you knew it wasn’t worth even a fraction of that.’
‘That’s what you’ve got? A hunch and the fact that I was more interested in my date than a painting?’
‘It’s enough for me,’ she said mutinously.
‘Good for you. But what is it that you think you can threaten me with? You can’t go to the Sheikh—he has admitted to owning a forgery. You can’t go to the police. No one has reported a theft. And the fake painting was damaged before it was sold, so no crime has been committed,’ he concluded, shrugging his shoulders.
‘I could go to the press,’ she said, anger sparking in her eyes like fireworks.
‘And you’d just look like someone who is trying to cover up a professional mistake through desperation and lies,’ he said in a tone that was painfully patronising to his own ears.
‘I could steal it back.’
He ground out a laugh and, as he expected, it ignited the rage within her. ‘You’d have to find it first.’
‘You think this is funny?’ she demanded.
He hardly did, but he needed her to think that.
‘I’ve been suspended. So you didn’t just steal a painting, Your Grace, you stole my job, my career, my future. Everything that I’ve worked towards for my entire life.’
Sebastian felt as if he’d been slapped. Bonnaire’s had sent probably the only person with integrity to Sharjarhere and because of him she stood to lose her job. Guilt fought with his own personal need for justice and in that moment Sebastian had the horrible feeling that there was no way that they would both walk away with what they wanted.
He could have sworn in that moment that he felt the tide of injustice wash against him from where she sat. Injustice, betrayal, loss. He knew those words. Knew that anger.
‘So if it takes me a year—ten years—I’ll find the proof. Because there’s always proof. You didn’t do this by yourself, you couldn’t have. I will track down everyone that helped you, every single person you’ve spoken to in the last six months. I will visit every single place you’ve been in the last six years. If you try to move the painting I will know about it. If you try to sell the painting I will hear about it. You might be a billionaire businessman with contacts around the world, but I have lived and breathed art since I was born. And I will use every single contact I have to make sure that I get my hands back on the real Durrántez.’
‘That’s quite the speech,’ he commented drily despite how impressed he was. While part of his mind worked through the implications of her words, the other recognised just how incredible she had become in that moment. It was as if with the challenge, in her desperation, she had risen from flames and become a phoenix—glorious, golden, bold beyond belief and utterly enthralling. Everything in him wanted to reach for her, to hold her to him, to clutch that power to him.
Everything apart from the fact that if she did as she promised it wasn’t just he who would pay the price. Each person involved had known what the implications were. Each person had made their decision freely. But they had also put their faith in him and his plan. The plan he’d assured them would come off without a hitch. Never would he let anything happen to them because of the one truly selfish thing he’d ever done.
Sia Keating uncrossed her legs and stepped from her chair around to the opening in the cage. It felt oddly like a portent of things to come. Unable to stay behind, he stood and met her head-on. Something primal roared within him and satisfaction uncurled in his gut as she stood, as he’d predicted, almost face to face with him.
‘I am going to find out exactly what happened, who helped you and tell the world,’ she promised him, golden sparks firing in her eyes captivating him as she stepped past him.
Once again, the sight of her backless dress taunted his arousal. The incredible pride stiffening her shoulder blades made him smile in appreciation even as he thrust all thoughts of expectation from his mind.
He reached for her wrist, encasing it firmly but gently, and pulled her back round to face him, cutting off the view that had sent him into a sensual torment.
‘You’re playing a dangerous game,’ he said, his tone darker and harsher than he’d intended.
‘You started it,’ she replied, but there was nothing