Untrue Colors (Entangled Select Suspense) (11 page)

Chapter Fifteen

The
exhibit offered too many distractions. How could Alex act like an empty vessel when the hosts were exhibiting
Luxembourg Gardens
by Henri Matisse? Was this the first time it had been seen since it was stolen in 2006? When she walked out of the building tonight, she might never see it again. The thought depressed her. She wanted to stare at it to absorb the colors and the emotion, but she’d risk giving herself away and placing Simon and Henry in danger if someone discovered her identity. What would her mother do in this situation? She paused at her stupid question. Her mother would never be in this situation.

After Simon abandoned her to a group of buyers from Bahrain, every man in her vicinity tried to proposition her. The name Simon Dunn carried weight in these circles, because they backed off immediately upon realizing she was his, at least for the night.

She spoke softly with whomever she met and tried to merge into the background. Her champagne glass had been refilled as soon as it dropped to one-third full. She’d be passed out on the floor if she drank all the champagne offered to her. Roman and his cronies seemed to like their women impaired and would be offering champagne throughout the evening. Alex placed her now-full drink on a decorative table with other glasses to speak to whomever was within her vicinity. When the conversation waned, she lifted up a nearly empty glass next to hers and wandered away. Within two minutes, she was holding a full glass again.

The echoes inside the room enhanced the volume, rhythm, and cadence of the guests’ accents. On a normal night, she’d listen in to pick up new phrases and practice her comprehension. Tonight, however, her eavesdropping had to focus on things related to Henry’s painting.

A familiar French tenor voice carried over the wall and straight into her gut. Brian Fouchet, one of Luc’s art dealers. She ambled away, but kept tabs on his whereabouts. If Luc was in the building as well, her entire plan could end without beginning.

Sipping more champagne, she glanced up at a Picasso drawing. She knew the one. It was one of thirty-three from his sketchbook stolen in 2009. The paper had been manhandled and the charcoal had faded in places, but it was otherwise in decent condition. She heard someone approach and turned to see Henry standing next to her, mouthwatering in a Dior tuxedo. He wore wealth well.

“Mr. Fisher. Are you enjoying yourself?” She faced Henry, away from the opening to the room where Brian stood.

Henry acted disinterested in her. She was glad. Her heart bounding with excitement over his appearance would not help her monitor Brian’s movements.

“I’m disappointed in the lack of quality portraits in the gallery.” He brushed an arm across the scooped opening in the back of her dress, but didn’t linger.

“Portraits must be a popular form of art.” She held her voice steady through the bloom of shivers he’d caused. “I had my portrait done in high school. It sits over the fireplace in the den of my parents’ main house. Standing for hours was dreadful.”

“I would imagine.” He was drinking scotch. Hopefully, not too much. He needed to remain clearheaded. “What do you think of this drawing?”

Her eyes lifted to the painting, while her ears listened for Brian, still standing on the other side of the partition. “I like it. It’s a Renoir, if I’m not mistaken?”

“I think it’s Picasso. It’s hard to tell all the artists apart.”

“Are you going to buy it?” She couldn’t hear Brian anymore. A surge of panic prepped her legs to run, but common sense forced her to remain in place.

Henry continued talking, unaware of the threat within his arm span. “I’m debating between this and the Dürer.”

Fluffing the long side of her hair over half her face, she leaned in to whisper to Henry. “Do you want my opinion?” She rolled her finger over the rim of her champagne flute, trying to ignore the tension gripping her heart and freezing her muscles.

“I’d love your opinion.” Henry sounded fascinated.

Brian moved behind her as she spoke to Henry. He was speaking French to one of the Russians. Something about creative financing options.

When he passed her, she took a deep breath. Her shoulders relaxed as the beat of Brian’s footsteps faded away. “I would take the Picasso.”

“You would?” He smiled with laughter sparkling in his eyes, pretending her opinion didn’t matter. Despite his actions, he’d listen to her.

She swirled the champagne in the flute. “Absolutely. I mean, he’s super famous. I’ve never heard of Durber before.”

“I think you mean Dürer.” Roman strolled up to her, encircled her waist, and pulled her close as though he’d purchased her for the night. Simon had warned her that Roman, as host, could and often did take advantage of his position to get closer to the wives and girlfriends of his guests. He wasn’t as tall as her two companions, but he had five armed guards who provided him with all the strength he needed.

