Later that morning, Vectra, still in Qasim’s bed, spoke with her gallery manager, Katherine Wiseman. “Everything’s fine, Kate. I didn’t leave the gallery ’til late, so I decided to grab a hotel room. I took a cab instead of driving.”
“Excellent idea.” Kate’s slightly nasal tone of voice rang with approval. “Taking a day for yourself—at long last.”
Vectra smiled, scooting deeper into the bed. “Glad you approve.”
“Well, we’ve got everything under control, so all will be well in time for the showing.”
“Hide the Croachman canvas.” Vectra arched up suddenly upon remembering the piece. “I swear it, Kate. Somebody’s gonna lose a hand if they try to take it from me.”
Kate dissolved into waves of laughter. “Got it!”
The call ended shortly after and in time for Qasim’s return to the bedroom suite. He brought with him a tray teeming with food. Vectra, garbed in the shirt Qasim had worn the day before, scooted up to her knees in the bed. She moved over to make room for him to place the tray to the middle of the rumpled covers.
In spite of the incredible smells wafting from the tray, her focus lingered on the raw masculinity he exuded. He was clothed only in a pair of gray sleep pants slung low on his hips. His sleek chest was left perfectly bare and mouthwatering.
“Dive in,” he urged.
“I commend you on your hospitality.” Vectra leaned closer to take in the delectable offerings. “I see why your love life is so successful if every woman you entertain gets the same treatment.”
Qasim stilled, having just grabbed a piece of banana bread. “Who said I have a successful love life?”
Does the man even own a mirror? Vectra shook her head, still not suspecting there was anything amiss in his question. “Any woman with eyes can see you have a successful love life,” she said.
“I’m guessing there’s a compliment in there somewhere?”
Blinking, her mouth full of bacon, Vectra’s expression cleared. “Did I offend you?”
“I’m just not real high on being called a slut.” He shrugged.
Vectra gaped and then gave into unrestrained laughter when he followed up the shrug with a sly wink.
Once the laughter settled into comfortable silence, they focused on the breakfast Qasim had prepared. They had been eating a while before he spoke again.
“This is my home, Vectra. I’ve never brought another woman here.”
This time she stilled. She watched him wolf down his food, curiosity waging war on her body temperature.
So why did he bring me here?
She didn’t dare ask that question aloud.
He’d already told her he was possessive when it came to her. Did that possession go beyond the act of sexual claiming? She swallowed her bacon and the corner of a biscuit with sincere effort.
Qasim scarfed down several more large portions of his food. “You want to know why I brought you, right?”
“Well—” she smiled, intending to make light of the matter “—we’re both well-known.” She popped a grape into her mouth, chewed around it. “Between trying to keep my well-meaning but nosy staff clueless and making sure we aren’t spotted at an area hotel, your place offers us the most privacy.”
Qasim stopped eating. His pitch-black gaze glinted with shards of frustration. “Do you think that’s why I brought you here?”
“Not entirely.” She could see that he didn’t appreciate the answer. “It’s a reasonable motivation, Qasim.”
“Is that easier for you to handle? That I brought you here because it was convenient?”
She gave him the benefit of an unapologetic stare. “I know what this is, and I told you I was fine with it. I meant that.” To herself she confided that she wasn’t too happy about making a point of it.
She wanted more than the physical act of sex. She wanted the tenderness, the sharing and the man far beyond the time limit that a fling allowed. Would he welcome that knowledge? Vectra accepted the fact that she just wasn’t willing to reveal that much of her hand.
“Are you telling me that’s not it?” She tried to determine whether he’d reveal more of his own.
“I won’t deny that I value my privacy. It’s something that I had very little of growing up. Hmph—very little? Try none. The foster care system doesn’t care much for providing homes promising areas for quiet reflection.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m telling you that I didn’t want anyone interrupting what I wanted to do with you last night and that I have thought about doing that to you here in my bed for a very long time.”