by Fae Mallory
At least he’d arrived in time to keep Hallar’s hands off her if the other man’s irritated look was anything to go by. Losing time with Violet was a worthwhile sacrifice if it meant getting her away from the reporter, and Ian watched with pleasure as she brushed past him to return to the museum, her sweetly rounded bottom bouncing with her hurried steps.
“Writing another article?” He turned to face Hallar once Violet was out of sight.
The other man thrust his jaw out. “What business is it of yours?”
Hallar had the good sense to see Violet’s value, but if the man had any other positive qualities, Ian couldn’t see them. “Just a friendly word of advice—Miss Fabre is off-limits.”
Instead of yielding, Hallar smirked. “Oh really? Then why did she agree to go out with me?”
That was a question Ian would very much like to hear the answer to. In comparison to himself, Hallar had nothing to offer her. From their brief conversation at the premiere, it was obvious that the reporter couldn’t tell the difference between a Monet and Manet with a gun to his head. Violet could hardly be interested in a man with whom she had so little in common. “I suppose you’d have to ask her that question. Rest assured, Miss Fabre is taken.”
“Maybe.” Hallar’s grin set his teeth on edge. “But she’s not going out with you Friday night.”
In his role as CEO, Ian had faced any number of challenges by competitors and his own underlings. Never once had he been tempted to smash his fist into another man’s face. Violet, it seemed, brought out the beast in him. Careful not to let his inner turmoil show in his face, he nodded politely. “We’ll see.”
“Yes, we will,” Hallar said lightly.
Ian walked away at a measured pace, wishing he had something to smash—preferably Haller’s face. If he went to the museum in this mood, he was guaranteed to lose his temper, and Violet would undoubtedly frown on him hauling her out from behind her desk and kissing her senseless in front of the museum’s visitors while demanding she cancel her date with Hallar. She was a professional, after all.
Instead he drove home, nearly scaring Xavier to death as he stormed in. “I thought you were in New York.”
“I wish I was,” Ian grumbled, seeing his assistant diplomatically hide a smile. Dealing with the leak in his company’s finances was infinitely preferable to watching another man try to steal Violet from him.
“Miss Fabre wasn’t pleased to see you?” Occasionally Ian wondered if his assistant was psychic—it would explain a lot. Then again, he hadn’t been particularly subtle about his feelings for Violet Fabre. Had any other woman suggested that he not only loan paintings to a museum but also foot the bill for the entire exhibit, he would have laughed in her face.
“What do we know about Paul Hallar?” he asked, letting his question answer Xavier’s query.
The other man’s eyebrows rose. “Nothing, but I can remedy that.”
Ian nodded. “Do that. I want to know everything there is to know about him.” With any luck, Xavier would unearth a few skeletons that would be useful blackmail material, leaving him the freedom to pursue Violet at his leisure.
“That’s your top priority. I’ll be in the Madden gallery.” Confident that Xavier would find something useful, Ian headed for the gallery, planning to relive the memories of Violet’s glorious performance.
Getting himself off to the memory helped soothe his nerves, and by the time Xavier appeared three hours later, Ian’s good spirits had returned. Violet might have accepted a date from Hallar, but he was willing to bet the other man had never seen her naked. “What did you find out?”
“Paul Hallar is the most boring person on the face of the Earth,” Xavier informed him, holding out a thin folder.
Flipping through it, Ian discovered that Hallar graduated from Owensport high school and later Syracuse with unexceptional grades, took an internship at the Post-Standard that led to a job reporting on human interest stories and the occasional crime, and moved back to Owensport a year ago to live with his father who was in and out of the hospital—mostly out in recent months. He’d had two parking tickets and a speeding ticket, all of which he’d paid immediately.
With a growl, he cast the folder to the floor. “That’s it?”
“I’m afraid so. No dead bodies under the floorboards or crazy wives in the attic. Believe me, I looked.” Ian had the uncomfortable feeling that his assistant was laughing at him.
