Page 91 of My Favorite Kidnapper

I had never felt this way. Content. Happy to be with one person. Even in the quiet, I was never bored. I sought her out if she left the room. Found excuses to be in the kitchen, on the terrace, wherever she was.

And I tried not to delve into the reason.

I wasn’t ready. I wondered if I ever would be.

* * *

She appeared in the room, her hair swept up, her neck exposed, her necklace glinting. I loved the fact that she never took it off. The red dress she had shown me clung to her curves, the skirt swirling around her legs. The sleeves mostly hid the bruises on her arm, and she had covered them up well with makeup. It looked modest and elegant. Until she twirled.

It was backless, the strips of red fabric crisscrossed on her pale skin. I stepped closer, running my finger down her spine. “Beautiful,” I murmured, bending to kiss a small cluster of freckles by her shoulder blade. “Part of me is jealous.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Why?”

“Other men will see these little sexy dots. Until now, they were only mine.”

She smiled, turned, and lifted up on her toes. “They still are.”

I caught her around the waist and kissed her. “You are stunning.”

“Thank you.”

I crooked my arm. “Let’s go. I want to get this over with and bring you home. That dress needs to be on the floor beside our bed.”

She looked mischievous. “It might look nice on the floor just inside the door, too.” She patted the sofa. “It goes well here.”

I laughed and bent, nipping her neck. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Huh, too much for you, old man? Need to pace yourself?”

That was all the encouragement I needed.

Fifteen minutes later, she’d fixed her hair, my cock was satisfied, and we departed for the event.

Both of us were smiling.

* * *

I sensed Brianna’s nerves as we strolled into the room. Her grip on my hand was tight, and she was quiet. Much too quiet. I slipped my arm around her waist, kissing her temple. “Relax, Little Bee.”

“These people look far too intelligent and rich for me,” she muttered.

“Hey.” I squeezed her hip. “You’re with me. You fit in perfectly.”

“Such ego.”

I winked. “You know it.”

I introduced her to some clients. Other art dealers. Collectors. She was gracious and sweet, and I ignored the surprised glances. I rarely brought a woman to a function. And I certainly never held hands or kept them tucked to my side. But with Brianna, it felt right.

Richard sought us out, once again taciturn and stern-looking. But he kissed Brianna’s cheeks and held her hands. “How are you this evening, dear girl?”

“I’m fine.”

He leaned closer, dropping his voice. “Were you in trouble?”

She side-eyed me. “A little.”

He chuckled, then his expression became serious again. “Mingle. Enjoy. Look at the beautiful art.” He winked slyly. “Stay away from the wine.”