It looked quite painful attached there.
Ironically, he’d reassembled this particular piece in the middle of a fake stream made out of concrete, paint, and mock stone. Supposedly, he wanted it set in better context, than have stuck it with the more valuable items, reducing their values. All this effort wasted on this one piece of work only made it less appealing than if he’d stuck the torso out of a garbage can filled with solid gold. It was still a piece of shit and Sara would not be able to sell it, any more than Tepper would be able to get someone to pay for it.
She was quite willing to give it a try, however. A bet was a bet, especially when shook on. If a million dollars came out of the sale from trying to pedal the damn thing off on the first unsuspecting idiot who walked through the doors of the art gallery and that idiot had the required small change to purchase such a lovely work of unnatural art, then so be it. Sara was going to try to sell her heart out just to win this bet.
Tepper turned and started to collect the packaging of the other limbs sent them. Sara helped him out, grabbing a handful of bubble wrap. As she did, her stomach growled—loudly.
Her boss caught the sound and glared. “You skipped lunch, again, didn’t you?”
She was going to lie this time, but knowing he would see right through it—as always—decided not to. “I’d been too busy hanging tomorrow’s showpieces, forgot to eat. I’ll grab something on the way home.”
Tepper growled at this news. He dropped his bubble wrap, grabbed her by the wrist, and practically dragged her to the back room, where the office was located.
She thought they would stop there. There was a refrigerator in the staff lounge, and he usually kept something on hand in case they worked late—Chinese leftovers or a few slices of pizza. This was more often than not the norm.
However, Tepper kept going, dragging Sara behind him. He took her out the back exit door, directly behind the gallery, and literally shoved her inside his SUV.
“Next time you skip lunch, I will deduct twenty grand from your paycheck,” he warned, then walking around the vehicle to climb into the driver’s seat.
Her eyes widened. “Twenty grand? What the fuck for?”
Le D`oun eyes narrowed. “Two for swearing at me. And the other eight thousand is for disobeying my strict order that my favorite employee eat three square meals a day. And ten more, just because I can… and will.”
Sara glared at such an impetuous man. “You haven’t eaten today, either, you know.”
His shameless grin back came to her within a heartbeat, as he backed the SUV out of its stall, then headed down the alley toward the main street. “Why do you think I am taking you to lunch now?”
Sara glanced at her watch. “It’s four thirty in the afternoon, Tep. I would call it an early supper—old-folks Floridian time.”
“Potato, patato.” A quick shrug of his massive shoulders stated it was the same difference to him.
“We need to hang up the rest of those paintings. We don’t have time for this nonsense,” she ruled primly.
“As your boss, I say we have the time for nonsense. Those paintings will wait until we get back. They don’t have legs coming out of their ass to walk away with. But yours and my stomach cannot.” To add insult to injury against any further argument, Tepper’s stomach growled, too. He’d been reassembling the torso for the better part of three full hours and she knew well and good he’d skipped breakfast, same as lunch.
Who would’ve thought such an ugly work of art would have taken so long to put together?
Sara turned her eyes to the road. She loved being with this man while in the gallery. But inside a restaurant—in public, yet private? This would be a new change for their relationship, and it would be different.
Sara wasn’t quite certain she was ready for new and different—in public. She still hadn’t gotten over Casey Griffen’s discovery of her identity. Nor, what he did to her when he’d found out, then felt the need to punish her for it. What if that happened again? What if she dove into this relationship, way too deep, became far too involved with another man, and couldn’t get out as easily as she had from Griffen’s life, as well, Boyd McCarlye’s life?
She loved her job. Although the outcomes and circumstances were as different as night from day with both men, Sara did not want to lose Tep. She liked working for him. She loved his attitude about life. The smell of him was out of this world.
With Boyd, she’d been tremendously hurt by his betrayal, hurt again by the miscarriage. With Casey, she was still hurting. She’d fallen hard for the club owner, only to have him turn on her as he had. She never thought it would happen twice—but when it had, she’d been so unprepared for it. Hence, another disappearing act made to perfection.
“Mexican? Or burgers, Debra?” Tepper questioned, drawing her thoughts back into conversation by the mention of her new name.
Sara gave Tepper her undivided attention. It had been wavering into the past and caught up on past mistakes made.
“I get a choice this time?”
Tepper’s head nodded as he controlled the SUV through an intersection. He turned right at the next traffic light.
“I’m actually hungry for Italian, if you don’t mind,” she said. Just the thought of a plate of pasta covered in Alfredo sauce caused the mouth to water.
His face whipped to hers in rapid, mortified haste. “Italian? Christ, Debra! I’m a starving French man. We do not eat Italian food…if we can help it.”
“But you eat Mexican—and Chinese?” she teased, gaining a huge grin from her handsome boss.
“Mexican food beats the bloody hell out of a pile of spaghetti any day of the week.” He even shuddered as afterthought at having to consume pasta smothered in tomato sauce. And not good tomato sauce, to his voiced opinion.
“Fine, make it burgers as takeout so I can get back to my hung paintings and you can get back to finishing up with your piece of shit. I mean… retro-masterpiece, don’t I?”
