The Chase

I tried to remember the last time I’d been this daring and nothing came close to being whisked away by a gorgeous man in a helicopter to view a secret masterpiece. My universe was all about respectful whispers around century-old paintings housed in well-lit galleries in carefully controlled settings.

Was I going to let this adventure slip through my fingers?

“I promise to keep you safe.” He looked sincere. “Aren’t you even a little intrigued?”

“A little.”

“I want you to want to come,” he said without a hint of sarcasm.

My gaze moved over to that flashy helicopter.

“Say yes,” he whispered.

Whoever that girl was who’d stormed out of his house was nowhere to be seen now.

Instead, with my hand firmly in his grip I followed him back in and we walked through the foyer and down the hallway and back into the room with the dress.

He guided me into the center.

“I’ll put it on.” My gaze swept over the dress.

“I appreciate that, Zara.”

He was gone again, and I was left staring at my own stunned reflection.

It didn’t take me long to undress, peeling out of my underwear and then putting on his Coco de Mer. Staring at the mirror, I marveled how the lingerie flattered my figure, the bra with its delicate design that barely skimmed over my breasts and the Venetian lace panel on the back of the panties showing off my pert bottom. All self-consciousness left me, all embarrassment, as though it was quite natural to stand here wearing Tobias Wilder’s gift that barely covered anything.

My nipples beaded and nudged my bra.

A rush of blood to my head that he might have cameras installed in here and from another part of the house might be ogling me. The thought of me arousing him sent tingles between my thighs, his strong arms pulling me into him and holding me tight against his firm body and delivering a kiss so fierce it took my breath away; his full lips, his tongue teasing mine and delivering that unspoken promise he’d fuck me harder than I’d ever experienced.

The kind of passion that had women screaming for more.

I’d never reached those kinds of erotic heights with Zach. Not even close.

There’d been too many intimate moments where I’d feigned release with him because I just couldn’t get there, that elusive orgasm well out of reach, and until now I’d believed there was something wrong with me.

My breathing stuttered as my reflection came back into view and I realized I’d never thought of myself as sexy until now. Auburn curls tumbled over my shoulders and brushed my breasts.

I’d never been turned on by my own reflection. Until now.

Keeping my focus on why I was actually here was essential if I wasn’t going to lose my way, or lose my heart again and screw this up.

Within minutes I’d pulled myself together and put on the Alexander McQueen. I took a few more minutes to admire how well the dress fit over my curves and how incredibly gorgeous it looked on me. The intricate crystals woven into the material proved this was worth at least three months’ salary for me.

I used the counter for balance to slide into the high heels that were surprisingly comfortable. I opened my handbag and found my lipstick and dabbed my lips with a soft pink.

I went in search of Tobias, hoping he’d be pleased at least with the way I looked. I found him texting on his phone in the foyer.

When his gaze rose to mine he viewed me like something he’d created; his back stiffened as he stood taller.

A flash of excitement burned in his eyes.

Despite the fact that he was a virtual stranger, I somehow trusted him. This alluring enigma that was Tobias William Wilder was seductively hypnotic.

I loved being around him, and never had I met anyone as exciting as him.

I wanted, no, needed his approval. “Will I do, Mr. Wilder?” Searching his face for any sign of attraction to me, I forced a confident smile.

He merely held a fixed, stern expression and blinked my way.

I broke his gaze. “I’m afraid my handbag doesn’t match.”

“Do you have your magnifier?”

“Yes.” Rummaging through my bag, I felt for my miniature magnifier.

He stepped forward and took it from me. “Thank you.” Tobias tucked it into his jacket pocket. “You don’t need your bag.”

“But my phone—”

“Please—” He gestured for me to set it down on the table near the stairs. “You won’t need it.”

With each step toward it I questioned the sanity of leaving my phone behind and my credit cards, but his glare edged me on.

“Good.” Tobias gave a reassuring smile.

Staring through the glass window, I caught sight of the helicopter. “We’re really going in that?”

He gestured for me to follow. “Of course.”

Following him out into the crisp night air, I said, “I feel like Cinderella.” I giggled at my cuteness.

