“Ah! Miss Ryan! You have arrived! Finally!”
Simone jumped as a male voice called out suddenly from behind her, the words loud, cheerful, and almost rapturous.
“Are you the, bas—!” Simone choked back the term she wanted to use before finishing her question. “I mean, person responsible for this—? This—? This!” She gestured upward ineffectually. An envelope clutched in her hand fluttered with her action.
Where in the heck had that come from?
“I am not Paolo Veronese, if that is your question.”
He possessed an amazing voice. Deep, vibrant notes interspersed the words, forming a melody of bass tones. And he sounded jovial...as if they spoke on something trivial, like the weather.
“You know this is a Veronese?” she demanded.
“Of course.”
“Then you must know its worth!”
“Once again, the answer is yes. That is why I commissioned it in the first place.”
He chuckled at the end of his statement. Simone sucked in a breath.
“Don’t you mean purchased?”
“No. I mean commissioned.”
“Of all the absurd—!”
Simone turned around. The heel didn’t. Her remaining shoe was lost to her, along with four inches in height. They’d been necessary inches, too. She didn’t finish her sentence, either. The words ended with a gurgle of sound, followed by a gasp.
Holy hell.
A man stood at the edge of the light sphere, framed by shadows. His hands rested on his hips. It didn’t look like a studied pose, but what did she know? It could have been. He wore an open long jacket that didn’t disguise broad shoulders, or a thick chest. The coat was crafted of dark fabric. She couldn’t tell color. The shirt beneath was just as dark. The lace at his throat was unmistakably red. The same shade of lace was at his wrists. It served as a backdrop for a mane of tawny-streaked blond hair. He wore it long. Straight...
And his face?
Oh, no. No.
The guy was gorgeous.
Simone sucked in a breath. Held it for long heart-pounding moments. Released it. This should not be a surprise. She’d been envisioning a fairytale castle. She hadn’t taken that to its conclusion, but fairytale castles needed fairytale princes to inhabitant them. That being the case, she should have guessed that sooner or later she’d be facing the equivalent of one.
Except the odds were too high.
Simone spent a millisecond more with her thoughts, before he lowered his chin and sent her heart to the pit of her belly with one look. All of it adding ballast to her first impression. The man wasn’t just handsome. He was beautiful. There wasn’t another description, although she sought one. He must have known her thought process, too, since he decided to wink.
Her gulp was audible. His lips twitched as if fighting a smile. But at least he lifted his chin back up, giving her the ability to function again. Then he just stood there, silently regarding her. She didn’t know for how long. She’d lost the ability to tell time. Dismissed any sense of misgiving over where she was, how she’d gotten there, and why. Didn’t recollect the damage she’d seen. She almost forgot her anger. Her heart pounded heavily from where it had fallen. It had an accompaniment, too, as if two drummers beat in concert.
All of this was patently ridiculous.
Beyond silly.
Simone wasn’t a teenager eyeing a crush-worthy male. She’d seen beautiful men. Maybe not to this man’s level, but still – she’d seen them. On billboards. Adverts. In clubs. She’d worked with male models in class. She’d never had a reaction like this, however. Her mouth was dry. Her wits felt scrambled. She seemed to have lost any vestige of her earlier fury. How could she rage at a movie-poster bad-boy? She felt on the verge of fawning. Anger was the far better option.
But...
Damn everything.
He had amazing blue eyes, their color akin to a dark sky lit by a full moon. They were complete overkill.
Crap.
The fawning had started. She was waxing poetic. Keeping it unspoken was the only good part. It couldn’t be just her, though. He must have this effect on everyone who came into contact with him. Or worse.
Simone quickly shifted her gaze to the darkness over his shoulder, avoiding further eye contact. It was a self-defensive move. It probably looked it. She cleared her throat. Tried to speak without a tremor. It almost worked.
“Are...you going to answer me?”
His brows rose, giving her another affectation that sent her pulse racing. She should have moved her gaze further. A lot further.
“Which time?’ he finally offered.
She gestured at the artwork behind and above her. The envelope in her hand crinkled, reminding her of its presence. She ignored it again. She was in self-preservation mode. Her entire attention was on him. Along with every defense she could bring to bear. The anger sparked into being again at his nonchalance. She was grateful.