Tepper smiled even more. “Burgers, not takeout, and you will get back to work when I take you back. As far as Up Shit Creek…I think half-man, half-alien can wait. It’s not like he can walk away.”
Sara recklessly asked him without proper thought, “And when will this be?” After work, she planned to do a week’s worth of laundry. Beyond it, eight hours of uninterrupted sleep well deserved.
Tepper turned his face to hers, gave her a moment to look into his thoughts, and told her flat out exactly what he had brewing behind those gorgeous teal eyes. “We’ll go back to the gallery when I feel like it.”
He did not say anything more. And Sara did not ask any more. Her brain had jumpstarted into the wrong direction.
When he felt like it?
Tepper was prone to unusual behavior and spur of the moment decisions. Such an easy answer could mean tomorrow, next week, even next month, if the mood suited this man. He was known to skip out early just to do a little fly-fishing. Once, he went skydiving before a highly publicized opening—because it was a Monday, and he said Monday’s were the best day to die…if it God’s plan.
The man was quite theosophical.
If they did not return to the gallery until tomorrow, she would be billions of minutes behind in work, and not ready for the gallery opening tomorrow night; and he would likely do his usual and not help her out, saying she could handle it and he had faith in her.
There were a thousand things yet to do, preparations she had to finalize. Sara had to call the caterer to verify the headcount for the wines they were going to serve. She couldn’t waste time while eating a hamburger and fries because her stomach had growled at the worst possible moment. And Tepper seemed as though he wanted to waste the rest of his day.
She was about to tell him this simply would not do when he pulled to the curb, turned to her, and gave her an easy smile melting her into a large pool of forgetfulness in only a matter of seconds.
“We’re going to go to my place. We are going to start the grill. We
are going to have a burger or two. We will eat to our hearts content, drink until skunk drunk, and if lucky, take a moonlight swim to cool down the steam.”
“Tepper Le D`oun! You know we don’t have time for this!” Sara fumed, avoiding all talk of steam and moonlight swims. He just told her he kidnapped her for the day. She was pissed.
But this was Tepper’s usual behavior. She should have known better than to trust the man.
“We have the time, Debra,” he ruled.
“And if I don’t agree?” she childishly asked.
“Then you don’t get to enjoy the culinary pleasure of one of my world famous burgers. Nor swim in an Olympic sized pool, complete with cabana bar, massage table, and hot tub.”
Sara snorted, adding tartly, “Only you would have an Olympic sized pool! That you likely never enjoy. Wasn’t it you, who took a quick jaunt to New Zealand last month just to swim in clear water and frolic with sharks?”
“Debra, Debra, Debra,” he repeated, shaking his head. “Men don’t frolic with sharks. They become one with the beast. And did I also mention I have an Olympic size barbecue.” Devilishly said, he added, “Olympic size bed,” only to spite the tongue.
“Okay! Enough already.” Sara crossed her arms in defiant posture. “You win. I have been officially kidnapped, and you will have the worst gala opening tomorrow night…ever! And it won’t be my fault this time. It will be yours.”
“You just can’t admit it, can you?” he reasoned.
One lone brow cocked on Sara’s face. “Admit what?”
“That you’re actually happy you get a break from the hectic month we’ve had. That you’re going to enjoy a backyard barbecue, cooked by none other than little old me. And that you will enjoy my company to the utmost, when out of the workplace and no one the wiser to what we’re up to.”
“Is that what this is all about?” she quizzed, with expectations the answer would be what she wanted to hear.
“Is what about?”
“You get to cook, show off, and spend time with me, which doesn’t include the gallery or what others may see?”
His left brow rose, as did the corner of his mouth. A slight tilt made to create a near smile on his lips. “Is it that obvious?”
Sara shook her head as she bit down on her bottom lip. “With you, Tep… nothing is ever obvious. Nor, what it ever seems.”
She meant this with every fiber of her being. Tepper Le D`oun was the most closed book on the shelf. He would only let you read a little of him at a time. Even then, it was not enough to get insight into the real man. Rugged good looks and extreme wealth couldn’t tell you what a person was really like. An individual had to dig deeper and get under the layers to find the flaws.
She should know.
“We’ve been together six months, Debra. I don’t know a damn thing about you that is not work related. I thought it high time I get to know the real you. This is the perfect opportunity. We’ve both had a lot of stress over the last few weeks. I need a break, so do you, and a pile of strange limbs can wait.”
“Are you trying to say…?” She wondered if he was hinting she wasn’t doing her job well enough, or seemed burnt out from it, because this wasn’t true.
Sara dared this man to find someone better than her, someone more willing to bend to his every whim.
“That I am interested in you?” he finished instead. “Yes. I am. Does my interest disturb your moral convictions somehow? I rather thought the feeling was mutual these last few months.” His grin slowly fell. “If I took in the wrong signals, or was wrong about how you feel about a relationship, I can always turn this vehicle around—no harm, no foul. You won’t be fired from your job if you don’t like me in a physical way. It might be a little awkward for a few days, but I will definitely get over it—with time.”
