And judging from the smirk Josh casts my way, he knows it, and planned it. “I guess you had better bid on the Merit auction,” he suggests, before pursuing Faith, and no doubt doing so with the certainty that he’s now gotten rid of me, but I am not dissuaded from what I want, ever. And I want Faith Winter. And in truth, Josh has given me a gift, a couple actually. He’s allowed me a glimpse into what makes Faith tick, and at her core, there seems to be pride, not greed. That doesn’t make her innocent of the crimes I suspect her of, and in fact, it might simply make her a perfect criminal, able to hide behind a perfect fa?ade of innocence. But that second gift Josh gave me was the realization that at some point, maybe even from that very first provocative moment when I first made eye contact with Faith, my original agenda has changed. I stopped looking for ways to prove her guilt, and started looking for ways to prove her innocence. That might seem as if it works for her, but the truth is, it doesn’t. Because when I want to believe in someone and they let me down, they betray me, my wrath is vicious.
I start walking, pursuing Faith myself, not about to let her get away. When I reach the end of the hallway, I find the immediate area a ghost town, the main gallery area cleared. An announcement sounds over an intercom: The Chris Merit auction begins in twenty minutes in Room 4C. The painting is available for viewing in ten minutes. In other words, the guests are now piling into room 4C, and so likely, is Faith. I’m about to hunt it, and her down, when I spy Faith crossing the corridor toward the “staff only” door, clearly trying to use the twenty-minute gap before the auction to escape and compose herself. I decide to lend her a hand.
With long strides, I pursue her and manage to arrive at the door she’s exited, only sixty seconds after she disappears on the other side. Following her, I open it and enter the next room, shutting it behind me to find myself at a crossroads. Forward is the exit, and I’m about to step in that direction, when a sound catches my attention, and I look right to find Faith hurrying down a narrow hallway. Again, I follow, and as I pick up my pace, she gives a quick glance over her shoulder at me, but doesn’t stop walking. Just before I catch up with her, she turns and enters a doorway.
I give the “Women” sign an inconsequential look, and as I know she knows I will, I push open the door and enter.
I STEP INSIDE THE TWO-STALL bathroom only to have Faith whirl on me and attack, obviously waiting for this moment. “I meant it,” she declares, her eyes flashing with anger. “I can’t be bought. And why would you even try? I can’t figure it out. I said I’d fuck you and yet you still do that? Is it a power play? A way to stroke your ego?”
I lock the door, and step toward her, expecting her to back away, but she fearlessly stands her ground, and I swear this woman gets more interesting by the moment. She’s also made it easier for me to shackle her wrist and pull her flush against me, her hands settling on my chest. “How people handle other people’s money tells a story of who they are.”
Her fingers close around my lapels. “I gave you no reason to believe I was that kind of person.”
“I don’t know you, sweetheart,” I say, “And you don’t know me. But I do know that I’ve seen many a thief in virgin clothing.”
“You mean you got burned. Well, I’m not her, whoever she was, and why does this even matter? You just want to fuck me out of your system.”
“Because I do the fucking. I don’t get fucked,” I say. “A motto I live by, and I don’t intend to change that for you or anyone else.”
“Sounds to me like you have trust issues, that aren’t my problem,” she accuses.
“A bit like you thinking I was trying to buy you when you already agreed to fuck me,” I say, tangling fingers into her hair and not-so-gently tugging her gaze to mine. “I’m not him,” I add, “whoever he was, but as you said. Why does it matter? You just want to fuck me out of your system.”
“Why do I want you?” she breathes out. “You’re such an arrogant bastard.”
“The arrogant bastard who’s going to fuck you better than you’ve ever been fucked, sweetheart,” I promise, my mouth closing down over hers, and I can feel her breathe out in reaction, as if my kiss is what she’s been waiting for, and it turns me on. Fuck. She turns me on. Too fucking much considering I sought her out to destroy her.
Angry with myself for losing focus, and at her for being that damn distracting, I tear my mouth from hers, my hands settling at her hips. Staring down at her swollen lips, her lipstick untouched, but she will not be, in every possible sense, when I am done with her. “You want one night?” I ask. “That’s your hard limit?”
“Yes,” she confirms, grabbing my lapels again and tilting her chin up to add, “That’s my hard limit. Take it or leave it.”
“Then here’s my hard limit,” I say. “We agree that I’m going to change your mind about your hard limit.”
“No,” she says in instant rejection. “That essentially makes my limit obsolete.”
“Your limit stands,” I say. “But I’m telling you up front. I’m going to change your mind. Starting now.”
“Are you asking for my agreement or demanding it?”
“Stating a fact and sparing us time considering we have about ten more minutes before that auction starts and you’re missed.”
“Fine,” she says. “I’ll save you lost energy while you spare us lost time. You can’t change my mind.”
I react to the absoluteness in her tone, lifting her from the wall and turning her to face the sink, her hands settling on the counter, my big body caging hers from behind. Her reaction is a lift of her chin, her gaze meeting mine in the mirror with defiance in the depths of her stare. “One night,” she repeats, adding a smooth, “Tiger” to the end of the sentence, as if she wants to poke the very tiger she’s just called me.
“Do you know how much I enjoy a challenge?” I demand, tugging her lace dress up to her hips, her nearly naked ass now under my palms.
“Too much,” she replies, not even sounding breathless, “In fact some might say that indicates you’re insecure at your core.”
Amused, challenged, I give her backside a teasing smack that earns me a yelp, before I turn her to face me. “Tell me if it’s too much and I’ll stop.”
I pick her up and set her on the counter, spreading her legs, my hips settling between her knees, hands on the lace bands of her thigh highs. “Then again,” I say, my fingers sliding up her naked thigh, to rest just at the edge of her silk panties, “since I’m such a bastard, if you tell me it’s not enough, I might not care. But I’ll try to be polite about it all.”
“Polite?” she asks, giving a choked laugh, her hands covering mine on her thigh. “You?”