“I’m not sure what that makes me.” He smirked as he opened the passenger-side door of the helicopter and beckoned for me to get in. “Cinderella, we have to get you out of there before midnight.”

“Out of where?”

“Blandford Palace.”

My heart fluttered with joy.

We were heading to one of England’s most beautiful estates and seeing inside it had been merely a pipe dream. The manor was closed off to the public, and its rumored impressive collection of artwork was inaccessible, until now.

I vaguely remembered reading that large country estate was owned by one of the wealthiest siblings in England—the Blandford twins, their empire merging old money with the new from a thriving news corporation.

Tobias shrugged off his jacket and turned to face me, placing it over my shoulders. The warmth was welcoming. Until now adrenaline had made me forget the chill. I pulled his jacket around me and snuggled into it.

Focus, Zara, be professional.

The dashboard was all black leather and shiny controls.

When he wrapped his fingers around the central phallic control I had to look away to hide my blush.

Tobias handled his surroundings like his toys, with a focused intensity. That, and the way he broke into a relaxed smile had an addictive quality.

I counted myself lucky to be merely a professional colleague. God knew what kind of damage this man could do if you let him get under your skin.

A few equipment checks later and a brief chat into his headphones with air traffic control, we lifted off smoothly. Gravity forced us into our seats as we made a fast ascent.

With my heart in my throat and my knuckles white from gripping the seat belt too tightly, we banked left, and Tobias’s home shone brightly like a beacon below.

Within minutes we were flying over countryside, homes, farmland, and the city lights shrunk beneath us.

* * *

As I scanned the flickering lights below, it was easy to forget we were suspended merely in a machine, and now and again I braved a glance over at Tobias, who seemed lost in his own thoughts too.

We landed in the middle of a field and, after the blades stilled, we made our way over to an Aston Martin parked beside a deserted barn. This trip had been well thought out apparently.

We sped off into the night.

Large oak trees lined the driveway, arching above as a wooded tunnel and grandly welcoming visitors with its dramatic forest. Onward through the surrounding acres, their landscape shielded by darkness. When we drove over a bridge there came the view of two great lakes.

“They won’t let us land close?” I was forced back into my seat—Tobias accelerated around a corner.

“No-fly zone over the house,” he explained.

The drive up to the mansion was no different to the flight here, with Tobias quiet and our conversation lacking. With him focused on his speed I was happy to let him concentrate.

I could only assume my meandering back at his house had lost us time and he was trying to make up for it.

My breath caught at the sight of the monumental seventeenth-century Baroque palace that dominated the horizon. It was truly the most striking home I’d ever seen. Vast stone pillars towered at the entryway, and before it spread out a splendorous courtyard.

“Wow,” I said in a rush.

“You’re starting to sound like an American,” he said playfully. “We can’t have that now, can we?”

I was too exhilarated to stop my giggle and slapped my hand to my mouth before I embarrassed myself any further.

We parked left of the house, his Aston Martin fitting in perfectly with the other high-end Bentleys, Ferraris and Mercedes-Benzes.

He leaned right and his arm brushed mine. He opened the glove box and reached in and removed two masks. One black and simple, masculine, and the other, which he handed me, was beaded with shiny studs and delicate feathers rising from the top.

“Put this on.” He gestured for me to turn my head so he could help me secure the ribbon behind, his fingertips moving against my hair and making my scalp tingle.

I couldn’t wait to share my adventures back at the office. Elena was going to freak out when I told her about what kind of mission Adley had unwittingly sent me on.

After repositioning my mask to fit perfectly, I pulled down the rearview mirror. My reflection was that of a mysterious sultry siren.

Tobias of course looked gorgeous in his and when he caught me staring at him flashed a grin. “Ready?”

“Yes, I’m excited.”

“You look beautiful.”

I was grateful he’d already gotten out of the car and hadn’t caught my reaction to his compliment. Tobias Wilder had a kind side. And as we were about to spend the evening together at a party, discovering this about him would make tonight easier.

I wondered if it was a Rembrandt we were going to see, and my toes curled with the thrill of seeing the kind of priceless masterpiece reserved for stately homes like this.