“Tell me, do we have any influence over any newspapers?” If blackmail couldn’t get Hallar out of the way, maybe bribery could.
“Not much, but I’ll see what I can come up with,” Xavier promised. Pausing just inside the door, he added, “Of course, Miss Fabre might not be happy if she finds out you pulled strings to get rid of her boyfriend.”
“He’s not her boyfriend,” Ian snapped.
Xavier’s lips twitched, and Ian shook his head at himself. “I’m being ridiculous.”
“You’re not used to being the one doing the pursuing,” the other man pointed out. It was true. Women tended to throw themselves at him, leaving Ian with little to do beyond accepting what they offered. Actually courting a woman was an entirely new ballgame.
Running his hand over his face, Ian sighed. “She’s worth it though.”
“The good ones always are,” Xavier informed him. “If I might make a suggestion?”
“Please do.” Left to his own devices, Ian wasn’t doing particularly well.
“Miss Fabre is a woman, not a company. This isn’t a hostile takeover. Instead of decimating your competition, you’d be better off pleading your case to her.” Pleading wasn’t something that came naturally to Ian, but he could see the wisdom of Xavier’s advice. Violet wasn’t a mind reader. He could hardly expect her to be aware of his feelings if he didn’t tell her.
“You mean actually communicate with her? What a novel idea,” he said dryly. He’d planned a slow and steady seduction to gradually win over his shy temptress, but with Hallar on the scene, he was going to be forced to take a more direct approach.
“The brain is the sexiest body part,” Xavier said primly, and Ian waved him on his way with a chuckle, certain that his assistant would be howling with laughter as soon as he was out of earshot. After years of avoiding serious romantic entanglements, the mighty Ian Carlisle had been brought to his knees by a curvy little mouse in a hideous tent dress. He didn’t blame Xavier for laughing.
As he’d said, Violet was worth the effort. She’d been bottling up her passion and talent for so long that she was a veritable powder keg. All Ian had to do was find a way to set her ablaze.
His eyes lit on Geminids, and his lips drew back in a slow smile. In order to catch a mouse, one needed bait. Violet had already proven that she was an acquisitive little thing--the memory of the various layers she’d donned only to shed them still made him chuckle--and he already knew she wanted Geminids for the museum.
It was time to see just how far Violet was willing to go to persuade him to part with his favorite painting.
Chapter 6
Violet slumped forward to rest her head on her desk in relief as the final visitor left, the bell jingling merrily, indicating that she was free for an entire seventeen hours. The steady stream of visitors made the day go quickly even with the museum’s extended hours, but she hadn’t realized how much she’d miss the downtime that had preceded the Madden exhibit. Before, she’d been able to sit at her desk and read or eat lunch without the fear that someone would catch her unprofessional behavior. Now she barely had time to drink her coffee before it got cold.
She needed to hire more help.
The thought of hiring someone sent a chill through her. For years it had been just her, Murray, and Leroy, and then just her and Leroy. Inviting someone else into their cozy little world felt like inviting disaster. Violet had never even written a want ad, much less interviewed someone. How would she know that she was picking the right person? What if she hired a lunatic who burnt the museum down?
Or what if she hired someone who was a better curator than she was? Suddenly, she had a better understanding of why some mothers were so loath to hire babysitters. It wasn’t for fear that the child wouldn’t like the sitter. It was for fear that the child would.
“Anything else you want me to do?” Leroy asked.
Violet didn’t even need to lift her head to see the impatient look on his face. “No, go ahead. I’ll lock up,” she promised, hearing the bell ringing him out.
Leroy had the right idea, and as soon as she mustered the energy to sit up, she’d follow him. She’d pick up a pizza on the way and get straight into her pajamas as soon as she got home. There were at least five episodes of The Bachelor sitting on her DVR, and binge-watching mindless television and eating pizza on her couch sounded like heaven.
Someone cleared his throat.
Violet yelped, sitting up so fast that her neck cracked. In front of her stood Ian, his eyebrows lifting in surprise at her reaction. “Sorry.”
