Page 25 of Angel Eyes

Dammit. After all this time, he still had the ability to affect me. Just the sight of his name dredged up a host of painful memories, memories I thought I had long since buried. More than enough time had passed for me to put it all behind me. So why the hell did I still care?

His first message had come weeks ago while I’d been hauling paint across town after a trip to Maison Sennelier. I had just crossed the river, heading north toward Le Marais, the neighborhood that was home to my art gallery and studio, when my phone pulsed with a new message. I’d stopped to check it, thinking it was from James or Nora or, heaven forbid, my nagging art agent, Jean-Claude. But it wasn’t from any of them.

Marcel Beaumont.

At first, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The man I loved and hated. The man who gave me everything, taught me everything. And then took everything.

Is that gallery more important to you than all I have built for you? It’s just a fantasy, Gabriel—a means to hold on to her. But she’s gone. And she’s never coming back.

The memory of my father’s words cut as deeply as they had when he’d first said them, and with them came all the familiar emotions—the anger, the hurt, the disbelief. It had taken months after starting over in Paris for me to come to terms with what happened, but eventually, I did. I was finally able to put it behind me, and the last thing I wanted was to drag it all up again.

Some things were better left in the past.

“Excuse me.”

My thoughts vanished like smoke, and I glanced down at a petite woman, her round face hidden beneath a layer of too-bright makeup.

“Um, savez-vous—err—où sont les toilettes?” Her French was heavily accented, her vowels elongated with an awkward emphasis on each syllable. An American, most likely, but at least she was trying.

“I speak English.”

A relieved smile crossed her fuchsia lips. “Oh, thank goodness. My French is terrible.” I nodded, looking over my shoulder and scanning the area for Juliet. “Would you be able to point me in the direction of the restrooms?”

I looked up at a sign overhead that read Toilettes before returning my attention to her in time to catch her twirling a blonde curl around her finger as she fanned her lashes at me.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

I hiked a thumb over my shoulder, looking away. “Just that way.”

She let out a tittering laugh that grated on my nerves before stepping into my personal space. Was this woman serious?

I took a step back. “I’m sorry, but I’m not interested.”

She smiled, looking thoroughly undeterred. “But I haven’t told you what I’m offering yet.”

Yeah, I knew exactly what she was offering. It was the same thing they all offered with the unflinching certainty that I would cave under the right pressure. The lingering brush of a hand on my knee, a generous glimpse of bare skin …

God, had women always been this aggressive?

“Gabriel.”

I whirled just as a warm hand slid into mine. Juliet appeared beside me, giving my palm a gentle squeeze. “Ready to go?”

“Yes.” I didn’t care that I sounded relieved—I was just glad to get the hell out of Dodge. The woman gave me a disappointed look as Juliet dragged me away, her hand wrapped firmly around mine. That is, until we were out of earshot.

“So, I guess this makes us even.”

“Sorry?” I peered down at my empty hand now hanging where Juliet had dropped it.

Tiny lines framed her mouth as she suppressed a smile. “You looked like you needed rescuing from Goldilocks over there. You’re welcome.”

“Oh yeah, thanks for that.”

She shrugged. “It was the least I could do after you saved me from a trip to the hospital.”

Oh, right. I’d almost forgotten about the incident in the wake of being propositioned in broad daylight. I still needed to apologize for the way I manhandled her. “So, listen, I—”

“What do you say to skipping the paintings for now and checking out the Egyptian art?”

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