“Ah. Yes. The painting,” he remarked.
“So...you are the responsible party?” she fired back.
“I own it, if that is your question.”
“And you don’t care?”
“Care?”
“That it’s been ruined!”
“Really? You think so?”
Her glance moved to his.
Oh, Simone. Big mistake.
He stepped toward her, as if to get a better view of the painting. Trouble was, he didn’t move his gaze from hers. A high-pitched hum started up in both ears before he halted, about an arms-length away. Faint touches of air reached her and for some reason, his breathing exactly matched hers. Oh. This was bad...and yet, incredibly exciting. Hopefully, he wouldn’t spot the trembling she struggled to control.
He flicked a glance up toward the painting behind her. Simone’s breath caught. Her heart stuttered. And then he looked back to her, his lips twitching as if he knew her response! Worst of all, she hadn’t managed to move her eyes.
Wow.
He was incredible. There wasn’t an unhandsome feature. He even had perfect lips. Full. Fairly feminine looking, except there was a distinct shadow of whiskers on his upper lip and jaw. She’d rarely beheld such a kissable mouth, and –.
Kissable?
Oh. Shit. She was losing her mind.
“A bit of tempera. Perhaps some casein,” he finally spoke up.
“What?”
“The painting you worry over. I speak of what will be needed to repair it.”
“Oh. No. No. That’s oil.”
He lifted his brows again. Simone actually swayed. This was terrible. And terribly thrilling, at the same time.
No.
It was terrible. He was a complete stranger. She didn’t fit a victim profile, but she was definitely vulnerable. She didn’t even know where she was.
“You believe so?”
He took a step nearer, closing in on personal space. She should step back. She really should. She really needed to get back on her heels, too. Simone’s head appeared to be level with his upper chest. He wasn’t just wearing a red lace collar thing. He had a large diamond stud fronting it. It twinkled with the available light. But worse was how his move had put the light on him. And this view was incredible.
Actually...the guy didn’t have a bad angle.
Anywhere.
Simone’s heart pounded within her chest, while the hum in her ears intensified. All of it foreign. Electrifying. Absolutely mad. She needed to keep her mind on facts here. The artwork. The damage. His perfidy.
Her answer.
“I think he used oil...but it needs a chemical analysis. A protein-based binder wouldn’t have the same...intensity.”
The last word hovered between them, carrying an undertone of meaning due to the breathy, husky-tone she’d used.
“Very well. Oil," he finally answered. “And pigments.”
“What?”
“If you are to repair my painting, you’ll need those.”
“Me?”
“Who else?”
“Oh, no. No. Please. I wouldn’t dare touch it. That is a priceless work of art. It needs a master.”
He shrugged. “Actually...it’s of little moment.”
His answer should have been an effective deterrent to the physical sensations she couldn’t seem to halt. It really should. Simone licked her lips, using the time to fashion a reply that might carry at least a hint of irritation.
“Little?” she finally sputtered. Oddly, she didn’t sound angered. Her tone carried interest, excitement, and all manner of emotion except ire. “You ruined a priceless piece of artwork...and call it little?”
“Very little. But, until yester-eve, I would have agreed with your evaluation.”
“You would?”
“Indeed, although you are wrong on one account. That painting is not priceless.”
“Are you insane?”
“More pragmatic,” he answered.
“Pragmatic?”
The word didn’t remotely match her tone. Her increased pulse. The quick gasps she managed to gain that he seemed to match. Exactly. Something was happening here. Something weird. A little frightening. And a lot thrilling. Perhaps she was the insane one, and that thought hadn’t occurred to her until just now.
“The painting has great value. I agree. But it is not priceless. Do you know why I say that?”
“I don’t even know why I’m here,” she admitted.
He lowered his head, coming perilously close to hers, and then he smiled, revealing brilliantly white teeth. Something was really odd. She couldn’t tell at this angle and with him blocking the light, but—?
No.
She refused to believe this. Even if the entire sequence of events was real, and she’d somehow been transported to a fairytale palace, met a dream prince so unbelievably sexy her body continually vibrated with an arousal she couldn’t deny or halt, she still wasn’t willing to add this. She didn’t care what it looked like.
He did not have fangs.
Period.