Page 232 of The Billionaires

Adrian nods. “The more I learn about the man, the more I wish I could invent a time machine and go back to talk to him.”

After what I’ve seen, if anyone were able to design and build one, it would be Adrian, that’s for sure. “You’ll have to tell me about him at some point,” I say. “What little I know I learned from The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown, which isn’t exactly a textbook.”

Adrian gestures into the distance. “I have a signed first edition of that book in my library—and every other book that mentions or depicts the great genius who was Leonardo da Vinci. Haven’t read it yet, though.”

“You should. It’s fun—but lacking in romance.”

Adrian steps closer to me, eyes gleaming. “What’s your favorite book?”

As I tell him, my heart flutters from his proximity and the subject of conversation. “I also really like More Than a Mistress by Mary Balogh,” I continue breathlessly. “As well as?—”

“What about the books that the Bridgerton show is based on?” he murmurs. “The show is great, so I?—”

“Wait,” I gasp. “You’ve seen Bridgerton?”

This is what a Viagra overdose must feel like for a guy.

“Hasn’t everyone who has Netflix?” he asks. “And how else would I know what a rake is?”

So he actually did know. I remove what little distance remains between us. “I love those books, and everything else Julia Quinn has written.”

“Love, huh?” His lips curve temptingly. “That’s a strong statement.”

I don’t answer. Whatever otherworldly force was pulling us together by the boutique is working its wiles on me once again. The sensual curves of his lips are like sirens, drawing me?—

Something in my peripheral vision bursts the momentary bubble of lust—or whatever it was—like an ice bucket to the face.

That something is a naked statue that looks very familiar. Stepping out of Adrian’s gravity field, I point at the statue accusingly. “Is that Susan, the tall security guard from downstairs?”

Adrian steps back from me, looking like he’s coming out of a hypnotic trance. “I was just about to warn you.”

Turning on my heel, I stride over to the statue and gape up at her face. Yep. It is Susan. The face and the height are an exact match, though I have no idea if her breasts are really this full and her nipples this hard, not to mention her?—

“There’s a reason I keep this gallery private,” Adrian says.

Without answering, I scan my surroundings more carefully.

Oh, boy. On the wall south of us is a painting of a naked woman that I also recognize. It’s Tiffany, the dog sitter from earlier—and she’s just as nude as the security guard and with an even more perfect body.

“Do they know about this?” I demand.

Drawing or sculpting women naked without their permission feels like a violation—and if he’s guilty of it, we’re done.

Adrian draws back. “Who do you take me for? Of course they know. They gladly posed for me after I reassured them that I’d keep the final product here, never to be sold.”

“They gladly posed for you… naked?”

He shrugs. “It’s not like I hadn’t seen them naked before that.”

My eye begins to twitch. “Why did you see them naked?” A part of me can already guess, of course.

“I haven’t hidden the fact that I slept around in the past,” he says. “During that period of my life, the encounters were very rarely one-night stands. More often, they were short relationships, and some lasted long enough for them to want to pose for me—and that’s what you’re seeing.”

My mind spinning, I take in the countless naked women in the paintings, and in a few instances, a couple of very attractive men.

“Most of these are professional models,” Adrian says, following my gaze. “And before you ask, none of my flings were with men. I’m pretty much a zero on a Kinsey scale.”

Since I’m still speechless, I just keep looking over the faces on display until I find another one that looks familiar.

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