Chapter 52

Dylan Rider was staying late at the gallery. He took a generous swig of his whisky. Everything was set. All being well, by this time Friday evening, the painting would be in the recipient’s hands and he and Victor would be millions of pounds richer.

They’d bided their time as they’d planned from the beginning. Jit Monks had been hassling them, but he and Victor were never going to be rushed. They called the shots, and it was for that very reason things went smoothly. They’d already had to pay a significant amount to the gang that had stolen the painting with the proviso they’d get the rest of their cut when the painting was moved. There was also Jit Monks and the old boy minding the painting left to be paid. Monks was getting his cut when they’d offloaded it, and he seemed content enough with his percentage. The crafty old sod had negotiated a generous amount, but wasn’t anywhere near what he and Vic were getting once it was sold on. Monks might know plenty about robbing, but knew very little about the art world.

His thoughts drifted to Gemma, who was going to double-back to the gallery again tonight after she’d gone through the pretence of walking with her mate to the bus stop.

It had been damned hard work getting her to play ball, but eventually she capitulated just as he hoped she would. Women like her responded well to a language they understand . . . money. It amused him though that she’d negotiated a bigger cut for her part. He’d meant it when he’d told Victor she was smart.

Tomorrow, the driver with the van would be waiting outside her flat with everything loaded up. The whole operation had taken meticulous planning and they were now at the final hurdle. He liked the highs that massive heists gave him, and he was damn good at it. It was his attention to detail that ensured the plan worked, and this one was planned to perfection. But now it was almost over, he was considering lying low for a while. He’d analysed why the change of heart, and came up with the reason for the turn of events was Gemma. He wouldn’t go so far as to think he was in love with her, as the way he saw it love was for fools, but he really liked her. She was different from the rest and was the first woman to actually get under his skin, and despite him being wealthy and her being poor, she wasn’t in awe of him. No, he couldn’t imagine Gemma being in awe of anyone. He liked that she was quirky. It made her unique.

Time and time again, he kept telling himself she wasn’t for him. He had to let her go. And even though he knew that, somehow, he couldn’t see a future without her in it. On hindsight, though, he wished he’d never involved her in the whole operation. That way, she would have no idea about his involvement in the theft of the painting. She’d have seen him as a legitimate owner of a gallery and he might have been able to persuade her to stay on. Not particularly cleaning the gallery, but maybe they could have worked something out between the two of them.

It was too late for that now, of course. He had involved her, so he needed a pragmatic approach to work out what next. He knew his feelings were reciprocated. He was confident she felt the same way about him. The burning question was would they be able to forge a relationship when it was all over?

He had an overwhelming desire to try. Fuck what Victor thought. Dylan Rider always made things happen and right now, he knew categorically he wanted Gemma in his life.

He gulped down the last of his whisky. As soon as they’d offloaded the Portillo as planned, he’d go to her. She’d get her cut, that was only fair, but he’d put it to her that they continue to see each other and see how things developed from there.

He felt slightly elated. He was approaching thirty-eight and could see a whole new chapter in his life emerging.

Now, where was she?

His dick throbbed for her.

He was like a bloody rabbit when she was around.