucking explaining to do.”
