Because it was her job, Beah caught the next plane out of Logan International and upon meeting Yuri, and his new, very young wife, was told he wanted to start a jewelry collection. Beah wasn’t fooled. Yuri didn’t care about jewels, but his new wife—wearing a ten-carat diamond ring—obviously did.
But, because he was immensely powerful and stupidly rich, Beah kept her mouth shut, put a pleasant expression on her face and took notes. Yuri, being Yuri, wasn’t interested in easily obtainable pieces, no, he wanted famous jewels, fabulous jewels, items worn by kings and queens and Hollywood icons and Indian princes. He wanted the exceptional and the outstanding and it was her job to find them for him.
Which wouldn’t be easy because those types of items rarely came up for sale. She could see many phone calls in her future to collectors, asking whether they were prepared to sell their much-treasured pieces. She already knew the answer would be no.
Or a hell no.
If you owned Catherine of Russia’s emerald and diamond necklace and matching earrings, or Elizabeth Taylor’s Krupp diamond ring, you held on to them because you’d never get the chance to own the magnificent pieces again. Yuri, she was afraid, was going to be disappointed.
Before making it back to her apartment after a long day yesterday, she’d also had a dinner meeting with Michael Summers and she’d informed him she was very interested in joining him and was excited about a new challenge and that while she wasn’t saying yes just yet, she probably would.
As soon as she said the words, she’d felt her stomach cramp, panic close her throat. Michael had clapped his hands in delight, kissed her and ordered champagne, obviously not noticing she was close to tossing her cookies.
Michael was much more enthusiastic about her coming on board than she was. What did that mean? Why wasn’t she more excited about this amazing opportunity? Why was she hesitating? Why did she suddenly feel like Michael’s offer was not what she really needed or wanted?
Why was she starting to think that only a hot, reticent man and a life spent with him in Boston would fill up the empty holes in her life and her heart?
Beah’s phone rang and she glanced at the door before lifting it to her ear. “This is Beah.”
“Hey, sweetheart.”
Beah smiled and looked at her watch. It was just past six in Boston, which meant Finn was just waking up. It made her feel warm and wonderful that she was the first person he thought of when his eyes opened.
“How is your day going?” Finn asked.
“Good, thanks. You still sound half-asleep.”
“Mmm. I was having an X-rated dream.”
“Was I in it?” Beah asked, dropping her voice and keeping an eye on the door.
“Only you. When are you coming home?” Finn demanded.
Home. The word rolled easily off his tongue and it was tempting to believe he meant it. But Beah knew that essentially nothing had changed. Finn hadn’t given her the smallest hint he wanted to take their relationship to the next level, to make any sort of commitment. They were just bed buddies who’d once been married.
Finn still needed distance and she still needed intimacy…
Beah heard the door opening, told Finn she had to go, assuring him she’d talk to him later. She stood up, buttoning her black jacket over her black silk shirt.
She shook Paris’s hand, asked about his health and sat back down on the nineteenth-century chesterfield sofa and crossed her legs, one hand on the folder next to her. She accepted Paris’s offer of coffee and smiled her thanks at his butler.
Paris sat down in the chair opposite her—a rare, nineteenth-century Howard & Sons wingback, covered in the original blue-and-white fabric, totally gorgeous—and draped one leg over the other and pinned her to her seat with intense eyes. Thoughts of Finn and his sexy dreams were pushed to one side as Paris interrogated her about the items in the upcoming sale, asking her what she thought he should buy, what price the items would reach and what items in his collection he should consider selling.
Beah’s brain kicked in and they spent the next hour running through the Mounton-Matthews collection and the artworks Paris owned, talking prices, values, returns.
Paris eventually stopped grilling her and leaned back in his chair. “My butler will be here with hot coffee soon.” He picked up the plate of pastries and a small side plate. “Have something to eat. You look pale.”
“I’m a redhead, I always look pale,” Beah said.