Thanking Tobias for holding my door open, I appreciated his strong hand taking mine to help me out of the car.

We strolled up to the front door, which loomed grandly above. Taking those stone steps beneath the elaborate archway highlighting the Roman-themed grandeur.

I straightened my dress. “Why do we have to be out by midnight?”

“Not we, you.” His lips curled into a smile. “I need to protect your innocence.”

I flashed a smile back. “Oh, it’s that old-fashioned tradition where the men retreat to the smoking room in some kind of archaic sexist ritual.”

He wrapped his fingers around my left upper arm. “No, Zara, it’s because that’s when the fucking starts.”

6

The front door opened—

And I’d given up breathing.

Tobias ignored my death glare and gave a nod of greeting to the butler, and said, “Vis-v-vis.”

He removed a cream envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to him.

The door opened wider.

Tobias’s ironclad grip led me in and past the stocky young butler who probably doubled as a bouncer.

A young waitress stepped forward too. She extended a silver tray with crystal flutes of champagne. I tried to keep my gaze on the bubbly and not stare at her nakedness. She wore a black thong, and that was it, unless you counted the nipple clamps. She was petite, and her pretty eyes narrowed with intrigue from behind her mask.

Tobias thanked her for the drinks and lifted them off the tray. He handed one to me. I resisted gulping it down and turned to face him.

“Ms. Ruby Ryan?” The butler looked up from the invite he’d peeled open and held my gaze.

Tobias gave a nod. “Which way?”

“Welcome.” The butler nodded left.

Tobias’s grip tightened on my arm and he led us off in that direction.

“Black tie, sir,” shouted the butler after us.

Tobias threw me a look of apology and removed his jacket from my shoulders. He shrugged back into it, rounding out his dashing, moneyed appearance.

My thoughts raced with confusion for what Tobias was getting us into, and I almost tripped when we hurried by Pierre-Auguste Renoir’s painting of Les Grandes Baigneuses, depicting nude women bathing. The impressionist painter had a gift for capturing the dreaminess of his subjects.

His work stirring controversy even today for his promiscuity with color—oh the scandal—or the way he ignored lines and composition.

This was a taste of what Renoir must have felt with his decadent, impetuous behavior in Paris.

No, I reasoned, I’ve stepped inside a Picasso.

This was more like Pablo Picasso’s 1903 La Douceur, the erotic oil on canvas with its delicate watercolors of a woman going down on a man as he leisurely lay back and enjoyed the moment, watching himself in the mirror.

And I was smack-dab in the middle of this explicit fantasy.

My heels clipped on stone, the cold a welcome relief to reduce the burn of embarrassment that scorched my face.

When we reached a door, he knocked once.

With no answer, Tobias headed on in and pulled me with him.

A quick glance around at the wood-paneled room made me realize what this was. Not a coatroom, no, but a room for the dresses that the female guests had worn to this event and then removed and safely placed on chrome free-standing racks. From the number of dresses, hundreds of women had already arrived and stripped down to their underwear.

My Coco de Mer lingerie now made sense. Evidently, Marks and Spencer’s panties didn’t make the grade. Addled, I silently thanked Tobias for his forethought.

Careful not to spill my drink on my dress or the plush burgundy carpet, I set it down on a coaster on a corner table.

Tobias took a sip from his glass. And then another. “This is a Krug Clos d’Ambonnay. Very nice.” He placed his glass next to mine.

What the fuck.

I went for the door.

Tobias wrapped his hands around my waist and spun me around and nudged me gently until my back pressed against the wall.

His mask made him look edgier and sexy as hell. I went to take mine off—

He stopped me. “Before you say anything.” He gestured for me to be quiet. “I need you to listen.”

“What is this place?”

“We have a mission. To view a painting. Authenticate it. And get out. Whatever else you see has nothing to do with us.”

“Is this a secret society?”

He pressed his body against mine. “Keep your voice down. Let’s not stand out any more than we did when we arrived.”

“Who is Ruby Ryan? And why did he think that’s me?”

