“Could I see it?”
“Sure. Put on the crystal bikini and I’ll go get it.”
“Jeez, is everything always about negotiation with you?”
He smiled. “Other way around, pussycat. Only with you. Everyone else does what they’re told.”
Not a blink, just a nod, then a graceful wave and Nicole was walking toward his dressing room. He felt as he had so many times since meeting her, that he was being given a gift; appreciative as ever, he smiled. “I’ll be right back.”
When he returned, Nicole was standing, slender and natural, in the center of his bedroom, unaware how stunning the image—all jeweled, pale beauty, the glittering bikini a whimsical illusion meant to catch the eye, invite interest, and cover very little.
“Oh,” she said, her eyes lighting up as Rafe approached, holding the painting so she could see it. “She’s lovely.”
“She was. Every painter of note wanted her to sit for him.” Rafe propped the portrait on his desk, leaning it against the wall. “Natalie has a good eye. Eugénie looks very young. Perhaps this was done before she left Spain.” Bending, he kissed Nicole’s cheek. “Take your time. I’m going to have a drink. Would you like one?”
“Uh-uh,” she said without lifting her gaze from the portrait. “Why isn’t this signed?”
“It could be under the frame. The lack of a signature may be the reason it was at a flea market—if that’s even true.” Pouring himself a whiskey, he sat on the sofa and enjoyed both his whiskey and his house guest. Either Alessandra had asked about Nicole’s eye color or he’d mentioned it because the Swarovski crystals were sewn onto a blue silk fabric that matched Nicole’s eyes.
She had the most remarkable eyes—like blue skies and sunshine. Although when her temper was up, the brilliance turned explosive. What he liked best though was the warm, summertime blue as she floated in a postorgasmic daze. He smiled. She was sweetly vulnerable then.
“Something funny?”
He looked up to see her standing a foot away. “No, fond memories. Of you, pussycat,” he added honestly, when, as a rule, honesty was rare in situations like this.
“Smooth.” She smiled. “I almost believe you.”
He shrugged. “It’s the truth. Come here. I’ll help you take that off. It’s beautiful, but not very flexible, right? Then sit with me. You don’t have to do anything. No orders. Promise.”
“I might want more than just sitting.” She said it kindly, examining him as she spoke, not sure what to make of this new, surprising individual.
“Sure. Just tell me what you want, and if it’s something other than sex, I’ll have someone find it for you. Anything at all.” She was an island of happiness in his seriously fucked-up world. Carlos had taken out the advance team on Ganz’s trail, but more were on their way. A helluva lot more. The danger was real, ominous, and unspeakably violent. Nicole would have to be sent away sooner than he’d anticipated. Sooner than he wished.
A small bewilderment drew her brows together; he seemed to be lost in thought. “You okay?”
He concentrated his gaze on her. “Yes. Fine. Sometimes life could be a little easier, that’s all. Not your problem.” For a moment it seemed he was going to say more, before he visibly regained command of himself. “But my dick’s always interested in you,” he said with a playful grin. “So what’s on your agenda?”
He was trying to be accommodating; it was touching. “Nothing. I don’t have an agenda. Sitting’s fine, really. Here, help me with the hook in back.” She turned and glanced over her shoulder as he sat up straighter and set his drink aside. “I think I fucked it up somehow.”
A moment later, she was on his lap, sans bikini, his arms wrapped around her, his chin resting on the top of her head. “Tell me about your school schedule,” he said, wanting the world to stop for just a few hours, wanting all the cold-blooded killers to disappear so he could enjoy this small private temptation properly.
“I don’t have one.” She shut her eyes, feeling his solid warmth melt through her body, wanting to never move. “Only Fiona knows. I haven’t told my family. They think I’m on my way to Columbia next month.”
“Why aren’t you?” he asked with a mixture of flattery and real interest.
She sighed. “If I knew I’d tell you.”
“Sounds like you need a break from academia.” He almost said more—about staying, about a future, about impossible things with the various hit squads on the move requiring an aggressive defense and his full concentration. But he didn’t; he rarely put a foot wrong. He’d learned that lesson very young.