Paris’s smile hit his eyes and, for a moment, he looked ten years younger. “Have a piece of lemon cake. It’s fabulous.”
Beah picked up the tiny square and popped it into her mouth, where it melted on her tongue. She moaned and immediately reached for another square. “Oh, the cake is just amazing. Light and full of flavor. Please give your cook my compliments.”
“Thank you.”
Beah tipped her head to the side, instantly suspicious when she saw a touch of red on his cheekbones. “You baked the cake?”
Paris shrugged. “And the chocolate éclairs, and the brandy snaps.”
“Really?”
“Baking helps me relax, helps me think. I’ve been baking since I was a kid.”
Wow. Now that was something she’d never expected to hear. Her reclusive art collector was a world-class baker. Keeping her eyes on him, Beah popped the tiny éclair into her mouth, chewed. Then she picked up a brandy snap, ate it and leaned back, placing the small plate on the side table next to her. “The lemon cake is even better than the other two, which were excellent.”
She waited, her heart in her mouth, for Paris to smile and eventually it came, along with a hint of approval. Yay, they were on their way to being…well, not friends, but not serf and lord, either.
The butler arrived with fresh coffee and after drinking a cup, Beah started to gather the papers she’d placed on the sofa next to her. She was putting her laptop back into its bag when Paris’s next question sent chills galloping over her skin.
“Tell me, are you really going to leave Murphy’s to join Michael Summers?”
Beah felt her laptop start to slip and she grabbed it, feeling like the air in the room had disappeared. If Paris knew about her plans, who else in the art world did?
Did the Murphy brothers know? Had someone told them? But how would they know since her discussions with Michael were private? Whom had he told? And how far had the rumors gotten?
Pretty far, if Paris Cummings, reclusive as he was, knew about her plans.
“Uh…”
Paris held up his hand. “I see the thought has crossed your mind. Are you unhappy at Murphy International? Do they not treat you well?”
That wasn’t why she was leaving. They’d been good to her, as Beah quickly explained. She could see the question in Paris’s eyes, his lack of understanding.
A few weeks ago, she would’ve had a pat answer for him: she felt constrained, she wanted the freedom to make her own business decisions, to work with other auction and art houses. She wanted to spread her wings. But for some strange reason, she tried to give Paris the full truth. “I need something more, something different…”
“And you think going on your own, cutting your ties to the Murphys, will help you find what you are looking for?”
Beah rested her elbows on her knees and placed her chin in the palm of her hand. She should shut down this conversation, tell him she hadn’t made any irrevocable decisions yet, but the kind, almost paternal look in his eyes pinned her to her seat.
“Are you sure you will find what you need by changing your career?” Paris asked.
Beah frowned at him, not understanding. “Sorry?”
“Maybe you are looking for a change in the wrong place. Maybe more work isn’t what you need.”
Beah straightened and squared her shoulders. “Work is all I have, Paris.” And she wasn’t sure whether she was reassuring him or
herself.
Paris stood up and slid his hands into his expensive suit pants. He sent her a slow smile. “Then, my dear, you are going to end up like me. Living in a fancy house with an incredible collection and more money than I can spend.”
Beah followed him to her feet. “That doesn’t sound bad,” she quietly stated.
“It’s not. Until you find yourself in your kitchen at three in the morning, baking because you are so damn lonely you can’t breathe.” Paris surprised her by dropping a kiss on her cheek. He pulled back and gripped her shoulder. “You’re not going to find what you’re looking for by working more, Beah. Trust me, I know. Benson will see you out.”
Beah stared at him, both flummoxed and touched by his obvious concern. At the door, Paris turned and pointed his finger at her. “Talk to the Murphys about your plans. Because if I’ve heard the rumors, they will have heard them, too. And if they haven’t, they will. And soon. Get ahead of this, Beah. You owe them that.”
Paris slipped through the door and Beah folded her arms across her chest and rocked on her heels. She cursed softly, fighting her need to panic. But knowing deep down in her soul that Paris was right.