“She’s a friend who pulled some serious strings to get us in here.” He turned his head toward the door as though listening. “Think of the invite as the equivalent of a golden ticket.”

It was hard to suppress my sarcasm. “Like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory? Only instead of chocolate...”

He looked amused. “Yes, if you like.”

“So you’re not a member?” I studied his face for the truth.

“No, otherwise it’d be my name on the invite.”

I tried to think straight but it was difficult being this close to him. “The painting still belongs to the owners?” I grabbed his biceps, and his firm muscles flexed beneath my touch, rousing a sense of safety.

“It’s due to go up for auction in a few weeks,” he said. “Sotheby’s doesn’t allow for anyone else to authenticate a piece other than their own staff. I don’t want to outbid the room only to end up with a forgery.”

“You should trust them, they’re the best—”

“I’ve been burned once before. Never again.”

“Isn’t what we’re doing illegal?”

“We’re merely guests at a party. We just happen to come across a painting and admire it. No one needs to know. Trust me, everyone, including the hosts, will be otherwise distracted.”

“Is this an orgy?”

“No, Zara, it’s a tea party.” He looked amused.

“I hope you don’t think—”

“Please.” He rolled his eyes. “I need you focused. You nearly gave us away back there.”

“How?”

“Your response to the waitress.”

“She’s buck naked.”

“I noticed a thong.”

I glared at him. “A warning would have been nice.”

“This opportunity can’t be lost.”

And right now I was hard pushed to recommend any staff at Huntly Pierre who’d raise their hand when invited to an orgy. I hadn’t worked there long enough to know who’d be up for a mass banging.

“Do I have your commitment to complete our objective?” He didn’t budge, merely leaned his weight, further pinning me to the wall.

“Yes.” My lips trembled with a thrill of excitement when his erection dug into my stomach. This searing heat of arousal between my thighs.

A wave of exhilaration.

His lips brushed close to mine. “It’s just in and out, Zara.”

The pressure of his cock now placed perfectly at my groin sent sparks of pleasure between my thighs.

We both froze as though equally stunned by the intensity of this position. Swirls of pleasure. A yearning for him to be inside me.

A soft sigh escaped my lips.

I shoved at his firm chest, trying to push him off before I weakened any further and begged for it. This man was pure muscle, pure alpha, and he’d captured me with the intensity of his stare.

My nipples nudged through my dress and there was no doubt he’d feel them through his shirt.

“Zara, I need you focused. Professional. I need you at your best.” He stepped back. The loss of his body left me bereft and I tried not to show it.

“I don’t have to do anything rude?” The question was my way of denying he’d affected me.

“No.”

“I need my X-ray machine.”

“It’ll stand out.” He waved his hand. “Just do what you did with the Pollock.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll get you in the room. Just tell me if it’s an original.”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“I saw you do it.”

“No, I know the Pollock intimately. I sat at the National and stared at it for hours.” I broke his gaze. “I was trying to understand what Pollock was telling us.”

“What about your reputation? Your knack for fakes?”

“Art intuition? I suppose it runs in my family.”

Tobias blinked at me. “Do your best. That’s all I’m asking.”

I gave a reluctant nod. “Can I keep my dress on?”

“You’ll stand out.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Yes.”

“I just have to look at the painting and then we can leave?”

“I promise.”

“You’ll be with me the entire time?”

His eyes crinkled with kindness. “Won’t let you out of my sight.”

My breath stilted when I realized he was waiting for me to take off my dress.

He turned around.

How far was I willing to go for a painting? The question was glaring.

It’s like being at the beach, my nervous thoughts reassured me. This is no different to wearing your bikini.

I shimmied out of the gown and found a hanger to place it on. I left it at the end of the rung so it’d be easy to grab later.

Dressed merely in my underwear, or rather strips of silk barely covering me, my palms cupping my cheeks, I waited for him.

“Zara? Can I turn around?”

“Yes.” I assumed a confident pose, even though I didn’t feel it, and straightened my back and raised my chin.

Tobias blinked as he took me in. A flexing of his jaw muscles.

