Page 78 of Monster Among the Roses (Fairy Tale Quartet 1)

Isobel hooked her arm through mine and rested her chin on my shoulder as she pointed to the picture. “Much less than this painting right here alone, I imagine. After Dad won this thing in an auction, he had the entire room designed this way to hang it here.”

“Wait.” I jerked an instinctive step back. “You mean…” Now I was pointing at the framed picture in front of us. “That’s an original van Gogh?”

Isobel’s blue eyes danced with mischief as she grinned. “Yep. One of the less popular ones, of course. It’s called Iron Mill in The Hague, but it still cost nearly half a million, I believe.”

“Half a mill…” I took another step in reverse. “I’ve been working in a house with an original van Gogh painting in it, and I had no idea? Holy shit, I just breathed on it.”

I’d just breathed on something Vincent van Gogh had breathed on.

Isobel laughed. “You’re so cute.”

I was so out of my depth, that’s what I was. If I’d worried I was below her status before, now I was convinced of it. I touched her cheek, my fingers resting against soft, warm

flesh, and I wondered how I was ever going to be able to keep such a prize. I didn’t deserve this. I didn’t deserve her. It couldn’t last. I was more certain of that than I was of my next breath. Being with Isobel could only be fleeting.

I should’ve backed away from her then and embraced my doomed fate. But she was standing here now, smiling at me, accepting me. So, from the words of Richard Bach, via Black Crimson’s graffiti art:

The best way to pay for a lovely moment is to enjoy it.

I decided to enjoy this beautiful moment while it lasted. I leaned in and pressed my lips to hers, tender at first until I became hungry and seeking. She wrapped her arms around my neck and arched against me. I backed her toward the bed and toppled her onto the mattress.

Eyes wide, she clutched my shoulders and blinked up at me. “But you’re still on the clock.”

Since I was the only one in the room who actually cared about that, I knew I was pleasing her when I growled, “Fuck that. I need to be inside you. Now.”

Pleasure bloomed on her features. Lips spreading into a grin, she tugged at my clothes, her hands on the zipper of my jeans. I began to unbutton her blouse but didn’t have nearly enough skin revealed when the muffled voice of Kit startled us.

“Shaw! Shaw, where are you?”

It sounded as if he was in the next room over with Thoreau’s desk, so Isobel and I jerked upright and immediately started buttoning and zipping everything back into place.

“Mom needs some help in the kitchen,” the kid hollered. “Shaw?”

Isobel and I climbed off the bed, still breathing hard. Since we were as respectable as we were going to get, I called back, “In here.”

The door flew open, and Kit bounded inside. “Mom sent me to get you. She needs help with the dishwasher.” But he’d already forgotten about me, his gaze on Isobel. “Oh! Hi, Miss Isobel. Whatcha doing in here? Whose room is this?”

As she explained to him who Vincent van Gogh was, her gaze met mine over his head.

Tomorrow, I mouthed. We were so going to finish what we’d started in here on our date night.

Her cheeks brightened and eyes warmed with agreement, but she turned back to Kit, giving him all her attention.

Even though I was uncomfortable as hell with my arousal refusing to die a quick death, I whistled as I made my way toward the kitchen.

Saturday couldn’t come soon enough.

chapter

TWENTY-FOUR

By the time Saturday arrived, I was nervous.

I’d never been to a fancy restaurant before, and everyone said Urbane was the crème de la crème of eateries in the area. I didn’t want to do anything to embarrass Isobel. Shit, I wondered if I should’ve taken one of those lessons to learn which silverware went with which course.

I was totally going to bomb this.

But at least I was going to look good doing it. Driving Henry Nash’s truck and wearing Ezra Nash’s suit, no one would be able to tell I was a nobody. A fake.

---