Romance: The Bad Boy Affair: A Second Chance Romance

by Veronica Cross

  Annette looked up briefly at the rear view mirror to see if Alex was watching. Clifford caught the flash of her eyes. He smiled and moved to beginning unbuttoning Annette’s blouse.

  “Stop,” she whispered. “What are you doing?”

  “You don’t want me to stop,” Clifford said. He’d undone three of her buttons by this point, pushing the silky fabric aside to reveal her lace-covered bra. “Do you?”

  He kissed the side of her neck, biting just a little. Annette groaned. “No,” she admitted. “I don’t.”

  Clifford finished unbuttoning her blouse. It slipped off of her shoulders, sliding down her back to puddle in the seat.

  She shivered as the cooled air washed over her newly exposed skin.

  “You cold?” Clifford asked.

  “A little,” she murmured.

  He deftly unhooked her bra. “I’ll get you warmed up.” He bent and kissed her nipple, gently sucking the tender bit of flesh between his lips. “Is that helping?”

  “It’s definitely a good start,” Annette groaned. Her fingers slid through Clifford’s blond hair, pulling him closer against her. He responded by increasing his attentions, sucking and squeezing her breast.

  Annette sank back onto the leather seat, bringing Clifford into position over her. For a moment, from the look in his eyes, she though he was going to beginning making love to her right then and there.

  But then he glanced up through the window. “Oh, good,” he murmured. “We’re almost home.”

  Annette squirmed upright, just in time to see that Alex had driven the car onto a ferry boat. “Where are we going?” she said.

  “I have a home on Staten Island,” he said. “It’s my favorite. It’s cozy and very private.”

  “Oh,” Annette said, moments before his lips touched hers again. “That sounds wonderful.”

  Clifford’s Staten Island home looked like a classic Italian villa, with a marble façade and a pair of columns flanking the front door.

  “They’re never going to let me in this place,” Annette giggled. “It’s much too fancy.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Clifford laughed. “I know the owner.”

  Alex pulled the car to a silent stop. Annette reached for her blouse, but Clifford stopped her. “Don’t,” he said. “You look perfect just the way you are.”

  “But…” Annette looked toward the front seat. Alex never turned around. He gave no indication that he saw or heard anything.

  “Trust me,” Clifford said. “You’re too beautiful to cover up.” He opened his car door and stepped out, reaching one hand back to help Annette out of the back seat.

  She took his hand, but hesitated before stepping out of the car. It was late, and surely there was no one around at this hour, but she was half-naked. To go outdoors this way, into the night…

  “Annette,” Clifford said. His voice was calm and commanding. “Let’s go inside.”

  She stepped out of the car, unsteady on her heels. “Look at you,” Clifford said, still holding her hand. “You’re truly exquisite.” He led her toward the door.

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” she said. “What does a guy like you even see in a girl like me?”

  “You’re beautiful,” Clifford replied. “And you’re smart. And funny. And you have an ass that would make a dead man stand up and clap.”

  Annette craned her head around to regard her bottom as best she could. “Really?”

  “Really.” Clifford pushed the door open to a bedroom. There was a heavy cherry wood bed and mirrors all along one wall. “Let me show you.” Moving slowly and deliberately, Clifford removed the rest of Annette’s clothing until she stood naked in front of her reflection. “You’re a piece of art.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Stanhope.” Annette started unbuttoning Clifford’s shirt. “I want to see you in the mirror too.”

  “We can do that,” he said, deftly unbuckling his belt buckle. It only took Clifford the blink of an eye to shed his clothing. Naked, he was magnificent. Annette took a long moment studying her lover’s reflection in the mirror. He had a broad, muscled chest and arms like a sculpture. Lower down, the size and prominence of his need was very impressive.

  “Wow,” she said, reaching out toward the reflection. “Look at you.”

  He gently grabbed her hand and brought it toward his flesh. “Touching is better than looking.”