She needed to get ahead of this, no matter how hard it was to do.
* * *
In the conference room, Finn glared at Ronan when he raised another issue to add to today’s agenda and cursed his brother’s chattiness. Ronan used to hate meetings as much as Finn did, but these days he was the only one trying to keep these directors meetings short and sweet.
And he needed short and sweet, because he’d just received a text from Beah telling him she was back in Boston, back in her office down the hall. He couldn’t wait to see her and Ronan was running on about a new website designer.
Finn resisted the urge to bang his head against the desk and mentally begged Carrick to call an end to the meeting…
But chatty or not, Ronan was far happier than Finn had seen him in years. With the death of his wife, Thandi, Ronan had gone through hell and back, trying to raise his two boys while dealing with grief. Joa was breathing new life into Ronan, and his nephews and Finn would never be able to thank her enough. Sadie had also turned Carrick’s life upside down and inside out and both his brothers walked around with smirky, I’ve-got-the-world-in-my-hands grins.
They did, and Finn was happy for them. He was. And he was a little jealous his brothers had the guts to try again, to commit their lives to their women, to take the risk. He didn’t think he could do it. Not again. He’d tried once with Beah and failed.
But had he really tried? He hadn’t opened up to her, hadn’t given all of himself. He’d kept her at an emotional distance, running away from deep emotion, scared of being vulnerable and choosing numbness over the richness of loving and being loved.
What if he chose to be brave, what if they went all in and gave it another shot? Would he also end up sitting at this table with a sappy look on his face? God, he wanted that. He wanted the same happiness his siblings had.
Sure, it was a risk, his heart was on the line, as was Beah’s. Finn acknowledged she needed someone who could communicate, someone who could open up. He could try to be that man. Oh, he doubted he’d be Mr. Outgoing, but he could talk more. And more importantly, he would listen to Beah. Really listen, even when the conversation turned tough. If he could fling himself off a mountain only wearing a wingsuit, he could take a chance on love…
Because, yeah, he loved Beah.
Had he ever stopped? She’d always been on the periphery of his mind. Was that why he felt guilty every time he slept with someone who wasn’t her? Divorced or not, he still considered her his wife. His.
And if he didn’t make a move, do something to convince her to stay, in a few weeks—three to be precise—she would be back in London.
Finn didn’t know how he would function without having her in his life. And he wouldn’t be satisfied with a weekend here and four days there. He wanted to see her most days, to hold her when she slept, to wake up to her on weekdays as well as weekends. He needed to be in Boston; his family and his work were here. Would Beah consider relocating to Boston?
Would that even be a possibility?
If he told her he loved her, if he offered her more than sex—marriage? babies?—would she consider giving him another chance?
“There’s only one way to find out and that’s to ask.” Carrick’s words jerked Finn back to the conversation and he sent his brother a hard look.
“What did you say?” Finn demanded, needing to make sure he’d heard what he heard.
Carrick frowned at him. “If she isn’t asked, we won’t know the answer.”
Finn pushed his chair back so hard it slammed into the wall behind him. He slapped his hands on the desk and grinned at Carrick. “Exactly.”
Finn left his laptop and notes on the table and walked past Ronan to slap his hand on Carrick’s shoulder. “Thanks, brother.”
“Uh…for what?”
Finn didn’t bother answering him since Carrick wasn’t the person he needed to speak to. Talking to Beah was all-important.
Behind him, he heard Carrick’s dry comment. “I was talking about the new web designer but it’s pretty obvious our youngest brother wasn’t on the same page.”
“I agree,” Ronan replied, amused. “His light is on but someone is playing with his dimmer switch. And that’s not something I often get to say about our favorite genius.”
* * *
Finn hurried down the hallway to the office Beah had claimed as her own two months ago. He looked through the glass walls to the immaculate space beyond and saw Beah sitting at the large desk, tendrils of hair falling out of her loose bun, black-rimmed glasses on her nose. She was reading a thick document and her concentration was intense.