“I didn’t hear the bell,” she gasped, putting one hand on her chest to try to calm her racing heart.
“Leroy and I crossed paths,” he explained.
“That explains it,” she said inanely, blushing that he’d caught her slumped over her desk like roadkill. Sucking in a deep breath, she smoothed her hair back, trying to look professional. “Can I help you?”
“I’m concerned about the exhibit,” he announced, gesturing for her to accompany him as he headed for the gallery.
Violet’s heels clacked against the floor as she hurried to keep pace with him. “Concerned? Why?” The reviews of the exhibit had been universally positive, and she couldn’t begin to guess what Ian could find to quibble about since he’d signed off on all of her ideas. Surely he couldn’t intend to pull his paintings now?
Assuring herself that she had a signed contract guaranteeing the loan, Violet followed him into the gallery, watching as he turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. “It’s missing something.”
“All the reviewers loved it,” Violet reminded him.
Ian turned to her and tucked his thumbs into his belt. “You don’t agree with me?”
That was a dangerous question. If she agreed with him, she’d be giving him ammunition to break their deal, but if she argued, she risked angering someone who was rich and powerful enough to make her life extremely difficult. “The feedback has been overwhelmingly positive, and you said it was impressive when you gave us your final approval.” Reminding him that he’d approved of the exhibit couldn’t hurt.
“I don’t want to hear what everyone else thinks. I want to hear what you think. In your honest opinion, is the exhibit complete?” His eyebrows drew together, Ian looking oddly angry at her diplomatic response.
“Changing the exhibit at this late date would be impractical.” Making anything but the most minor changes would require closing the exhibit for at least a day, a decision that was certain to anger the very people she was depending on for the museum’s survival. They were still building momentum. She didn’t dare do anything that might jeopardize that.
Ian made a frustrated noise. “Violet. What do you think?”
He was watching her with an intensity that seemed out-of-place in a conversation about an exhibit of paintings, his body tense, reminding her of a snake about to strike. The thought of Ian eating her whole made Violet flush, and she took a step back, desperate for breathing room to calm herself. “I…I should lock up.”
Before she managed another step, Ian’s hand wrapped around her wrist, holding her in place. “Answer the question, Violet.”
Conscious that he could no doubt feel her racing pulse under his fingers, Violet blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “All the reporters liked it. We should leave it alone.”
Ian’s lips tightened, her words appearing to anger him. “Do you care so much about what reporters think?”
“Good publicity is important,” she said, aware of the thready note in her voice as Ian tugged her a little closer. They weren’t talking about the exhibit anymore, but she wasn’t sure what they were talking about.
“Stop talking about reporters and ‘shoulds,’” Ian demanded, his voice soft. “What do you want, Violet?”
With Ian looming over her, his dark eyes glittering with something she didn’t understand, there was only one thing Violet could think of. Shaking off his grip on her wrist, she reached up and grabbed the front of his shirt, the hunter-green fabric soft under her fingers as she yanked him down, his mouth colliding with her.
Ian laughed against her lips, and then his arms went around her. “I knew it,” he murmured, not giving her a chance to respond before he seized her mouth again, his tongue sweeping over her lips in a demanding caress.
She’d daydreamed about kissing Ian, but Violet had never dreamed that it would feel like this. His hard body was tight against hers as he tilted her back, supporting her weight with ease and forcing her to cling to his broad shoulders as his tongue slipped between her parted lips, stroking against her own.
He plundered her as if he owned her, and all Violet could do was moan as she yielded to his tender assault. Ian was everywhere, exploring every inch of her mouth as if she were a mystery to be solved. He found a spot on the roof of her mouth that made her body feel like it had been plunged into flames, and he laughed in triumph as he grazed it again and again, leaving her shaking with need.
Before Violet knew what was happening, she found herself being lowered to the floor, Ian moving to kneel over her and hold her down with one hand on her shoulder as she struggled to sit up, the floor cold against her overheated body.
