I can’t get Ruby Ashworth out of my head.

I spend the rest of the day in the display rooms, going through the setups and reviewing whether these pieces are absolutely the ones that should be presented to buyers. I want them sold, not sitting here. They’re worthless to me if they’re only in this room to take up space. A few I have moved back to the warehouse for the auction next month—I want it to be curated flawlessly—and a few others I have brought down and put out. 

I pull one of my associates, Clarissa, to tweak the lighting on a pair of Japanese vases in bronze. I’m not particularly taken with the vases, but there’s something in the curve of one of the decorative cranes worked onto the surface of the vases in silver that reminds me of the curve of Ruby’s neck sloping into her shoulder under the boatneck sweater she wore. That creamy skin, exposed by her blonde hair twisted back behind her head, fills my thoughts, replacing the cranes, replacing the vases, replacing the entire showroom.

I want to run one of my fingers down that slope, then hook it underneath her neckline to feel the warmth caught between the fabric and her naked skin. I want to curl my fingers underneath the hem of that shirt and tug it off over her head, freeing her pert breasts from cover. She just looked so damn innocent that it’s like staring at a blank canvas. Who wouldn’t want to rough up the surface with a little paint?

And those lips, those big blue eyes…maybe they were flashing with hate, but if I’m not mistaken, there was something more there, too. I saw those nipples rising through what must have been a bra with forgiving fabric. Or no bra at all.

“Are you getting ready to have intercourse with these vases?” 

The voice that breaks into my thoughts is a familiar one, and I’m laughing before I turn around. “What do you want, you greedy bastard?”

Jasper Pace’s blue eyes twinkle with his own laughter. “I’m only half as greedy as I was last year. And you didn’t answer my question.”

I clap him on the shoulder like we’re a pair of old men and incline my head sagely. “A man’s thoughts are not always centered on the things before his eyes.”

He chuckles. “Well, tone it down, Romeo. You’re giving the old ladies a fit.” Jasper nods his head to the side, where a pair of ancient women are looking at me from the corners of their eyes. The rosy color in their faces tells me that there’s probably an outward…indication that I’ve been thinking about Ruby. I give them a roguish grin, and one turns away, tittering something to her friend. 

“Thanks for the heads-up, buddy.” I discreetly adjust myself, dragging my mind away from what lies underneath Ruby Ashworth’s clothes. “What did you come in here for, anyway?”

Jasper rolls his eyes. “I don’t know what I’m doing, looking for something priceless from a guy like you.”

“I recognize value in many different forms. Are you looking for something specific?”

His eyes travel around the pieces in our immediate vicinity but his gaze doesn’t settle on anything. “I’m converting one of the rooms at my place in the Hamptons into a kind of studio for Isabella. Somewhere she can work on her designs when we’re not in the city.”

“That woman never slows down.” Isabella Gabriel’s profile has risen considerably since their wedding in the spring, but she still works like a madwoman—at least, that’s what I hear from Jasper when I see him around town. Isabella isn’t usually with him when he’s out during the day. She wants a worldwide empire to rival Pace, Inc., and I think Jasper loves that about her. “She’s a perfect match for you.”

“Don’t I know it.” A sentimental expression comes over his face.

I raise my eyebrows. “You’re still that head over heels?” Jasper was not one to get sentimental about women when we were in college together. Then he went and cried at his wedding, tears slipping down his cheeks.

He leans in. “Have you seen my wife? Damn right, I’m still head over heels.”

I look toward the ceiling, pretending to rein in a mild disgust. “This is—this is all too much, Jasper. Let’s get back to the original topic.”

“Your sexual interest in these vases?”

I put an arm around his shoulders and steer him in the opposite direction. “Your mind is in the gutter, my friend. Luckily, I’ve been thinking about business, so I’ve come up with the perfect piece for you.”

Forty-five minutes later—Jasper never decides anything quickly—he’s paying for some sketches of pendant designs by one of the Renaissance greats—jewelry that was ultimately worn by the cream of the crop and even royalty. “Where is she, by the way?” I lean against the polished mahogany counter while Clarissa wraps up the sketches in their protective case.

“Isabella?” Jasper signs the slip and pushes it across the counter toward Clarissa. “She’s home.” There’s a wicked glint in his eye.

“As long as she’s not at work on a Saturday.”

“You’re at work on a Saturday. Since when do you personally assist clients in choosing pieces?”

I give him a look. “Since always.” Although lately I’ve been spending more time in the warehouse, sifting through shipments from estate sales. Clarissa is always shaking her head when she finds me in there, but what the hell is the point of running your own business if you can’t do the parts you like? Yes, there’s a certain thrill in strolling into an estate sale and taking the whole thing, a certain cold lust that runs through my veins when I pull it off, but I like to get my hands dirty.

In a sense.

“I actually just got back from an estate sale. I was on my way to the warehouse and got…caught up in a few things down here.”

Jasper nods. “How’d it go?”

“Terrible. The representative rejected me.”

Jasper faux-gasps. “Who would ever reject the callous and unfeeling Levi Blake, notorious dealmaker and haggler?”

Jasper should talk, but now more images of Ruby are flashing through my mind, one by one, still pictures of her lips, the curve of her waist, those blue eyes just aching for… “Ruby Ashworth. Of the Conyers Farm Ashworths.”

He narrows his eyes. “I’ve heard that name. Frank Ashworth was big into biotech?”

“Yeah. The company went under. A scandal. And then the son had some kind of accident—I don’t know many details. I just went to the sale.”

“Ruby’s the wife?”

“Ruby’s the daughter.”

Jasper’s eyes crinkle in a conspiratorial smile. “What’s she like? Obviously savvy enough to reject you.”

“She’s…” God, why can’t I think of her without every inch of me aching to get back to that house, to get back to her? “She’s something else.”

Jasper nods, looking me in the eye. “Sounds like she’s worth the chase.”