  And it was. Annette discovered that Clifford made the most amazing noises with every touch. A stroke made him moan; a squeeze caused his whole body to shudder.

  “Lay down on your bed,” she said. “I want to get on top of you.”

  He did so quickly, with his arms folded behind his head. “You’re sure?”

  “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life,” Annette said. Her fears after their encounter in Montreal had completely faded away; all that remained in Annette in that moment was desire.

  Climbing on top of Clifford was exquisite; feeling herself being filled completely up as she settled down on his length was even better. Clifford closed his eyes.

  “This feels so good,” he said.

  Annette let her hands rest on his chest as she moved her hips back and forth slowly. “You feel good,” she purred. “You feel absolutely amazing.”

  They rocked together for a long moment before Clifford grew impatient. He wrapped one arm around Annette’s waist and then pivoted, pinning her beneath him. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I’ve got to be all the way in you now.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  Clifford’s thrusts came faster and faster. Annette closed her eyes, wrapping her legs around his waist and just hanging on for all she was worth. All at once, Clifford gave a great bellow. She felt his need flooding through her, moments before her own pleasure erupted.

  “Oh, God, yes,” she said, pulling Clifford close to her. “This is perfect.”

  Chapter 10

  “How do you like your coffee?” Clifford asked.

  Annette blinked. The sun was coming up. Bright rays angled across the room, giving Annette her first real look at Clifford’s bedroom. Beyond the bed, where they’d made a rumpled mess of the bedclothes, there was a long, low black trunk. On the far wall was a chest of drawers topped with a round mirror. Next to that was a wide armchair with a stack of books beside it.

  One wall of the room was entirely windows, looking out onto the ocean. Sea gulls were wheeling through the early dawn, silently gliding over the water, wing tips barely missing the waves.

  “With cream and sugar, if you have it,” Annette said. She smiled. “That really happened? Last night?”

  “It really did,” Clifford said.

  “I thought I might have dreamed it,” Annette confessed.

  Clifford smiled. “So it was a good dream?”

  “Best dream I’ve ever had.”

  Clifford’s smile grew larger. “I’ll be right back with your coffee.” He nodded toward the window. “There’s chairs out there – it’s nice.”

  Annette nodded, and watched Clifford go. Then she slid out of bed. A man’s bedroom was a good indication of his character, she thought. The things he kept in there must be what’s truly important to him.

  She padded over to his dresser. The surface held only the essentials – there was a dish with Clifford’s watch in it, and a hairbrush. There was a small framed picture. Annette peered at it. The older woman in the image looked a lot like Clifford. “That must be your Mama,” Annette said, and was suddenly very aware of her nakedness.

  She backed away from the dresser and went into the adjoining bathroom. Clifford had a bathrobe hanging from a hook in there. When Annette put it on, the blue and white striped terrycloth covered her from her shoulders to her ankles. She had to roll the ends of the sleeves up so they didn’t completely cover her hands.

  Clifford smiled when he saw her dressed this way, standing on the patio adjoining his bedroom. “Here’s your coffee,” he said, hand
ing her a steaming mug.

  “Thank you.” They stood, each sipping from their coffee, as the sun continued its slow ascent. There was a little bit of a breeze, a cold wind that snuck inside Annette’s robe, causing her to shiver.

  “You’re cold?” Clifford asked.

  “The last time you asked me that, amazing things happened,” Annette said. Clifford smiled. “But I haven’t even finished my first cup of coffee yet. Give a girl a chance.”

  “Believe me, there’s nothing I’d rather do than make love to you,” Clifford said. “And I mean absolutely nothing.” His phone rang in the next room and he rolled his eyes. “But that’s going to be Madison, wondering where I am.”

  “You’re not going to tell her?” Annette said.

  “That I’m at my house?” Clifford smiled. “Of course I am.”

  “I mean about us. About this.”

  “I’m pretty sure she already knows,” Clifford said.

