Page 4 of Passion and Revenge

The move makes his mouth tick up at one corner.

“Scared, S?”

“I would be a fool not to be a little afraid of a man like you.”

He raises one brow. “A man like me?”

Yes,I want to scream. A man who had just bared me open in a matter of minutes and looked into parts that I thought were well hidden. His mere presence is scrambling my senses…and I don’t know how to feel about that.

More than that, he’s unfairly good-looking. At over six feet tall with a muscled frame and a black double-breasted tailored suit sliding over his broad shoulders and bulging biceps like a second skin, the stranger looks like a panther disguised as a deer.

Even the proper and conservative clothing isn’t succeeding in fooling anybody that he’s anything but lethal.

And then there’s his face.

It’s a face that can make angels sing.

I give him a close-lipped smile, refusing to explain because I have a feeling he knows exactly what I’m talking about.

Self-consciously, I fix my gaze back on my paintings.

“What are they called?” he asks in his deep accented voice.

“The Revelation,” I reply.

I poured my soul into these paintings and, at the last minute, almost pulled them out of today’s exhibition. Well, until Catherina, my very wise best friend, pointed out that my bills weren’t going to pay themselves.

“I’ll hate to see them separated,” I add, admitting forlornly.

“Any collector worth their salt will know not to separate them,” he says.

I hold back my bitter snort. It’s probably why they aren’t getting any attention. So far, there have only been a few stragglers who stopped by for a few seconds to look before going off to look at something else.

“Buying the whole series is not cheap.”

Mr. Santiago pinned a ridiculous amount on each of them. Who is stupid enough to throw such money away by purchasing all five?

I eye the man at my side, noting the expensive material of his suit and the tasteful Cartier watch on his wrist.

Maybe he’ll buy one...

“Are you a collector then?”

“I can’t say I am,” he says evasively, and I narrow my eyes at him.

“I’m only asking. You seem to know a lot about paintings,” I say.

“I know a lot about lots of things.” His mouth lifts into a small smile before he continues, “But I’m partial to beautiful things.”

At that moment, I glance over at him and see his blue eyes on me. My breath hitches in my throat at the look in his eyes. I’ve had men stare at me with interest, but none with such a level of intense fascination as this stranger.

My heart begins to race, and I drag my clammy hands down the front of my pants.

“I can’t tell if I’m more interested in the paintings or the artist.”

I gnaw at my lower lip, wishing I had listened to Kat and worn a dress.

“I don’t know if I should be flattered that you’re thinking of hanging me up in your hallway or scared that you want to take a painting out on a date,” I quip.

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