searching. My heartbeats quicken when I see something. An article from a local London newspaper. I click it and inhale when Becker’s father’s face fills the screen. The Hunt men were definitely at the front of the queue when God was giving out looks. Lord, it’s like looking at Becker, just a few years older. He’s wearing glasses too, and not for the first time I wonder how bad Becker’s eyesight is.
Becker’s dad is in a tuxedo, a brandy in his hand, obviously at some kind of gala or ball. And next to him, the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen. Lou Hunt. Becker’s mother. Her hand is wrapped around a wine glass, her neck adorned with some serious sparklers, her body encased in a black velvet gown. She’s mesmerising. Or was. I wince, a horrible pain radiating through me. Such a handsome couple. Such a waste. And all because of that lost sculpture.
My eyes drop to the article below, and I inhale.
World renowned art dealer found dead in Italy
I start scrolling, hungry for information, even if I know what the newspapers reported wasn’t the truth. Then jump out my fucking skin when I’m grabbed from behind. ‘Boo,’ he says in my ear, and my finger finds the close icon and clicks off the screen before he spins me around and slams his mouth on mine.
‘You scared the crap out of me,’ I mumble against his lips.
‘I know. I can feel your heart thundering. What were you doing?’
I push my mouth harder to his, ignoring his question. ‘Where have you been?’
‘At Sotheby’s. I’ve acquired a new painting. Georgia O’Keeffe. We need to arrange delivery. Will you take care of it?’
‘Sure.’
‘The num—’
‘I can take care of it,’ I assure him, and he smiles.
‘You gonna pay for it, too?’
Ah. Good point. I smile sweetly. ‘Can I borrow some money?’
He laughs as his phone rings. ‘And there’s a Warhol exhibition coming up. Get me the catalogue?’ he asks, and I nod as he answers. ‘Hello?’ Becker pulls me from his chair, kisses my cheek, and takes my place, swatting my arse as I walk away.
I go straight to the coffee table between the couches and start collecting up a pile of books and putting them back on the shelves, anything to keep my attention off my impressive man sitting at his impressive replica of the Theodore Roosevelt desk.
Impossible. I peek over my shoulder, finding his eyes rooted to my arse. I cough, and he glances up, blinking. Then he shakes his head to himself and realigns his attention. I smile and carry on restacking the shelves, but I can feel him watching me. His office is literally throbbing with our combined desperation for each other. This working relationship was always hard, but now we’ve leaped over the line into acceptance and understanding, it’s unbearable. Keeping my hands to myself is an hourly challenge.
Peeking behind me again, I find Becker now in front of his desk, his phone to his ear, his arse resting on the edge, his spare hand braced on the wood. I gulp down some restraint and stupidly allow my relentless eyes to home in above his neck. His angel eyes behind his Ray-Ban specs are nailed to me.
I can’t take it.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ I mutter, placing the last few books on the table and moving towards the door.
He’s off the desk in the blink of an eye, jogging towards me. My hand is claimed, and he leads me over to his desk, his phone still at his ear. I’m guided to the chair and pushed into the seat, then he resumes position on his arse, on the edge of his desk, a whisper away from me.
Hazel eyes hold me in my seated position, and one of his feet slips between mine. ‘Yes,’ he says into the phone, tapping both of my ankles with his foot and raising an eyebrow.
My mouth gapes when I catch on, and my legs turn to steel in an effort to stop him. Becker’s eyes laugh in the face of steel. He cocks his head, keeping his phone to his ear by his shoulder, and leans forward, placing a palm on each of my knees. My body temperature hits the ceiling and my teeth clench. No amount of stiffness or strength could stop him. Not mental, not physical, though I try. What is he doing?
The ‘1965 Ferrari 275 GTB,’ he says, spreading my legs so I’m wide open and exposed to his appreciative eyes.