By Private Invitation (15 page)

Her mouth dropped open. “A proposition? What the hell are you talking about?”

He turned to reach for her refrigerator. “You look a little uncomfortable in that
suit, hon. Why don’t you go get changed, then we’ll talk.”

He hadn’t been lying to her. He did have a proposition. Just not of a sexual nature.

With the great-sex buzz still zinging through his body, even after he’d spent two
hours waiting in his car for Carmen to leave,
he had to be careful not to overtip his hand and have Belle physically toss him out.
She was upset and angry and he didn’t want to make it worse by grinning like a fool.
He had no doubt she’d try to eject him if she decided she wanted him gone.

Of course, there was no way he was leaving. Not now.

He pulled open the fridge. A gallon of milk, a carton of orange juice, and a bottle
of white Zinfandel were the only beverages. He pulled out the wine just as something
hit him in the back. Turning, he caught a breath-stealing glance of a furious Annabelle
as she stomped away. A pillow lay on the floor by his feet.

For a brief second, he considered following her but decided against it. She needed
a little time to calm down.

He set the wine bottle on the table, scrounged up glasses from a cabinet, and waited.
A minute later, she stomped back, dressed in green army fatigues and a tight Penn
State T-shirt that’d seen better days. The faded pink cotton lovingly outlined every
single one of her abundant curves.

And given how his cock stirred, you’d think he was a teenager the way his body responded
around her.

Thankfully, he’d sat at the dining room table and his erection was hidden.

Watching her approach, he saw her emotions plainly on her face, defeat clear in her
eyes.

Annabelle dropped into the seat across from him, her mouth set, but her eyes suspiciously
wet. He poured her a glass of wine, topped his own, and then said, “Tell me.”

Without speaking, she reached for the glass and took a healthy swallow. She looked
ready to tell him to go to hell.

He braced for a fight, then released his tightly held breath when she started to talk.

“Carmen Moran was here to interview me for a position as a
freelance appraiser. I am
damn
good at what I do and Carmen’s firm is the most respected in the field. I wanted
that job, Jared.”

Surprisingly, he heard no condemnation directed toward him in her voice. Only self-recrimination.

No way would he let her feel bad about the attraction that registered off the charts
between them. He might not believe in true love or soul mates or anything so prosaic.
Pleasure as intense as what they’d experienced wasn’t something you just tossed away.

“Are you in financial trouble?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I’m in no danger of losing the shop. Yes, business has taken
a hit in the past few years but I’m not struggling.”

“So you don’t really need the job?”

Sucking in her bottom lip, she just stared at him, as if she didn’t want to say anymore.

Okay, fine. With a smile, he picked up his glass and walked into the living room.

“I’d love to see your home. Why don’t you show me around?”

“No.”

“Gee, Annabelle, is that any way to treat a guest?”

“You’re not a guest.”

“You wound me.” His eye caught on a grouping of paintings in the hallway that probably
led to the bedrooms and he headed over to look at them. “But don’t worry, I heal fast.”

“Jared, stop.”

He did, but only when he reached the hall.

“Holy shit.”

He stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the painting.

She had another O’Malley.

He moved down the hall, his heart starting to pound for no good reason.

She had two. The smaller painting wasn’t signed but he’d bet
his reputation that was an O’Malley, too. One he’d never seen. One he’d never heard
mentioned or catalogued.

“Jared!” Annabelle grabbed his arm and pulled him back in the direction of the kitchen.
Away from the paintings. “I want you to leave. Now.”

Annabelle’s heart threatened to pound out of her chest as Jared stared at her father’s
paintings in the hall.

She could explain being in possession of another O’Malley. She’d told him she had
a few. But Jared was smart and he knew O’Malley’s work.

She’d have a damn hard time explaining the unsigned portrait of her mother if he realized
what it was. And he would. She knew he’d be able to tell it was one of her dad’s just
by looking it. Everything about it screamed O’Malley, from the color of the paint
he used for her mom’s hair to the blue settee she lay on.

She needed him to leave now. Before he looked at her and began to ask questions. Questions
she couldn’t answer without risking everything she’d built here.

He didn’t put up a fight as she practically dragged him to the door that led to the
stairs on the outside of the building.

Maybe she should have realized he was making it too easy on her. But all she wanted
to do after that interview with Carmen was sit in her room and devour a pint of Turkey
Hill rocky road ice cream.

Flinging open the door, she shoved him through. “Keep the pin. Just don’t come back.”

She went to slam the door in his face but he put one hand on the door before she could.
With the other, he snagged the waistband of her sweats and pulled her closer.

Those blue, blue eyes stared into hers with an intensity she couldn’t break.

“I’ll be back to take you to dinner at seven,” he said. “Make reservations wherever
you want but be sure you’re here when I get back. You don’t want me to come looking
for you.”

Opening her mouth to tell him in no uncertain terms there was no way in hell she would
ever go out with him, Annabelle gasped when his mouth covered hers for a kiss that
took her breath away.

Hard, forceful, and utterly wicked, his mouth moved over hers with a possession she
should have fought.

But didn’t.

Shocked, she let him kiss her until her body began to respond. Her nipples peaked
and hardened, her sex moistened, and she had to force her arms to stay straight at
her sides, otherwise she would have wrapped them around his shoulders.

