“I always wondered why Anterdec hired me.”
“In spite of your shaky past, you mean?”
McCormick hit the bullseye.
“Yes.”
“I’ll admit, hiring an ex-Navy SEAL who’d spent nearly two months on an inpatient psych ward was not my vision of the ideal candidate as security detail for my company,” McCormick said. Understatement of the year. McCormick was a judgmental bastard. Gerald knew it.
So did the old man.
“And if that were all we dug up, you never would have made it to the first interview. Fortunately, our team knows that I have a nuanced view on people.”
Gerald struggled not to snort, smirk, snicker or guffaw.
“And when I learned you violated federal and international law for the sake of a higher good, I knew you needed to be on Anterdec’s team.”
“Good to know.” He frowned. “If you already knew I was the one with the relic, why did you call Suzanne and ask?”
The old man’s eyes clouded with confusion. “That’s funny. I asked Suzanne to come to my house because Declan recommended it.”
“Declan?”
“He never mentioned you were the heir.”
“I never told him.”
“Then why would he suggest I call Suzanne and...”
Their eyes met in the rearview mirror.
James McCormick chuckled. “Declan as matchmaker. I never would have thought it.”
Good thing Declan wasn’t Gerald’s boss anymore.
Because he was a dead man.
“You have to give Declan McCormick credit. It worked, right? He got me to show up and run into you at his father’s house.” It was morning, and she was at his place, her friend Kari promising to walk Suzanne’s dog while she spent the night here. His place wasn’t much compared to hers, but it was home.
His home.
Soon they’d have their home.
But no one was in a rush.
“James was in on it, too, in his own way. He’d known about the relic all those years.” Naked and sleepy, they took their time under the covers, talking and playing, the casual way she let the sheet slip off her breasts a simple pleasure. He hadn’t been this intimate with her ever. They were in new territory now, and so far, both had taken to it with such natural grace that it seemed too good to be true.
Gerald loved the access he had to her body. Couldn’t wait to make her his muse.
Again.
The long, pale torso had always fascinated him, her ribs stretching out in a line of gridded perfection, as if she’d been given more bones than usual. Strong, lean legs that felt perfect around his waist at just the right moments. Arms with the right tone and slim surgeon’s hands. Her hair was honey and her eyes were ocean. She’d always hated her freckles but for him they were a map, points on a canvas, a speckled layering of character.
When she smiled, she lit the world.
“It’s all good,” Gerald said with a sigh. “I got McCormick to fund the arts center forever.”
“And paperwork shows McCormick had been trying to buy it from Hopewell for ages. Maybe he saw an opportunity.”
“We already had a meeting set up for that day! And Declan hates when other people meddle in his and Shannon’s lives. I’ve heard him grumble about it in the back of the limo for years. His wife and mother-in-law are Olympic champions in Meddling.”
“They medaled in meddling?” she joked.
He groaned at the terrible wordplay.
“Meddling got us here.” Her hand moved from his knee between his legs, the slow quality of her journey reassuring, sensual in its timing. She knew how to hold him, stroke him, make him feel a rising urgency that was tempered now.
Calibrated by the knowledge that this wasn’t going away.
And that she wasn’t a dream that would soon end in nightmares.
Since they’d reunited, the dreams had faded again, consigned to a back corner of his subconscious.
“It all worked out for the best. The Afghani officials are over the moon about the relic. You donated it, and now your hands are washed of it. No charges against you, and Kulli’s being investigated for antiquities fraud.”
“Plus there’s the clause in the will,” Gerald reminded her.
“I couldn’t tell you.” In the event that Gerald did donate the relic, Harold Hopewell had set aside a $100,000 inheritance for him. Suzanne wasn’t allowed to mention the clause—per Hopewell’s instructions—until or unless Gerald decided to donate.
“I know. A happy surprise.”
“You’re keeping it, right?”
“Some of it, sure. Enough to get out of debt and donate a little to the center.” It wasn’t enough for Gerald to retire on, but it would accelerate the timeline for him to be able to just be an artist all day.
“Nice,” she said.
“But the McCormicks already funded the center and some camps, so...”
“What’s it like to work for the McCormicks?” she asked, making Gerald vibrate with amusement. Completely nude, their limbs twisted against each other, her smooth thigh found his, the delight of hair against bare skin a sensory buffet. He couldn’t stop touching her, hands caressing, eyes absorbing. He was readying for an art project.
Later, he thought.
Later she would pose.
“You know what it’s like. You work for them, too.”
Her own eyes took him in, hungry for more. What did he look like to her? He’d bulked up these ten years, his shoulders bulging with strength, legs built like cabled powerhouses, thick and sturdy. Veins bulged over well-defined, taut skin. He was smiling, his cheeks red, his morning stubble coming in a cinnamon red that had always surprised her.