Page 33 of The Collector's Temptation

“I’m very much looking forward to whatever you have planned.”

His lips curved into a smirk. “I may alter them so that we can spend the entire evening in bed instead.”

“I love the sound of that plan.”

He lightly smacked my butt as I climbed out of the car, making me giggle. Glancing over my shoulder, I blew him a kiss and headed inside.

Melanie was asleep, so I was quiet as I got ready for work, rushing through my shower and getting dressed as much as I could. I was close to being late when I headed back out. Maybe that was why I didn’t pay much attention to the white van as I circled around it.

Before I knew what was happening, strong arms wrapped around me from behind. The van’s side door rolled open and I dropped my purse as I struggled with my captor. I tried to scream, but he clamped his hand over my mouth and wrestled me into the back of the van.

Pain radiated in my side as I crashed into something. “Ouch.”

“Careful,” the man sitting in the passenger seat growled. “We aren’t supposed to hurt her.”

“Too late,” I mumbled, rubbing my hip.

Glancing up, I noticed he wore a matte black balaclava to hide his face. So was the driver and man who’d grabbed me. I wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not, but I hoped the fact that they didn’t want me to be able to identify them meant that I was going to make it out of this alive.

“No more harm will come to you so long as your man cooperates with our demands.”

“My man?” I echoed, my brows drawing together.

“There’s no use in pretending you’re not dating Aston Couillens,” he muttered.

The driver nodded. “Not after we saw you kiss him after he pulled up in front of your building.”

“I don’t understand.”

The guy who manhandled me tugged on my arms to pull them behind my back. He forced my wrists together, and the ratcheting zip of plastic rang out like a warning. The tie bit into my skin, tightening with each harsh pull until my fingers almost went numb.

Once I was secured, he crouched in front of me. “Don’t play dumb. We know that you’re aware the Caravaggio is a fake.”

I shook my head. “How do you know of my suspicions aboutNativity with Saint Francis and Saint Lawrence?”

“Your museum should pay closer attention to their cyber security,” the driver sneered. “It’s almost as though they’re practically begging for a smuggling operation to hit them with how easy it was to get into your emails.”

I thought about the message I’d sent to one of my former professors with a groan. They were a Baroque specialist, so I’d reached out to see if they had any more details about the painting. “I have no proof that the painting auctioned off was a forgery. And I certainly don’t know where the real one is.”

“That’s where your boyfriend comes in,” the man in the passenger seat drawled.

“He doesn’t know anything about the painting,” I protested, hating that I’d dragged him into this mess with my meddling.

“You have no idea who you’ve been parading around town with, do you?” I couldn’t see his expression, but there was no missing his surprise. Or the thread of humor in his voice. “There isn’t anything about the black market for art in Georgia that Aston Couillens doesn’t know about. Which is why you’re the perfect leverage to use against him. Normally, there are no chinks in the armor surrounding the DeLuca’s operation, but it’sclear as day that their top forger would do just about anything to keep you safe. Including betraying the Mafia.”

Holy crap.The man I’d been falling head over heels for wasn’t just an art expert. He was a forger. For the freaking Mafia.

“You’d better hope we’re right about his interest in you,” the man who grabbed me grumbled.

Only an hour ago, I would have shouted from the rooftops that Aston would do whatever was needed to keep me safe. But that was before I found out that he’d been lying to me the entire time I’d known him.

If only I’d learned all this before falling into Aston’s bed. Or listened to my gut when I realized how much he’d distracted me from my investigation intoNativity with Saint Francis and Saint Lawrence.

Maybe then I wouldn’t feel quite so devastated by his betrayal.

12

ASTON

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