Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
So it was hard not to notice this hunk of a man in front of the window.
He finished his phone call and shoved the device into his pocket—and that was when I noticed it.
The skull ring on his left hand.
My heart gave an enormous lurch, and my back muscles spasmed like I was about to fall over in my chair.
He turned the corner and approached the double glass doors before he walked inside, the same man I’d seen in the rain, six-foot-something of pure masculinity and raw sexiness. He had the shadow on his jawline, the dark eyes straight from the underworld, the muscles that had as much horsepower as a race car.
His shirt didn’t stick to his hard chest like it had in the rain, but I remembered the visual quite well. My eyes quickly roamed over his body and appreciated every inch because he was god’s gift to women…and men.
A slightly annoyed look was in his eyes, like he didn’t want to spend his time picking out art. But then his eyes found mine, and a slow look of recognition appeared there. His dark eyes hardened at the realization, but he didn’t say a word.
I left the desk and walked up to him, my heels wobbling left and right because I forgot how to walk in them. Even with the four extra inches of height they provided, the man still towered over me like the Eiffel Tower over the old buildings in Paris. I stood directly before him now, but I still hadn’t found the words to greet him. Everything in me died at the sight of him, like I’d completely forgotten how to be human.
He didn’t say anything either, taking in my appearance as if trying to memorize it.
My mouth was dry, and my palms were slick with sweat. “Small world, huh?”
He didn’t speak, and his silence countered my icebreaker. His eyes had been almost black the last time I saw him, but now that it was daylight, they were brown like a hot cup of coffee. There was so much confidence in his stare, like he thrived on others’ discomfort. “I hope you’ve become a better driver since.”
I gave a slow nod. “It’s not my fault there was a pile of shrapnel in the road—”
“It’s your fault you didn’t see it,” he said. “We can’t control what happens to us, but we can control what we happen to.” He stepped away to the gallery opening as if the matter had been settled.
I watched him pass, seeing the way the muscles of his incredible physique shifted and moved underneath his clothing.
“Let’s get this over with.”
I grabbed my pen and notebook and followed him into the other room, seeing him walk through the gallery and barely glance at the Tuscan landscapes.
“So you’re nice enough to pull over and change a lady’s tire in the rain, but then you’re an insufferable asshole the rest of the time?”
He slowly turned his head to look at me, a slight look of surprise on his face.
“I’m not going to put up with your attitude just because you’re a client. Helping someone choose their artwork for their space is a very intimate task, and if you’re going to be a dick to me, then this isn’t going to work.”
His hard expression didn’t change, but he absorbed my gaze like I was one of the paintings on the wall.
I held his stare and didn’t back down, waiting for him to blow up and scream at me.
But the corner of his mouth rose in a subtle smile. “Fair enough.”
He was so hot when he looked angry, but that smile made him even hotter. It took me a second to snap out of it. “I get the impression you don’t care for the landscapes—”
“I didn’t change your tire to be nice.” He cut me off like I hadn’t spoken. “I don’t do nice. I did it to get your ass off the street, as I already said.” He stepped away and moved down the wall of paintings, snapping back into his foul mood just like that.
I followed him. “Why did you want me off the street?”
He walked past more landscapes and barely looked at them.
I suspected I wouldn’t receive an answer. “What are you interested in? I have historical pieces. I have nude pieces. Religious stuff. I also have some collector’s pieces created during the Renaissance.”
“Nude pieces?” he asked.
“Portraits of naked men and women. They tend to be a favorite of most of my clients.”
“I’m in my study to work, not be distracted.”
“Alright, then let’s look at the historical pieces.” Our galleries were separated into sections, the lighting different to match the moods of the artwork. I showed him the displays of the Greek ships as they sailed on Troy, Alexander the Great in the battle of Persia, Mussolini minutes before he was executed.