“When you saw St. Joan at Christie’s you wanted to take her home. You wanted her back?”
“Yes.”
He gave a shrug to indicate he’d made his point.
“You stole her from Christie’s for me?” I raised my head to look at him. “Tobias?”
He turned his face away and gave the deepest sigh.
“Toby?”
He slid into a sweet smile, and then his expression shifted to resignation, his gaze sweeping the ceiling.
“There’s something you’re not telling me?” I whispered.
He turned his head to look at me “This moment could change what we can have. You want that?”
“I need answers.”
“Proceed with caution.”
A flutter of nerves went berserk in my chest. “I have to know.”
His stare bored into my eyes as though gauging I was ready. “Do you remember that first evening we met?”
My eyes brightened with the memory of him half-naked in The Otillie basement. “Of course.”
“Later, when we met again in the gallery?”
“You introduced yourself and then left.”
He’d suddenly walked out of the gallery as though my name alone had caused his quick exit.
“You’d heard of me?” My voice rasped with emotion.
“I realized you were Bertram Leighton’s daughter.”
The hairs on my forearms pricked. “Did you know my dad?”
He hesitated. “No.”
My heart thundered with all the possibilities of what was coming next.
He blew out a cautious sigh. “I came across information on a painting that appeared to have been stolen. It was St. Joan of Arc by Walter Ouless.”
“Where?”
He blew out a frustrated sigh of doubt. “I travel.”
I reached out and squeezed his arm. “Please.”
“I researched the painting’s provenance. I didn’t like what I saw.”
“You realized it was stolen?”
Was he admitting he knew the man’s name?
His gaze held mine. “I tracked St. Joan to your family.”
“I know you stole her back for me.” I held my breath, waiting for him to acknowledge this.
Tobias rose and pushed himself off the bed and padded across the room and went straight for that portrait-sized package wrapped in brown paper. The same one I’d caught sight of earlier.
He lifted it off the floor. “This is yours.”
I bolted upright, realizing he’d brought it home from The Wilder.
Weeks ago, he’d left me sleeping in my London flat to sneak off to steal St. Joan from Christie’s. The gallery’s footage had not only caught the theft but Tobias’s holographic security guard in the vicinity. A trick of the cameras. The actual guard had been recorded eating his lunch in the break room at the same time the heist went down.
Tobias rested the painting on the bed. “I’ll arrange to have her discreetly returned to London. Tell no one you have her.”
My heart pounded as a chasm seemingly opened again between us.
Lifting the painting off the bed, I delicately tore the brown paper to reveal St. Joan’s face beneath. It was her.
Tobias pulled on a T-shirt and grabbed a fresh pair of boxer shorts from a chest of drawers and dressed in silence.
He headed for the door. “Your safety is all I care about.”
“I’m not in any danger.”
“I’ll make coffee—”
“What changed?”
He paused by the door.
“Last night you were whirling me around a dance floor asking me to admit I want you? And last night...it was incredible.”
His expression softened. “It was even more than that.”
“What’s wrong, then?”
“The more you know the more dangerous it becomes for you.” The sweep of his hand inferred the rest. “I won’t do that to you.”
“What are you saying?”
“We’re everything we shouldn’t be.”
My mouth went dry as I realized why he was going cold on me. “You don’t want me to ask the name of the man who stole my St. Joan?”
Tobias gave a wary nod. “It’s a treacherous road.”
“So what happens now?”
He headed toward the door. “I’ll make breakfast.”
A chill washed over me. “Are you sending me back to London?”
Like he’d done outside The Wilder.
All the ground I’d made to get closer to him was lost.
“Look, Zara, knowing St. Joan is returned to you is all that matters. Knowing you’re safe.” He left and closed the door behind him.
Did he have any idea how much he hurt me when he pushed me away like this? I grabbed his shirt from the back of the armchair, glancing at the one beside it—the same chair he’d bent me over and taken me on so deliciously; the kind of passion my body would crave for an eternity. I went back into his wardrobe and searched out a pair of shorts and used one of his belts to keep them up.
Making my way down the stairs I reasoned Tobias had risked so much for me. My St. Joan back in my arms was proof of that. More questions needed answers and yet Tobias had closed down so fast I’d had no way of breaking his descent into aloofness.
I went in search of him, following the aroma of fresh brewing coffee. My stomach grumbled and yet my appetite wavered.
Tobias was standing with his back to me before a grill and he looked lost in thought. I needed a few seconds to steady myself at the stark beauty of him standing there working the spatula to flip the batter. The coffeemaker spluttered out fresh brewed grounds into a glass pot.
St. Joan’s frame weighed heavy in my hands.
The room looked gorgeous with its sleek modern stainless-steel appliances and it exuded a cozy style. There were badass robotic arms above the stove.
“Hi.” He gestured for me to sit at the center island. “Coffee?”
I looked around for Jade but didn’t see her. “What is that?”
He followed my gaze toward the two arms above the stove. “My chef. This morning I insisted on cooking.” Tobias slipped into a smile as he pointed to the mechanism. “He’s a little put out, but still.”
I refused to laugh. “Is this your goodbye? It’s not as harsh as outside The Wilder but it’s just as cruel.” I rested the painting on the island.
Tobias’s frown deepened. “She’s authentic. But you already know that.”
“Tell me his name.”
“It’s over.”
My silence resounded louder than words.
He gave a look of understanding. “This isn’t an easy decision.”
“You