Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 55956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
“Tell me, how many paintings were destroyed? Are the rumors true that a priceless Picasso was in that warehouse you let burn?”
She’s picking at a wound the scab hasn’t formed over yet. Another skill she has. Valentina can read and discover every weakness each man in this room has and knows how to attack it. She’s smart to bring up the warehouse because it’s a huge gash that I’m trying to heal. It was a fuck up that not only hurt me financially, but it damaged my reputation, and now I have to rebuild both. It also put a huge fucking target on my head as it created a lot of enemies for not only me but my father, who also is having to deal with the fallout and disaster of our family business.
I adjust my tie, pull my cuff out from my jacket, and finally turn to face her. “You look lovely tonight.” And she does. “I’m sure your dress is going to look wonderful on some rich fuck’s floor later.”
I smirk, knowing I picked at another one of her wounds in return.
Yes, I know her weakness just as much. Valentina Key is not a whore, and she doesn’t spread her legs for just anyone. That’s not how she earned her level of respect as a woman not to mess with or underestimate in the underworld we both dance in. She’ll cut a dick off before she’ll suck it.
She smiles, her white teeth shining beneath the can lights of the museum. “Ah, Atlas. Always the charmer. You’re just jealous my dress won’t end up on your floor.” She closes the distance between us and brings her lips to my ear. “If you’re a real good boy, I’ll send a picture of me completely naked standing in front of this painting once I’ve claimed it as mine.”
My dick twitches against my slacks which pisses me off even more than her words do.
“And what would you do with a painting of this caliber?” I ask, turning my face so our lips are inches from touching. I can feel her breath caress me, and it takes all my power not to inch forward a hair and kiss. “You wouldn’t even know where to find a buyer who could pay for this.”
She laughs softly, almost manically, and so very seductive. “I know one thing. I wouldn’t burn it in a dirty warehouse.” Her tongue darts out as she licks her lips, taunting me to make a move.
To a bystander, we’d look like two lovers in desperate need to be alone. In reality we are enemies in a war of power, wealth, and thievery, dancing in an underground full of thirsty people with the need for more. We are in the middle of a twisted tango between two art thieves in competition to be the best.
There is no love.
Lust? Yes.
I’d fuck her again. No doubt about it; I’d do a repeat of our one night together fucking in the penthouse suite of The Langham in Boston. I’d taste that pussy of hers no woman has been able to top since. My name sounds so damn good on her lips as she’s coming around my cock buried inside of her. I wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to have her again no matter what.
But I’m also a wise man. Valentina Key doesn’t do love. I don’t do love. We only love one thing… and that is to come out victorious.
To counter her seduction, I bring my fingertip to her neck and caress a line down to her collarbone. “May the best man win.”
“Woman, Atlas. May the best woman win,” she whispers as she brings her lips so much closer to mine we could kiss if either of us move a fraction.
Chapter Two
VALENTINA
I’m so grateful Atlas spins away from me before he sees the shiver I fail to contain. I’d love to blame it on the museum’s robust air conditioning, but I know it’s brought on by the ring of heat following him wherever he goes. A nonchalant look across the gallery and I see other women fanning themselves with the evening’s program as they do their best to track his graceful movements from exhibit to exhibit.
Despite the discreet tattoos peeking out under his five-thousand-dollar cufflinks, Atlas oozes wealth and privilege. He should. He was born with a damn silver spoon shoved in his mouth. Boy, would I love to shove that spoon somewhere much darker.
“You need to stay focused,” a quiet voice says just before Mia moves into my peripheral view. The waitress uniform and tray full of champagne flutes might as well be an invisibility cloak for all of the glances she receives in a room like this, which is precisely why Mia is my secret weapon.
“I’m focused just fine. Tell me it’s done,” I say, reaching for a fresh glass of bubbly and taking a sip just in case Atlas looks back in my direction.