by Joss Wood
The closer someone became, the more they could hurt him. His ex was proof of that.
Carrick rubbed his hands over his face.
Yep, Tamlyn had soured him so he didn’t bother dating, preferring an occasional, discreet, low-key one-nighter here and there. Sure, the sex was never as good as it could be in a committed relationship with a solid emotional connection...
Yet, it had been. With Sadie.
With Sadie, he’d forgotten that he hardly knew her, that this was their first time. Making love to her was as natural as breathing; his body—dammit!—recognized hers. There had been no awkward fumbling, no indecision, no do-you-like-this?
She’d murmured her approval whenever she could speak, either by her breathy moans, low do-that-again groans or one-word sentences. The words yes! and more! had fallen from her lips with regularity.
The hell of it was, Sadie was the best he’d ever had, better even than those first heady days with Tamlyn.
Sadie, and their night together, exceeded all his expectations and set the bar space-high for his next one-night stand.
If he ever had another one of those again...
Carrick stood up and headed for the small galley kitchen on the other side of this open-plan, generic, boring-as-hell apartment. The least he could do was get the coffee started.
Carrick changed the filter on the machine, dumped in some coffee and topped up the water. After flipping the switch, he walked back into the living room and picked up her shirt from the pile he’d made on her coffee table. He lifted the soft fabric to his nose, inhaling her scent. She smelled like sunshine and warm wind and, underneath it all, a scent he couldn’t identify. What he knew for sure was that it was a scent designed to make his head swim.
“Are you actually sniffing my shirt?”
Crap. Busted. The only option was to go on the offensive.
“What is this scent?” he demanded—casually, he hoped—dropping the shirt to the pile. “It’s driving me crazy.”
“Jasmine and orange blossom,” Sadie replied. She’d showered; her wet hair was raked back from her face. In faded jeans and a loose cranberry-colored sweater, she looked younger than her years.
“Remind me to buy you ten years’ supply.”
* * *
Sadie smiled, reluctantly charmed. “I wish you could. But the perfumer refuses to make big batches and only opens his shop in Montparnasse when he’s in the mood. And he’s frequently not in the mood.”
Her eyes flickered over his bare chest, bracketed by his open shirt. He started to button up, but suddenly dropped his hands, and Sadie suspected he was enjoying her appreciation. He was a smart, experienced guy, and he’d obviously noticed the desire in her eyes, the heated flush on her cheeks.
There would be no round two—why complicate this further?—and he probably assumed that a little mutual appreciation couldn’t hurt anyone.
He was wrong; this type of thing could lead to lots of pain down the line.
Play it cool, Sadie, and for goodness’ sake, resist the urge to touch that wide chest. Find something else to do with your hands!
Breakfast. She could make breakfast...
Smart thinking, Slade.
“I understand you have an apartment in Paris,” Carrick said, following her to the kitchen, watching as she pulled croissants, butter and jam from the fridge.
“I have a rabbit’s hutch in Montparnasse, a tiny one-room apartment just big enough for me and my clothes and my reference books.” Sadie gave him an up-and-down look. “You would look like Gulliver in Lilliput in it.”
“Gulliver? Lilliput?” Then his face cleared and the penny dropped. “Right, Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels.”
“Sorry, I’m a book nerd. And an art nerd. And a useless facts nerd.”
“I like nerds. They are some of my favorite people,” Carrick said, looking at her like she was the hottest nerd he’d ever seen. But that had to be her imagination...
“My brother Finn is the king of obscure references and trivia. I’m used to hearing odd bits of useless information,” Carrick told her.
Noticing that the coffee was nearly ready, Carrick looked around the kitchen and asked where she kept her cups. After opening the cupboard she directed him to, he pulled out two mugs and filled them while Sadie placed warmed croissants on plates and pulled flatware out of a drawer.
She gestured to a stool on the other side of the island and Carrick sat down, immediately reaching for a warm buttery pastry.
Look at her, being all adult about this. And yeah, it wasn’t as awkward as she’d expected it to be.
But as sophisticated as she was acting—presumably Carrick, having the morning-after-the-night-before routine down to a fine art, was being his normal self—she needed to say something, anything, to make it clear that they were on the same page, that this was a onetime deal.
But Sadie was so out of her comfort zone. She didn’t routinely jump into bed with strange men. And she never slept with people she worked with. And she never, ever slept with men—like her ex and, supposedly, Carrick Murphy—who treated women, and sex, like playthings...
That thought was obliterated by Carrick’s next sentence. “So that shouldn’t have happened.”
That was her line!
Carrick popped a piece of strawberry jam-smeared croissant into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. He took another big bite, obviously enjoying the flaky pastry and tart jam.
“I came around to check up on you, but obviously we got a bit carried away,” Carrick said in that genial tone that set her teeth on edge. “I hope it won’t affect our working relationship.”
What exactly did he mean by that? Did he think that, in her mind, sex equaled a relationship? She was a modern woman, fully capable of separating sex and emotion, carnality and commitment. She was in no danger of falling for him after one night of fantastic, mind-blowing sex. She’d heard that he’d left a trail of broken hearts and disappointed damsels throughout Boston, but she wasn’t that weak.
