Page 5 of His to Possess
I inclined my head in a mock bow. "Indeed. Though I think we both know who that will be."
He laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. "Always so confident. It's one of your more… endearing qualities."
As August droned on, my world suddenly narrowed to a single point across the crowded room. There, standing before a large abstract painting, was a woman who instantly commanded my attention. Time seemed to slow as I drank in every detail of her.
Auburn hair cascaded down her back in loose waves, catching the light with every slight movement. Her emerald green dress hugged curves that made my fingers itch to trace them. The thoughtful tilt of her head as she studied the artwork spoke of intelligence and genuine appreciation.
Something about her called to me, igniting a hunger I hadn't felt in years. It was electric, this sudden jolt of desire. I wanted to know everything about her—her thoughts, her fears, her deepest secrets. I wanted to possess them all. Just like that. Merely one look was enough for me to know what I wanted.
August, ever the snake, noticed my distraction and seized the opportunity to twist the knife further. He leaned in close, his voice low and mocking.
"Ah, I see you've noticed our newest addition to the art world," he said, his breath hot against my ear. "That's Laurel Bowers, arenowned art assessor recently returned from Europe. Quite the beauty, wouldn't you say?"
I barely registered his words, my focus entirely on Laurel. The name echoed in my mind. Laurel Bowers. It fit her perfectly, elegant yet strong. I watched as she moved to another piece, her movements graceful and purposeful. Oddly enough, the world kept moving around her. It was as if no one else noticed the otherworldly beauty that walked amongst them. Or, at the very least, they were good at hiding it.
August continued, his voice grating on my nerves. "I hear she's quite discerning in her tastes. Not easily impressed."
His implications were clear, but I paid them no mind. My thoughts were consumed by Laurel, by the sudden, overwhelming need to make her mine, a new addition to my collection… one more.
I took a step forward, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. August's hand on my arm stopped me, his grip tighter than necessary.
"Now, now. Let's not be too hasty. After all, the best prizes are worth waiting for. Aren't they?"
I turned to him, my gaze cold and sharp. "Remove your hand, August," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "Or I'll remove it for you."
He released me, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Just looking out for an old friend," he said, his smile not reaching his eyes. "Wouldn't want you to make a spectacle of yourself."
I ignored him, my attention once again fixed on Laurel. She turned slightly, and for a moment, our eyes met across the room. The world seemed to stop, everything fading away except for those piercing green eyes.
In that instant, I knew. She would be mine. No matter the cost, no matter the obstacles. Laurel Bowers would become my greatest acquisition yet.
She wasn't just a beautiful woman; she was an accomplished professional in my world. The perfect addition to my collection. I imagined her standing beside me at galas, her intelligence matching her beauty. I pictured her in my home, surrounded by the art she loved, a living masterpiece among my treasures. Yes, that was precisely what I needed.
The entire crowd surrounding me faded to a distant buzz as I strategized. This wasn't a simple conquest. This woman required finesse, a carefully crafted approach. I couldn't simply overwhelm her with my wealth or charm. No, she would need to be drawn in slowly, seduced by shared passion and expertise.
I took a step towards her, then caught myself. Patience, I reminded myself. The most valuable acquisitions were worth the wait. I needed to learn more about her, to understand her motivations and desires. Only then could I begin to shape her into the perfect companion I envisioned. More than ever, I was certain that she would be the one.
My fingers twitched with the urge to reach out and touch her, to claim her as my own—or maybe convince myself that she was, in fact, real. But I restrained myself. I would need to orchestrate our first meeting to ensure it appeared as a natural convergence of shared interests.
I made my way to my seat, carefully choosing a position that allowed me to observe both the Veiled Maiden and Laurel Bowers. My heart raced with anticipation, torn between two obsessions—the painting I had come to acquire and the woman I now desperately wanted to possess.
The auctioneer's voice rang out, "Ladies and gentlemen, we'll begin with Lot 1, a charming Impressionist landscape…"
I tuned out his words, focusing instead on Laurel. She was seated a few rows ahead, her posture alert, eyes fixed on the auctioneer. I drank in every detail—the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the slight tilt of her head as she listened intently, and the smallest hint of intrigue that appeared in her eyes as she stared ahead.
"Sold to the gentleman in the back for $150,000!" The auctioneer's voice cut through my reverie.
I settled into my chair, my eyes never leaving Laurel as the auction progressed. The auctioneer's voice faded to a distant hum as I focused on her every reaction, no matter how minute.
"Next up, a stunning Art Nouveau vase by Émile Gallé," the auctioneer announced.
Laurel leaned forward slightly, her eyes widening with interest. I noticed her fingers twitch, as if longing to trace the delicate floral patterns etched into the glass. Her reaction was subtle, but to my practiced eye, it spoke volumes. I considered raising my paddle, not for the vase itself, but for the look of appreciation it drew from her.
The bidding began, and I watched as her eyes followed each raised paddle. She bit her lower lip, a small tell that betrayed her excitement. I found myself entranced by the gesture, imagining those lips pressed against mine.
"Sold for $85,000!" The auctioneer's voice snapped me back to reality—but barely.
As the next few items were presented, I observed Laurel's reactions closely. A Fabergé egg elicited a slight furrow of her brow—admiration tinged with skepticism, perhaps?