  Chapter 11

  “You know what I’d really love to do?” Annette said.

  “Yes,” Clifford said. “And I’m willing. Do you want to do that here, or go back to the bedroom?”

  “Very funny,” Annette said. “I’m serious.”

  “So am I,” Clifford said.

  “I’m sure you are,” Annette replied. “But right this minute, I want to talk about art work. This forger’s got to be out there somewhere. I don’t believe this is the first time Hans has pulled this trick. It’s just the first time he caught you.”

  “And Wilbur.” Clifford smiled. “Don’t forget about that.”

  “Never,” Annette said. “But you two aren’t the only victims. I’m sure of that.” She shook her head. “I’d love to track him down and bring him to justice.”

  “I’d love that too,” Clifford said. “This guy’s got $22 million of my money. Not that I’m going to make a big fuss about something like that, but it does piss me off.”

  “Understandable.” Annette smiled. “That’s like me losing every dollar I’ve ever made in my life, and then some.”

  Clifford nodded. “Knowing someone went to all the trouble of creating these paintings specifically to fool me, or someone like me – it’s just wrong. Maybe they think it’s a victimless crime, but it’s not, really. The money I spent on this bogus Magritte is money that can’t go to a legitimate artist who’s truly earned it. Or their family, as the case may be.”

  “It’s bad for the industry, too,” Annette said. “The art world runs on trust. Of course we authenticate as much as possible. You check the provenance, the materials used, everything you can check. But sometimes there’s nothing to check and you have to move forward on the word of the person offering you the painting.”

  “That’s exactly what happened with Hans,” Clifford exclaimed. “And at first I thought he was innocent – that he’d gotten burned by a bad painting. But for that to happen two times in a row?” He shook his head. “It’s hard for me to believe that could happen.”

  “If we can track down the money, we can get it back,” Annette said. “One way or another.”

  Clifford nodded enthusiastically. “I told Madison we’ll pay a ten percent reward on any recovered funds.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at Annette. “That means if you find it, you’re looking to come into three million dollars or so.”

  “That would be wonderful,” Annette said. “I’d never have to worry about keeping my job at Feigenbaum’s ever again.”

  “What would you do if you had three million?”

  Annette laughed. “I’d have to find a rich boyfriend. I wouldn’t want some guy who’s dating me just because I have money.”

  Clifford burst out laughing. “Do you have anyone in mind, or will any old rich guy do?”

  “Well, you’ve done really well during the audition phase,” Annette said, leaning in to give Clifford a kiss. “You deserve first crack at the role.”

  “In that case,” Clifford said, “We’d better get going and find that money.”

  Chapter 12

  “So what are you looking at there?” Clifford asked Annette. They were seated side by side on the couch in the Clifford Park office; she had her laptop open and was peering intently at the screen.

  “Well,” she said, “we’re pretty sure that Hans didn’t do the paintings himself.” They’d spent hours researching Hans’ background; nothing they could find indicated he had the slightest amount of artistic talent. “That means he had to have someone else paint them.”

  Clifford nodded. “That part’s easy enough,” he said. “Finding who this someone else actually is another story.” He stood up and walked over to the window. “It could be anyone, anywhere. Anybody out there.”

  “No,” Annette said. “It couldn’t be anyone, anywhere. It has to be someone Hans knows.” She frowned, read some text on the screen, and then scrolled down. “Someone he’s connected with.”

  “Forgers have LinkedIn?” Clifford asked, laughing a little.

  “Artists do,” Annette countered. “And what do you think ‘available for commission’ really means?”

  Clifford stopped laughing and leaned closer to look at Annette’s screen. He studied the profile picture and frowned. “Tell me she’s not that way,” he said. “I bought Madison one of her paintings for her birthday last year.”

  Annette looked at Clifford, eyes wide. “Happy birthday, Madison!” Prices for work by that particular artist started in the low hundred-thousands.