Finn stopped, jammed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and rocked on his heels. She was beautiful in an Irish goddess type of way, clear skin, fine features, that deep red hair. And while she was heart-stoppingly beautiful, he was also proud of the woman she’d become. She’d made a name for herself as being one of the best art consultants in the business and she’d done it with hard work and without name-dropping. Few people knew they’d once been married. No, Beah’s success had been all her own, and he was incredibly proud of her.
He also loved her, more than he ever did before.
Finn stepped up to her door, knocked and opened the glass door. Beah frowned at the interruption and then she smiled. It was a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
Beah wasn’t as happy to see him as he was to see her—why not? His heart rate inched upward and his stomach pulled itself into a tight knot. Was he doing the right thing? Should he raise this love-and-staying-in-Boston question now or should he give her time to decompress, to relax? This was their workplace and maybe it wasn’t the right time or place…
Finn bent down to brush his lips across hers and when he pulled back, he saw a strange emotion in her eyes, one he couldn’t identify. Fear? Trepidation?
Or was he just seeing in her eyes what he thought might be in his?
“Hi, sweetheart.”
“Hi back,” Beah replied, her voice as subdued as her eyes. Okay, what was going on here? And why did he suspect it was something he really didn’t want to hear?
Facing her, Finn rested his butt on her desk and stretched out his legs. “Everything okay?”
“Yes, no… We need to talk.”
Words to freeze a man’s blood. Finn forced a cocky smile onto his lips. “I’d far prefer to kiss the hell out of you.”
And that wasn’t a lie.
Beah didn’t smile at his quip and desire didn’t jump into her eyes. Crap, something really was wrong. Finn placed his hands on the desk and forced the words past his lips. “What’s wrong, Beah? And don’t tell me nothing because I can clearly see something is eating you up inside.”
<
br /> “I need to talk to you and it’s not going to be an easy conversation.” Beah placed her elbows on her desk, linked her hands and touched them to her lips, obviously looking for the right words. Finn frowned. Was she going to call it quits, end their relationship?
“I saw Paris Cummings when I went to London.”
Her statement wasn’t a surprise. He’d assumed a meeting with her newest client was in the cards.
“Okay. And how is the old curmudgeon?”
“He isn’t old and he isn’t very curmudgeonly.” Beah wrinkled her nose. “Is that even a word?” She waved her question away. “Anyway…”
Beah stopped talking and Finn held his breath, knowing he wasn’t going to like the next words out of her mouth. It was something to do with the guilt on her face, in the way she couldn’t meet his eyes. Oh, yeah, he was about to hear whatever Beah had been hiding from him, and he wasn’t going to like it.
And waiting wasn’t something he did well. “Just tell me, Beah.”
Beah rubbed her temples before sitting up straight and gripping the edge of the desk. “For the last couple of years, Michael Summers has been asking me to join him.”
Everyone in the art world knew of Michael Summers. He was one of the world’s most influential art consultants, someone who was respected, even revered. He was the go-to guy for high-net-worth individuals who wanted to start or expand their art collection.
Finn needed to make sure he understood her correctly. “Explain.”
“He’s wanting to semi-retire and he wants me to take over his business. He’s offered me a partnership and I think I’m going to take it.”
Beah wanted to leave Murphy’s? What the hell? She was a Murphy. She couldn’t leave! Finn stood up and slapped his hands onto the surface of her desk. “Not happening.”
Beah’s eyes cooled. “You do know you have no say about who I work for, right?”
“You’re a Murphy. Your loyalty is to us,” Finn ground out, feeling the world shifting beneath his feet. While he’d been thinking of her moving in with him, of love, of their future, she’d been obsessed with going back to London, jumping ship.
Harlequin Desire June 2020 - Box Set 1 of 2 Page 42