“That’s exactly who I meant.” She tried to act impressed with his wealth, power, and grandeur, but it may have come across as too welcoming of his advances. He began rubbing her arm with his thumb.

“Are you buying?” Roman asked Henry.

“I’m interested in the Picasso. Any other buyers?”

Roman nodded. “Two. Make me your best offer.”

Henry stared at the sketch. His brow furrowed for a moment as though he needed to think about what to say next. “Forty, cash at the door.”

“Too low.”

“I’m only authorized to bid up to fifty.”

“Sold.” Roman fondled Alex’s arm, but otherwise ignored her. “I’m glad you came tonight. You should attend the auction in Atlanta next week. I hear they have a few portraits in the time period your client is interested in, and you can walk with good provenance on any item you buy.”

Atlanta? Would Henry want to search overseas? That would require using Danielle’s passport and possibly surviving another hair appointment. She’d be bald by the end of this adventure.

“I’ll consider it.” Henry sipped his scotch and moved the discussion to the history of the house.

Roman’s hold on her tightened, forcing her to lean into him to maintain her balance on the darn stilettos. His hand migrated south. Henry noticed. His grip on the glass tightened enough to cause the veins on his knuckles to bulge. She smiled blankly at Henry to assure him she didn’t care, but his eyes darkened and his Adam’s apple throbbed.

Simon and his wonderful smile approached, one hand in his pocket and the other carrying a drink. He stepped to her side, and Roman immediately released her. She was thankful he’d come when he did, because Henry was about to make a monumentally bad call.

“I hope to see you in Atlanta, Mr. Fisher.” Roman shook Henry’s hand and turned to Simon. “You have a beautiful companion. Take care of her.” He kissed her on the cheek and walked away to speak with another guest.

Simon began discussing the logistics of the sale with Henry. Standing a few steps behind them, she glanced at a small sketch from an unknown fourteenth-century artist while watching for Brian. A waitress handed her another glass of champagne. She held the glass, but didn’t drink.

She moved to stand with the men, but froze in place as Brian stepped in front of Simon and Henry. She sucked in a sharp breath. Glancing down at the floor, she flipped her hair over her eyes so she could observe him.

“Simon, what a surprise. I didn’t think you liked art, only deals.” Brian clasped Simon’s arm and greeted him like an old friend.

“I don’t, but I promised Colin I’d help him acquire a few pieces for his clients. Brian Fouchet, meet Colin Fisher.”

Brian sized up Colin and must have found him acceptable. They shook hands. Brian pointed to the lounge area. “Come. Let’s all share a drink.”

“I have some business to finish.” Simon slapped Brian on the shoulder. “When I’m done, I’ll meet you in the great hall.”

Simon treated Alex, standing behind him, as though she didn’t exist. She appreciated the gesture. Her legs barely held her in place while she waited for Luc’s right-hand man to leave her vicinity.

Brian, after what felt like seven lifetimes, left to return to the exhibition area. His departure sent the air back into the room. Alex could breath easier. She exhaled, fighting to keep herself from hyperventilating. She’d spent weeks evading Luc’s men, and yet she’d almost walked into her enemy’s grasp dressed as a party favor.

Simon and Henry meandered off to obtain the payment for the Picasso, while Alex hustled to the ladies’ room to regain her composure. She’d meet them out front. A few minutes later, she headed to the main stairway. A large hand clasped her arm and spun her around. Roman? No.
Brian.
She tried to pull away, but he grabbed her chin. He was never the most handsome man in a room, or the most powerful, but he used those around him with the skill of a puppeteer.

“Alex? You look remarkably well for a dead woman,” he said in French in a volume only she could hear. “Who or what brings you out of hiding?”

She couldn’t let him connect her to Simon or Henry, so she stayed silent. Maybe he hadn’t seen her with them. Maybe.

He remained perfectly still, staring into her eyes with venom. He’d hold her until Luc was notified of her location unless…

She stepped back and pulled him with her. Her foot slipped on the stairs. She let out a loud screech and tried to brace herself for the fall. Brian backed away with wide eyes and a pinched mouth. Her free foot slipped over another step, and she dropped backward, hoping she didn’t break anything as she flung herself down the stairs. She landed in two strong arms. Roman.