Not anymore.
“I’m sure we’ll be just fine,” Sadie stated, her tone firm. “As long as you realize that nothing but the evidence will affect my findings on the Homer.”
Carrick placed the corner of his croissant on his plate, reached for his coffee cup and she saw the flash of temper in his eyes. “Why the hell would you think that I’d expect you to fudge results on the painting, to tell me what you think I’d want to hear? The art speaks for itself. It always has and it always will.”
That hadn’t been true for her ex. Dennis’s moral line was exceptionally fluid and he hadn’t hesitated to use any means to influence the outcome of a deal, or a relationship, to benefit himself. Sure, it was only one brief sentence, but in this regard, she believed Carrick Murphy wasn’t like her ex.
It shouldn’t be a relief but...yes, it was.
From a business standpoint—the only standpoint that mattered—his integrity made her job easier.
But getting back to why he was in her kitchen in the early hours of a Monday morning...
“Well, going forward, I suggest we forget that last night happened. It was fun—” so much fun! “—but I have a job to do and a repeat performance isn’t in the cards.”
“It would just be too complicated,” Sadie blithely added, hoping she looked as casual as she sounded.
Carrick took another sip of coffee and tightened his fingers around the handle of the mug. “Okay, if that’s how you feel.”
No, it wasn’t! Yes, it was... Arrgh! She didn’t know what to feel! All she knew was that the last time she’d hopped into bed with a charming man, she’d had her life torn apart. She could never, ever let that happen again.
Sadie pulled apart her croissant and nibbled the inside of her cheek. God, she wished he’d just leave, give her some space, some time to make sense of nearly
losing her life and having great sex and a hot guy in her kitchen at still-dark o’clock.
Reaching across the island, Carrick gripped her wrist, his fingers tan against her paler skin.
“Sadie, look at me.”
Sadie tossed her damp hair and sucked in a deep breath before obeying his soft order. Her eyes slammed into his and she had to remind herself to breathe.
Carrick’s smile was gentle, as sweet as a tough, masculine man could make it. “Thank you for an amazing night. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.”
She had. Best night spent naked...ever.
“I should be off. Murphy International won’t, unfortunately, run itself.”
Sadie knew she should feel relieved, or even happy, at hearing that he was on his way, but she only felt disappointment. Which was stupid because not a couple of minutes ago she’d wanted to be alone.
Carrick released her wrist and started to do up the buttons on his shirt. Standing, he tucked his shirttails into his pants and popped the last piece of croissant into his mouth. “Damn, these are amazing.”
Walking around the island, he looked down into her face and Sadie held her breath as he lowered his head, aiming his lips at her mouth. Catching himself, he jerked back.
“I’m really glad you are fine after your choking incident.”
Thank God for his sister Tanna’s quick thinking or she wouldn’t be here, home from the hospital and exhausted after a night of being well loved.
Very well loved indeed.
Carrick used his knuckle to tip up her chin and look at the sterile gauze low down on her neck. “Is it painful?”
Sadie shook her head. “The cut is tiny and it’ll heal fast.” Sadie pulled a face. “Though I am considering becoming a vegetarian.”
Carrick smiled at her dejected tone. “It could’ve happened as easily with a piece of carrot as it did a piece of steak.”
“Point taken, but it might still be a while before I feel brave enough to swallow down another piece of rare Kobe beef. Or any meat at all.”
“Completely understandable.” Carrick looked at his watch and winced at the time. “I need to get going. I have a nine o’clock meeting and I still have to get home and shower.”
“You could take a shower here,” Sadie quietly offered. “If that saves you some time.”
She waited while he thought about it, knowing that if he made the slightest suggestion that she join him, she’d find it incredibly hard to hold herself to her have-touched-him-for-the-last-time decision. And if he stayed longer, she might just pull him into the shower herself and do several things to him she hadn’t thought of last night.
Hot, carnal, X-rated things...
“Thanks, but I’m good. I’m going to head straight for the office and hit the showers in the company gym. I keep a change of clothing and toiletries in the executive bathroom I share with my brothers, so fresh clothes won’t be a problem.”
Sadie followed him as he walked toward the hallway, taking a moment to admire the tight butt that now knew the shape and feel of her fingertips.
“I take it you’re not coming in today. You probably need time to recover.”
“I spent the night making love to you, Carrick, so I can hardly pull the ‘I’m sick’ card,” Sadie replied with a touch of tart. “But I am going to work from home today, trawling the net for anything I can find on Homer’s time in Virginia. And then I’m heading to an art gallery on Charles Street since Isabel Mounton-Matthews did a lot of business with the previous owner. I’m hoping to find something about the painting in the sale catalogs or records.”
Carrick asked her the name of the gallery and she told him, comfortable now that they were talking art.
“I’m aware of the gallery. The grapevine has it that both the past and the present owners haven’t always been on the up and up. Apparently, they have the reputation for fudging provenances or filling in the missing information with a little creative wording.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind.”