“Do I look okay?” I wanted to hear him say I looked beautiful to him.

The way his taut posture betrayed his secret desire for me spiked this dizzying rush of exhilaration.

My delight rose that he found this moment just as thrilling, never had I felt so desirable, so capable of this stark sensuality that had a man like Tobias Wilder looking so confounded.

“Don’t cover yourself.” He snapped back to unreadable and swept his hand through the air. “The women here are comfortable with their bodies.” His gaze swept over me and he gave a nod of approval. “Own your sexuality and you’ll do fine.”

Which I assumed was “Tobias” for act confident.

My left hand twitched to reach out and grab his hand to soothe this vulnerability.

This grand house kept too many secrets. I didn’t want to be in and out, I wanted to stroll along the hallways and drink in the art, saturate my soul with the work of the Old Masters.

This was not how I’d seen the evening going. Not even close.

“If anyone asks you a question, defer to me.”

“Did we just go back a hundred years?”

“We’re trying to maintain a low profile.”

I wanted to be ready for him, for them, but fear threatened to incapacitate me.

He took my hands. “You look beautiful. Do this and I’ll reward you well.”

“Like, with a bonus?”

He smirked. “Don’t push it. I’m already getting you a new phone, remember?”

I frowned, wondering how else he’d reward me, then.

He neared me and tipped my chin up. “I’ll make it up to you in more ways than you can ever imagine.”

My body trembled with this growing need of arousal and I bit my lip hoping I didn’t dampen my panties, my breaths short and sharp.

The pad of his thumb rested on my lower lip and he freed it from my bite. “Just do as I say.”

“I’ll try.”

As though lost in thought, his eyelids closed for a beat. “Mr. Wilder?”

He stepped away and walked over to his glass, and took a sip. “Let’s get this over with so we can get you home.”

His hand rested at the arch of my back as he led me out. Swooning at his touch and trying not to show it, I reminded myself I could leave at any time.

And, after all, I was wearing a mask.

Back within the vast foyer, the chill hit me again. Whoever had decided that women shouldn’t wear clothes needed a punch. It was bloody cold, and with a quick glance down I was horrified to see my areolae were not quite covered. Instinctively, I reached up to hide my breasts.

“Zara,” Tobias warned.

My arms flew to my sides as though I’d already stepped into the role of lover. “Next time I’m picking my own bra and panties.”

His lips quirked in a smile. “I’ve had the unusual pleasure of glimpsing a sample of your personal knicker collection back at The Otillie. Quite the experience. My new favorite color just so happens to be eggshell blue.”

I gave him a “you’re a cheeky bastard” glare. “Not that there’ll be a next time,” I clarified.

“Okay, then.”

We strolled down the dimly lit hallway.

Music carried along with laughter, clinking glasses, the revelry of a party.

Tobias spoke with two intimidating-looking bouncers guarding a large double door. He sounded fluent in the Italian words he shared with them, and I sensed it was a password.

They both reached for their respective doorknobs.

So many questions. How did he know about this place? Who was Ruby Ryan and what was his relationship with her?

A woman who was obviously into this—

Inside a fluorescent red room, topless burlesque dancers were performing, with one twirling on a pole, another blowing fire out toward the awestruck crowd, the others swirling sensually on chairs. Garish theatrical music flooded the room.

A few hundred tuxedo-wearing men watched the performance, all of them with skimpily clad women by their sides, who mirrored what I was wearing. Their luxury lingerie hid nothing. A few dared to go topless. This could have been a Victoria’s Secret photo shoot. The variety of stunning lingerie was breathtaking.

A rich man’s playpen.

Booze flowed from silver trays carried by thong-wearing waitresses, who offered fresh flutes of champagne or golden spirits that were no doubt the very expensive kind.

The music changed to sultry French lyrics, setting the scene for arousal. The atmosphere crackled. I’d lost track of time and wondered how close to midnight we were.

Tobias led me to the far corner of the room, right up to the large mantel where a hearth burned brightly, orange logs sparking and exuding the kind of heat these old houses desperately needed. Rising out of those flames burst the scent of pinecones and rosemary.