“Are you all right?” He carried her to the bottom of the stairs. A minor hero in her continuing tragedy.

She blamed the long folds of her gown and thanked Roman for his assistance with a hug and a gracious smile. Brian hadn’t followed, but he would. The second Roman released her, she headed into the great hall and the crowds of people milling about after purchasing some art. She located Brian at the top of the stairs speaking with two other men. They spoke in angry hushed tones and then all of them bounded down the stairs two and three steps at a time.

She cut into one room and then circled around until she found a small back hallway. One glance back over her shoulder made her blind to the people in front of her. She slammed into someone taller and stronger than her. Henry. Her wrap and his coat draped over one of his arms.

“Ah. There you are. Ready to go?” His body blocked her escape, and she struggled to free herself of his embrace. He clasped her tighter the more she fought. “What’s wrong?”

She reached out to drag him farther into the more private area of the house, but the man was an immovable object, unless he wanted to be moved.

“I’ve been spotted.” She tried to act composed, but words rushed out in panicked whimpers. “We need to leave. Now.”

Was Brian behind them?

“We need to go. Please,” she begged.

Henry draped his long trench coat over her, shrouding the red gown in black. He then arranged her wrap over her shoulders and her hair, making her into a mere shadow of the vibrant blonde in the red gown. “Shhh. I’m here. I’ll take care of you.”

He held her so tightly she couldn’t increase her speed to anything faster than a stroll. The side door was the closest exit. Henry maneuvered her through the door and into the field-turned-parking lot, where millions of dollars’ worth of automobiles stood in soggy grass and mud.

“Who is he?” he asked, his mouth touching her ear as though propositioning her for a night of sensual activities.

“I can’t tell you.”

His arm never left her waist, a guide, a protector. The easy manner with which he escorted her between cars tempered her urge to run as fast as she could away from Luc’s malevolent employees.

“Where’s Simon?” She relaxed a fraction of a shiver at the sight of Simon’s Range Rover.

“He’s meeting with a colleague. He’ll find his own way back to the hotel.”

Instead of opening the door, he spun her so her back leaned against the SUV, and then he kissed her. Deep, wet, hungry, and soul crushing. What the hell was he doing?

They needed to leave as quickly as possible. She tried to lift her head, but he murmured through volcanic kisses to relax. Relax? Her muscles didn’t loosen a bit. She’d relax when they left Scotland and Luc’s men behind. Hundreds of miles behind. Henry’s hands brushed through her hair, and his mouth remained over hers, refusing to let anything separate them. It almost seemed as though he was swallowing her entire being, covering her physically and emotionally so his body and his infectious cool dominated the scene.

Footsteps passed behind them, and his intentions became clear. He was shielding her from everyone’s view. If anyone walked by, they would see a couple unrushed and intimate. Since Alex had never made her sex life a public spectacle, no one would assume she’d be making out with a man in the parking lot. They’d be correct in believing she wanted to jump in her car and race away, tires skidding and dirt flying. That wouldn’t happen with Henry around. Everything slowed around them, and she began to trust his instincts. She kissed him back. The beating of her heart still stammered with intensity, but this new intensity had more to do with Henry than Brian.

She could hear people leaving the exhibition and driving away. He continued to assault her lips with kisses that at any other moment would melt all her defenses. Her body sagged forward into Henry’s strong arms. She left her hands by her sides, and allowed him to engulf her presence until she disappeared into him and became a person no one would notice except the man overwhelming her.

After what felt like an hour or two of this sustained concealment, his lips stopped moving, but he remained touching her, his breath coming in and out in heavy waves.

“Shhh. Stay quiet for another moment.” He rested his forehead against the top of her head. His body stilled until his breathing became normal. Almost undetectable. “Ready to go?’

She couldn’t speak, so she just nodded her head and then slid into the SUV.

Henry and Alex didn’t speak on the way to the hotel. What could she say to him?
Thanks for hiding me from Brian and, by the way, your kisses have me wanting you in every possible way
. Instead, she rested her hand on his thigh. He glanced over at her, but wasn’t smiling. There was nothing amorous in his expression at all.