we’re locked up in a cabin, we won’t really be in danger, will we?”
Was he really that naive? “I’m going to guess that up until now you’ve been fairly sheltered and led an easy life.”
His eyes hardened as he scowled at me. “You have no idea what my life has been like.”
“I know you’re wealthy, and I know you’ve had a lot of things given to you.”
“I’ve earned my place in the art world. No one gave that to me. I have talent, and I work fucking hard.”
Wow. I hadn’t expected him to be so fierce, though maybe I should have. He’d been very clear about what he wanted the other night. He wasn’t just a pretty spoiled brat whose mother supported his artwork. Damn if that didn’t make him ten times hotter.
“Maybe I don’t know everything about your life, but I know you’re not taking this situation seriously, and you should be.”
“Why? What does everyone know that I don’t?”
And there was another complication. X didn’t want me to tell Lane about the murders. He didn’t want him to be afraid, but since Lane wasn’t afraid, he wasn’t going to cooperate. What had I done to X to deserve this? Did he know how difficult his son was?
Probably not. I couldn’t imagine Sandra saying anything negative about Lane. She would’ve told X how talented Lane was, how beautiful he was, how he could think quickly on his feet, and that he had a smile that made people want to do exactly what he said. He’d gotten that from his father—except his father’s charm had never worked on me. I respected the hell out of X, but I’d never wanted him the way I wanted Lane. Sure, if he had asked me to get off with him back in our army days, I would’ve said yes just for the stress relief. But X hadn’t been blessed with whatever caused my common sense to short-circuit like his son had.
“Go on and get packed so we can get on the road.” While he was packing, I hoped to strategize my way out of this.
Lane made an exasperated sound. “You do realize it’s going to take a while, right? As I explained earlier, I’m preparing for a gallery show. My mother may think it’s simple to pack up the things I need, but it’s not. I have several pieces I’m working on which consist of multiple elements as well as the tools and paint I’ll need to complete them. Everything has to be packed very carefully. And then I’ll need clothes and toiletries and—How long will we be there?”
I blew out a breath, reminding myself he was a client. “We’re staying at a cabin in the middle of nowhere. It doesn’t matter what you wear, just pack up what you need to work with and a few changes of clothes.”
Lane looked at me like I’d said something shocking. “Do I look like a man who doesn’t care what he wears?”
I remembered the absurdly tight jeans and glittery shirt he’d had on when I’d met him. He’d looked so damn hot, and he’d known it.
“And we won’t be at the cabin the whole time, not with art museums and galleries to check out.”
He had to be kidding. “This isn’t a vacation. We’re going there so you stay out of sight.”
“I’m not sitting in a cabin for God knows how long. I’ll lose my mind.”
If I kept up this argument, I was going to say something I regretted. “Just get to work on packing. If it takes too long, we’ll stay here tonight and go to the cabin in the morning.”
“We? So you are staying with me?”
“I’m working on that. Someone will stay here. If it’s me, I will be out here on the couch, and you will be in your bed.”
He grinned. “So fucking bossy.”
“And you’re going to do what I say because that’s the only way I can keep you safe.”
“Are you like this with all your clients?”
“Yes. Most people want to do what I say since they expect me to save their lives.”
“I don’t think—”
“I’m being paid to do the thinking.” How did he manage to rile me up so easily?
He raised his brows and gave me a flirtatious little smirk. “So I’m just here to look pretty?”
“That’s not what I meant. Get packed.”
“Yes, sir.” He gave me a mock salute and walked off. I couldn’t take my eyes off his perfectly rounded ass as he sashayed toward his bedroom.
“I’m going to check