Then he released her.

She stared up at him, her lips parted as she drew in much-needed air. She felt the
weight of the pin in her pocket where he’d slipped it.

He looked cocky as ever, his grin lopsided. “And wear the pin. It looks good on you.”

Stepping out of Annabelle’s building, Jared walked across Main Street so he could
take a look at the entire building.

Built from square-cut stone blocks, the two-story structure looked like a box, but
its clean lines, large windows, and oak-plank door spoke of another time. A cornerstone
on the front proclaimed the year 1829. Good, strong bones. Like many of the other
buildings in the town.

Mayberry couldn’t hold a candle to Adamstown. He looked first left then right up Main
Street. He didn’t see a car coming either way. Way too quiet for a born-and-bred Philadelphia
boy.

The town probably rolled up its sidewalks by nine o’clock. Shaking his head, he started
walking east on Main. He’d driven in from the west and hadn’t seen much more than
houses. The rest of Main Street, all ten blocks of it, contained two small factories—Goods
Potato Chips and the Bollman Hat Factory. Each looked like they’d been entrenched
for years.

Annabelle’s was the only antiques store on Main and not visible from Route 272, which
bypassed the town. Most of the antique stores that were this area’s claim to fame
sat along that road. She did have a sign on the main highway, but it wasn’t large.
He wondered what kind of advertising she did to keep the business going.

Or maybe she didn’t need to. Maybe…

Maybe he was crazy for thinking what he was thinking.

He knew Peter and Catrina O’Malley and their lover, Danton Romero, had been killed
by an unstable woman with a fixation on Danton. He knew Peter and Catrina had left
behind a daughter who’d been in her teens at the time.

And he knew that Annabelle Elder owned three O’Malley paintings, one not even known
to exist.

Bypassing his car parked along the street, Jared decided to take a walk. Clear his
head.

He’d love to add those paintings to his collection. He wanted them almost as much
as he wanted her.

Other than Annabelle’s shop, the town boasted two churches—beautiful brick buildings
with stained-glass windows—a VFW, a beauty salon, a tailor, a café, and less than
a hundred private residences. Not two blocks from Annabelle’s was a small inn.

The Horse-and-Carriage Inn had Victorian gingerbread trim and about four different
paint colors. In the summer, the grounds and building would be shaded by mature trees.
The gardener had
an eye for landscaping and there was enough winter interest in the surrounding gardens
to avoid appearing barren.

Not what he was used to but it certainly ranked above the motel he’d seen on the drive
in.

He headed back to his car for his cell phone to make a reservation.

And give Dane another call.

“Annabelle! Annabelle, are you here? Do you know who I just saw walking down the sidewalk?”

Kate’s voice rang out from the shop, forcing Annabelle out of the stupor she’d fallen
into. “Up here,” she called.

In seconds, Kate bounded up the stairs, her eyes wide and shock plainly written on
her face. “You are never going to believe—”

“Jared’s in town. I know. Wine?”

Kate froze, then sank into the chair Jared had occupied not that long ago. “Did you
know he was coming? What’s he doing here?”

Annabelle poured herself another glass. “No, I didn’t know he was coming but he had
impeccable timing. Showed up just in time to screw up my interview with Carmen Moran.”

Kate’s eyes widened even further. “Oh, jeez, I completely forget about that. How’d
it go?”

Annabelle just shook her head.

“Oh, wow.” Kate grimaced. “What happened?”

After another healthy swallow of wine, she spilled the whole sordid story, cringing
as she thought about what she must have looked like, just fucked and probably smelling
like sex.

“I’m screwed,” she muttered. “You know that, right? Carmen Moran will never talk to
me again.”

“Please.” Kate rolled her eyes. “Who cares what that old biddy thinks, anyway? You’re
doing just fine on your own. What are you going to do about
Jared
?”

Annabelle frowned at her best friend. “Are you kidding? I’m not doing anything about
him. There’s no way I’m going to dinner with him.” She shook her head. “Jesus, Kate.
He saw the paintings in the hall. What if he figures out who I am?”

Kate waved that comment off. “Why would he even think that some random antiques dealer
might be the daughter of a famous painter because she has a few paintings by the guy?
You’re a collector.”

“Because he’s smart as hell. He’s going to realize the portrait of my mom is something
he’s never seen mentioned. Not ever. He’s going to want to know where I got it.” Annabelle
wanted to tear out her hair. “Hell, he’s going to want to buy it and I’m going to
have to tell him no. Jesus, everything’s messed up. The man is a complete menace.
I can’t believe I fell for his act. Again.”

“Alright, Annabelle.” Kate’s voice had the same tone she took with naughty children
and dirty old men. “Take a deep breath. You’ve got to snap out of this. This is not
the end of the world. He’s not going to figure it out.”

“God, I wish I could believe that.”

“Okay, so what if he found out? Would
that
be the end of the world?”

Icy fear coated her veins as she remembered back to just after her parents’ murders.
“I couldn’t go through that again. The gossip, everyone talking about them like they
were deviants. It was hell the first time.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Kate reached across the table to grab her hand. “I can’t imagine how
awful that was. But Jared is not a tabloid reporter.”

“No, he might be worse. He’s a collector.”