“I wouldn’t call them shady, but they aren’t honest, either. I don’t think you have a hope in hell of seeing their records, if they keep decent records at all.”
It was a fair point, but she needed to check. Just in case. Besides, she thought they could both do with some distance, time apart to get their heads on straight before they laid eyes on each other again.
With a little space they—she—would stop thinking about a repeat bedroom performance.
“So I’ll see you again when I have a solid update. That might be days or even weeks from now,” Sadie told him.
Carrick picked up her now-bedraggled and sad-looking bunch of flowers and laid them on the hall table. “I won’t feel offended if you toss these.”
It was obvious Carrick seemed to want the same distance she did and she should be glad. There was absolutely no reason to feel disappointed or frustrated. She had to cut this crap out.
Carrick’s expression was implacable as he bent down to brush his lips across her cheekbone. She took the gesture for what it was, a polite thing to do, a small thanks-for-a-great-evening. It didn’t mean anything more...couldn’t mean a damn thing.
“I’ll see you when I see you,” he told her.
His cashmere coat was an expensive heap on the floor and he picked it up and pulled it on. He jammed his hand into the inside pocket and pulled out his phone. Then he winced.
“I’ve missed a dozen calls already. See you around, Sadie.”
Sure. But not for a day or two. Or seven.
* * *
Sadie had five minutes to make her meeting in the conference room, a sleek, edgy room at the end of the hallway of the iconic, international and world-renowned auction house of Murphy International. It would only take thirty seconds to walk down the hallway, so she could hide out here in the bathroom for a little longer.
She’d do anything to avoid being alone with Carrick Murphy.
Sadie looked at her reflection in the mirror above the basin and rubbed a tiny speck of lipstick off her teeth. She’d spent the past week avoiding Carrick and, because they hadn’t spent any time alone since the evening he’d stayed over, she knew he was avoiding her, too.
And that suited her just fine.
When she opened her door to Carrick hours after her near-death experience, she should’ve stripped the roses of their thorns instead of stripping the Murphy boss man of his clothes.
She wanted to blame her uncharacteristic behavior on seeing a white light or hearing angels sing except that she hadn’t seen God or heard celestial choirs so that was a weak excuse.
Fact: Carrick Murphy was a great-looking man with a rocking body and she’d felt reckless and impulsive, desperate to celebrate being alive.
And, yep, doing Carrick Murphy, and having him do her, was exceedingly life-affirming. So were the multiple orgasms...
She couldn’t be blamed for spending a few hours each night reliving that amazing evening, wishing he was with her again, touching her with those broad, long-fingered hands, kissing her with his sinful mouth.
But...
Like sailing to Antarctica on a tall ship, or catching the Orient Express, sex with Carrick was an indulgence, a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
Stunningly wonderful but never to be repeated.
Pity.
But she’d done this before and, as a result, knew that she had to slam her foot on the brakes. She’d fallen into the arms of a sexy man and, within a few weeks, fallen in love. She’d wanted to believe that Dennis was a good man, a man worth marrying.
Five years later, a marriage and ugly divorce later, she was stronger and wiser and fully understood that the same man who made you quiver and sigh could also make you cry. A pretty face could easily hide a cold heart, and malice could live under a charming facade.
Dennis had a lov
ely face and buckets of charm but under it all, he had the personality of a psychopathic honey badger. And from what she’d heard from Carrick’s ex-wife and Beth, one of Sadie’s oldest friends and her virtual assistant, so did Carrick.
Sadie hadn’t been believed when she tried to tell her friends and family that Dennis was verbally abusing her and subjecting her to emotional torture that was both cruel and cunning. So when women she respected talked about their men, she listened.
But damn, why was she a magnet for bad boys?
And she wasn’t talking about those cute, trouble-finds-me-but-I’m-a-good-guy-at-heart men. One of those she could handle. No, Sadie was attracted to bad bad boys. The ones who played games, lied, used...
Abused.
As had happened with her ex, nobody would suspect Carrick Murphy—a business phenomenon and a hell of an operator in the art world—of being a dick, but she’d heard enough from Tamlyn via Beth to understand that women should go into any relationship with him with their eyes propped open.
Not that that was what she was doing.
Sadie glanced at her watch again and, after readjusting her bag on her shoulder, she headed out, her heels clicking against the tiled floors. This was the first time she would be meeting Carrick’s important clients and she wished she could definitively tell them that the painting was a lost Homer.
Not only because that news would set the art world alight—authenticating a “sleeper,” a previously undiscovered painting, would be a kickass star on her résumé—but also because her job would then be over and she could remove herself from the temptation that was Carrick Murphy.
But she was many weeks, possibly months, away from submitting her final report. There was still so much data outstanding, including the results of the paint analysis. She was tracking down leads with regard to the labels on the back of the painting and she’d yet to receive any replies from the many galleries where Isabel and her family routinely bought art.
Establishing an artwork’s authenticity took time. Sadie hoped Carrick’s clients understood this.