“I hate your clothes.” His eyes were hooded and moody as he swept them over her gray swing dress. “You should never wear them.”
“Never wear clothes?” she panted, trying to follow the conversation.
He chuckled. “That would be a sight—the naked curator. You wouldn’t need my paintings then to attract a crowd. It’s a crime to hide breasts like yours.”
Violet subsided with a noisy sigh as his hand covered her breast and squeezed. “That’s it, Violet. Just let go. Stop hiding.”
With his command ringing in her ears, she didn’t protest when his hands went to the hem of her dress, pulling it off over her head and casting it aside as he looked down at her. Even knowing that he’d already seen her naked, Violet still blushed at his scrutiny, attempting to cover herself with her hands.
“Oh no,” Ian chided, catching her wrists and pinning them to her sides. “Let me look.”
Blushing, Violet turned her head to the side, not wanting to watch him look at her. This was nothing like her performance in his gallery. There she’d had a modicum of control over the situation. Now, even though they were in her museum, Violet felt utterly out of her depth. Whatever happened here was up to Ian. She’d take anything he was willing to give her.
“No garter belt today? I’m disappointed,” he teased, tugging down her pantyhose. Violet kicked off her shoes, hoping he wouldn’t notice the red indents her nylons made in her plump flesh.
“It’s for special occasions only,” she murmured, mostly just to have something to say.
“This isn’t a special occasion?” Ian feigned a look of hurt, his sparkling eyes belying his downcast expression.
Violet whimpered as he traced one long finger along the edge of her modest white lace bra. “Ian, please!”
“Oh, yes.” His face was avid. “Let me hear you.”
“Please!” she begged, beyond shame. “Ian, please. I want…I want…”
She yelped as he flicked his fingers against her tightly budded nipples, writhing on the cold floor. “What do you want, Violet?” he asked, sounding infuriatingly calm.
“You!” she moaned. “I want you. Ian, please.”
“That’s all you had to say,” he assured her.
When he took his hands off her, Violet moaned in protest, but when she realized he was taking his own clothes off, she considered it a
sacrifice worth making. Ian’s long fingers made short work of his shirt buttons, and she watched as he cast the shirt aside, her eyes greedily taking in every inch of him.
Ian’s body was a work of art, his muscles defined without being ostentatious. The sparse hair on his chest grew thicker as it disappeared beneath his belt line, and Violet’s lips tingled with the desire to follow that trail. Noticing her admiring gaze, he grinned and leaned back to give her a better view, his broad shoulders flexing as his flat, brown nipples pebbled in the gallery’s cool air.
“Now you,” he ordered, and Violet’s hand immediately went to the clasp of her bra, heedless of her own insecurities. Ian knew what she looked like, and he was willing to have sex with her anyway. There was no point in being modest now. He licked his lips as she tossed her bra aside, gravity pulling her heavy breasts to either side until she propped herself up on her elbows to keep everything together.
“All of it,” he insisted, his voice low and deep. Responding to the gravelly note in his voice, Violet yanked her panties off, adding them to the growing pile of clothing in the middle of the floor.
“That’s my good girl,” he praised. Ian’s gaze trailed over her like a caress, and Violet moaned as her body arched helplessly. Her breasts were akimbo, her body heaving and jiggling, and none of that mattered because Ian was going to make love to her.
“Touch yourself.” Violet jolted at the command, her mouth working soundlessly as reality collided with her fantasy. Touching herself in front of an imaginary Ian was one thing, but her self-consciousness flared to life at the thought of shamelessly pleasuring herself in front of the man himself. “Do it, Violet. Let me see you.”
Violet’s lust warred with her embarrassment and won. Helpless to deny Ian anything he wanted, she splayed her hands over her breasts and squeezed, arching into her own touch with a choked cry. Doing this alone in her bedroom was pleasant, but with Ian watching her, the sensations were almost unbearably intense. She plucked at her nipples, proud of the way they flushed and beaded. Her body was unimpressive, but surely he could have no complaints about her breasts.