  Clifford shrugged. “She was having a hard time turning forty-one. Forty, she had no trouble with. Forty-one, it was the end of the world.”

  “Just so you know,” Annette replied, “I expect to be extremely traumatized on my twenty-fifth birthday.” She smiled broadly. “Which is April 12th.”

  Clifford smiled. “Duly noted.”

  “I’ve never heard a rumor of her being involved in anything like that,” Annette said, returning her attention to the screen. “She and Hans are connected, that’s all. He knows a lot of artists. It’s to be expected.”

  “How will you know which one is the forger?”

  “I got us this far,” Annette said, “I thought I’d leave that part up to you.”

  “Oh, great,” Clifford said. He walked to his desk and pressed a button on his phone.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Hold on a minute,” Clifford said. He looked up at Annette. “What are you going to want for dinner?”

  Annette shrugged, flustered by the question. “I don’t know…anything, I guess.”

  Clifford spoke into his phone. “So you’ve got that. We need a dinner of anything, I guess sent up. For two, please.” He chuckled. “And a couple of bottles of wine to go with that.”

  “Yes, sir. We’ll have that to you shortly.”

  Clifford returned to Annette’s side, bemused by her expression. “What?” he said. “I’m hungry, and it looks like we’re in for a long, long night.”

  Annette stared at him for a long second. It didn’t seem the slightest bit unusual to Clifford that he could pick up the phone and simply command that a meal be brought to him. Most of the time, Annette tried not to think about the fact that her lover was so very rich, but there were moments when she just couldn’t ignore it.

  “Your cook’s going to just love that order,” she said with a laugh. “Two orders of anything? We’ll get cat food served up to us on a silver platter.”

  Clifford laughed. “Are you kidding? Max loves that, when he can make whatever he feels like. I mostly leave it up to him.”

  “Really?”

  “He says it’s more fun that way. And if I’ve learned anything in my life, it’s people do their best work when they’re having fun.”

  “Well,” Annette said, letting her body lean against Clifford’s for a long moment, “I’m not sure how much I enjoy playing Girl Detective, but it’s fun spending time with you.”

  Clifford put his arms around Annette, drawing her close for a kiss. “It’s the best possible
way to spend time.” His second kiss was more passionate than the first; his hand dropped to gently cup her breast. “In fact, our forger will still be out there tomorrow. We could adjourn for the evening, go upstairs and…”

  Annette felt her heart start racing. Excitement coursed through her body the way it did every time Clifford really looked at her. The intensity in his blue eyes was electrifying. Captured in his gaze was the purest desire, a want the likes of which she’d never seen before.

  But she also had a job to do. As much as she wanted to make love to Clifford, she also desperately wanted to find this forger. Recovering Clifford’s lost millions would not only prove her worth as an art appraiser, it would put Annette on a financial footing that, while nowhere near equal to Clifford’s vast wealth, would certainly free her to pursue a relationship with him without being accused of being a gold-digger or worse.

  “If you hadn’t of just ordered dinner, that’s exactly what we’d do,” she said with a kiss and a smile. She let her hands wander just enough to gauge Clifford’s desire; his eyes closed when she pressed against the protruding front of his trousers. “But you did, and we do have to find this guy.”

  “One more kiss,” Clifford said. “I want to see if I can change your mind.”

  Annette leaned forward into the kiss. Clifford took her breath away with even the most casual peck. This embrace, when he was explicitly trying to seduce her, left her head spinning.

  Their lips had just parted, and Annette was more than willing to forget about the forger and let Clifford lead her to his bedroom when a knock came on the office door.

  It was Max. “Here you are, sir,” he announced, wheeling a cart into the room. “Two orders of anything, I guess, cooked to perfection, and paired with some lovely California red.” He lifted a silver dome to reveal what looked like some very well done chicken, surrounded by a heaping pile of bright green asparagus spears and earthy brown mushrooms.

  “Pheasant, Max?” Clifford smiled. “You are spoiling me.”