Sara’s eyes widened again. Her brain screamed out, Oh, God, Tep. I like you. I like you a little too much. Yet she kept her mouth clamped firmly shut to prevent such a thing from slipping out at the worst possible moment.
This silence gave Tepper fuel to add more.
“I’ve stunned you, haven’t I?’
Sara nodded. “Yes. A little.”
“Is there any interest, on your part? Mine is highly peaked, just to let you know.”
He waited with baited breath for her answer.
Sara took her own deep breath. “Yes. There is a lot of interest, as a matter of fact.”
She watched as he flared his nostrils, gave a quick nod of the head, turned his attention back to driving the SUV, checked the traffic, pulled from the curb, and drove the remaining distance to his place in mutual silence.
As he headed into the pricier section of town, turned down a side street lined with poplar trees, this silence stretched out. The vehicle stopped in front of a three-story mansion, red brick façade and worth every penny spent on it.
It was not until he shut down the engine when Tepper was ready to talk. But he did not use his mouth to form words. He put his hand behind her head and pulled her pursed lips to his; firmly planting his mouth onto hers.
The sudden contact had Sara’s mind reeling. Her thoughts ran in circles. Her heart hit the brakes, restarted, then hit the brakes again. One truly incredible kiss had lit her whole body on fire. She was so warm she would have sworn her eyeballs were sweating.
Six-feet-six Tepper Le D`oun could certainly kiss the socks off the most confirmed nun. Never again would she question if a Frenchman could kiss a woman.
He pulled back from her mouth as quickly as he’d sought it. “That was to ease the tension in you,” he muttered.
He must have thought more on the sudden release, because it was not more than a half-second before his lips found hers again. This time it was no brief kiss he gave her. No. This time Tepper drove his tongue deep into the recesses of her parted lips; battling wills. His hand found the back of her head. And there was no doubt, whatsoever; he wanted her as badly as she wanted him.
For the better part of the last six months, Sara had been denying that want with vengeance.
Apparently, so had he.
A fully satisfied man eased back with a grin on his face. “And that was to sway my conscience toward what I would like to do to you tonight, if you let me. But I won’t push you. If you change your mind at any time during the course of our dinner, the sharing of a bottle of wine, or a promised moonlight swim…let me know. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable when in my home—or with me.”
Sara licked her swollen lips and smiled at his eager, almost boyishly charm. She would be crazy to change her mind about wanting this night to go as he was likely planning it to be. Boyd and Casey could kiss, as most men could—Griffen far better than McCarlye, and unfortunately a man she had to forget at all costs.
All it took was the will, a mutually agreeable partner, and a pair of moistened lips to guide her in this direction.
However, Tepper Le D`oun had made a dormant volcano explode inside her. Hot, molten lava was almost tepid compared to how her inner core had responded.
Sara Rogan—aka Mecenna Jones, aka Debra Batton—was ready for anything coming her way; including a long night with a rather intriguing Frenchman. As far as she was concerned, food could be damned. Sara was no longer hungry for food. She was hungry for man.
She must have had this look on her face because Tepper let out a heavy sigh, stared at her face once more, then slowly got out of the SUV. He strode over to her side of the vehicle and opened her door. The moment her feet touched pavement, he took her by the hand and guided her into his mansion.
She barely took the time to take in the sights or smell. Huge, sparsely furnished, playboy realm, what little there was inside the rooms was bought with taste and obvious wealth. But so many open spaces seemed appropriate. Most men like Le D`oun, Tep didn’t need tons of furnishing to clutter up his life.
All Sara could really concentrate on was what his fingers gripped with hers felt like; and then, put thought to what those finger
s would feel like once they touched her inflamed skin.
It had been a long time since Sara had sex—too long. Would she screw it up? God, with any hope, no! Tepper was more than worth the effort of not screwing this up.
He walked her through his palatial home, then guided her toward an enormous kitchen fifty people would fit comfortably in, and moved them on through an open glass door to the patio. In front of her, was an Olympic size pool, complete with hot tub and cabana, as promised. Under the cabana was a massage table laden with goodies: oils, sex paraphernalia, the works at their disposal.
Sara’s gaze glued to the table. She knew nothing about this side of her boss.
“See? Told you I had a pool,” he announced brightly.
Her eyes turned to his. “Did you think I hadn’t believed you?”
His sudden smile melted her heart. “If you behave, my dear, I may give offer of a world famous massage in this package deal. Game for it?” he said suggestively.
Sara could hardly wait for this deal to start.
“How about we do the massage table first, then dinner? And then pool.” She’d caught sight of feathered boa and handcuffs near the cabana table, her mind set to putting them to good use.
Tepper’s shameless grin widened. He countered her statement. “How about dinner, since I know the both of us are starving, a leisurely massage accomplished, and if you have any energy left inside your muscles when my masterful hands are done with you…we go for that moonlight swim?”
“Are you trying to bargain out our entire evening?”
He embellished this with a cautiously made grin, his voice honey-smooth as he asked, “Is it working to my favor?”
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