Everywhere they touched burned in all the right ways. He lowered his head, kissing her, then rested his forehead against hers. She had never felt so close to anyone as she did in that moment. She didn’t need words, nor did he. When he pulled away, she had only a few seconds to miss him before he was lifting her up and carrying her completely naked through the hall and toward the stairs. A lazy smile curled her lips. She liked it when he went all caveman and carried her about. It was nice to feel small and delicate in his arms. He didn’t go to his room, but hers.
“Why here?” she asked as he set her down on her back on the bed.
He stood there, fully bare and suddenly erect again. “I want to have you on every flat surface, starting with this one.” He crawled on the bed to lean over her limp, sated body.
“Okay, I won’t argue with that.” She arched beneath him, letting her breasts brush his chest.
“Did you know”—he chuckled between his kisses—“that this bed belonged to a French princess?”
Callie arched a brow. “Really? Which one?”
His hand slid down her body, parting her legs wider before he positioned himself and thrust home. They moved together.
“Does it matter?” he gritted out as she clenched her inner walls around him. “Fuck, that feels good.”
“You’re making that up,” she said, laughing, and she then groaned as he twisted his hips and hit a new spot inside her that made her see stars. “Oh, right there,” she begged, digging her nails into his shoulders.
He growled low in triumph and started driving into her again, hitting that spot over and over. She tugged his head to hers, hungry for his kiss, needing them to be connected in as many ways as possible. He pinned her hands down, lacing his fingers through hers. One more connection, one more way that they fused their bodies into one being. The thought, the sheer swell of joy at thinking about that was all it took to send Callie over the edge. The way he shuddered above her showed her that he was coming apart at exactly the same time. Chests pressed together, his heartbeat fast and wild against hers, beating at the same pace, as though one heart, not two. Wes continued to kiss her, even though they were both starved for air and shaking like newborn foals.
“Is it always like this?” she asked between lingering kisses, smiling inside and out as her entire body quaked with the aftershocks of pleasure.
The startled look in his eyes confused her. “No. It’s not,” he said quietly, his gaze searing her.
“Was it good for you, too?” She nibbled her lip worriedly. Even though she was sore and too many sensations still pulsed through her, she felt him twitch inside her.
“It was better,” he said this with such sincerity and seriousness that she blushed. “I mean that. No one else has ever felt this good.” He rocked his hips and her body vibrated like a string on a violin, a single note of pleasure resonating deep inside her. She didn’t want to go back to Long Island. There was so much to lose if she went home.
“Don’t worry about tomorrow.” He squeezed her hands in his. “I’m not letting you go.”
His words should have frightened her but they had the opposite effect. It was exactly what she needed to hear. They didn’t love each other, but what they had was good, too good to give up.
“Good.” She smiled at him, and then kissed him, letting her lips linger against his. There were a few more precious hours before they had to leave paradise.
Chapter 18
Wes, have a seat,” Jaxon Barrington said as he gestured for Wes to sit. They were in the executive office of the Gilded Cuff. Jaxon, the owner, Wes’s long-time friend and the most recent victim of the Illusionist, was pacing. Another man, thin, muscled, in a navy blue suit, leaned back against the desk, arms folded. FBI, if Wes had to guess.
“Agent Kostova said we should meet here.” Jaxon raked a hand through his dark hair and finally forced himself to sit down behind his desk, but his grim expression remained.
Kostova pushed away from the desk and held out a hand to Wes, who took it. Kostova looked young, probably late twenties.
“Mr. Thorne, glad to meet you. We definitely need your help. Whoever is behind the thefts is starting to piss me off. His ego is unrivaled. Mr. Barrington was explaining to me how secure his club is and yet one of his paintings was removed during a party. I want to catch this guy. The bureau wants to catch him. I suspect he’ll take his trade somewhere else soon and we might lose our chance to find him.” Kostova glanced at Jaxon, then at Wes.
“Barrington said your collection is the only thing expensive enough to draw this man’s attention. Is it true you have a Monet and a Renoir?”
After Wes answered with a curt nod, the agent continued. “What we’d like to do is host a party here at the club and have you put the Monet and Renoir on display. He won’t be able to resist the challenge. We’ll have to find a way to spread the word, of course, and he’ll need time to see the piece and replicate it.”
Wes twisted the silver signet ring with his family’s crest on it, debating silently. Was he willing to risk one of his priceless works to catch the arrogant bastard who was stealing from his friends? Sure, an auction house could put a dollar price on his collection, but for him, those paintings weren’t measured by money. They brought him peace and looking at them filled him with a quiet, irresistible joy. Nothing else had made him feel like that, nothing except Callie.
He thought of the Mortons, and how happy and relieved they’d been when he’d shipped the Goya home. Daniel had called him to thank him, and the warmth in his chest at getting that call helped. Whoever was stealing the art was risking the art itself and that was enough for him to step in.
“We can use the Monet. I won’t risk both,” Wes said after a long moment of consideration. If he used one to lure the thief, he wouldn’t risk the other. “I can have it brought to the club whenever you want.”
“Good.” Agent Kostova nodded. “Now to get the word out, I’d suggest you attend a couple of social functions, go to those types of parties where the thief has been showing up at. Drop hints about the Monet in casual conversation. Since we’re positive he’s a local man, word should get to him quickly.”
“Wes, the annual polo match is scheduled for tomorrow, and Emery has a gala tonight. We could go to the gala and if we still need to spread the word, we could play polo,” Jaxon suggested. “You know how quickly word spreads beneath the tents.”
“Very well.” He rose and shook Jaxon and Agent Kostova’s hands. It was time to go home.
He’d hated to leave Callie all alone at the house. After leaving Paris yesterday she’d been quiet. He didn’t like it. He wanted her laughing, smiling, playful. Not guarded and secretive. She’d been too tired from the flight last night and he’d left her to sleep while he’d busied himself with calls and plans. Hours had passed quickly in his black room as he caught up on business. He hadn’t gone back to his own room, knowing he’d want to go to Callie and make love to her. It had been better to exile himself to the king-size bed in the black room for the night.
After he left Jaxon’s club, he drove home to seek out his little masterpiece. He’d had an art room prepared for her and wanted to show it to her. When he pulled into the main drive of his house, there were several cars out front. With a scowl, he recognized two of them. He left his Hennessey out front and strode inside the large door. His trusted butler, Bradley, seemed too relieved to see him.
“Mr. Thorne, we have a situation,” Bradley murmured delicately as he kept up with Wes’s long strides.
“What sort of trouble?”
A frown deepened on his butler’s face. “Your parents are in the Winter Garden with your sister and her fiancé. Ms. Taylor is there as well.” Bradley’s fists clenched.