Bared to the Billionaire: The Complete Series

by Sylvia Pierce

  Jared downed it quickly, grateful that Evan always seemed to know exactly what he needed, right when he needed it. He set the glass on a wooden shelf behind them, taking a deep breath. “All the bloody yakking. The smiling. I don’t like it.”

  “But it’s for a good cause,” Evan said.

  “Why couldn’t we just write them a check?”

  “I’m not talking about the children’s museum,” Evan said. “I’m talking about Hastings. Despite your best efforts, and the fact that you wouldn’t let the geezer drive your car, it seems his board members are quite enamored of you.”

  “Is that so?” Jared asked. He’d never admit it to Evan, but the news filled him with relief.

  “Word is, Mr. Blackwell, you’re the dog’s bollocks.”

  “That’s a step up from nefarious.”

  “Indeed.” Evan’s brow furrowed. “If only they could figure out why you’re still single.”

  “Any theories?”

  “Oh, the usual. Deep emotional wounds, fear of commitment, only child syndrome, take your pick.”

  Jared laughed. “I’ve got five siblings, you git.”

  “I’m just the messenger.” Evan clapped him again on the shoulder, giving him an encouraging squeeze. “Come on. If we don’t get back inside, they’re bound to notice and come looking for you.”

  “I hate this, you know,” he said. “And I especially hate you. Worst idea you’ve ever had.”

  “You say that about all of my ideas. Especially the ones that work.”

  “This time I really mean it.”

  “Great! Now that we’ve got that sorted.” Evan opened a door that led into the huge stainless steel kitchen, bustling with caterers and bartenders. “Come on, then.”

  Jared followed Evan inside, and then punched in the alarm code, securing the garage behind them.

  “The first course will be served in one hour, sir,” the head chef said.

  “Perfect,” Jared said. “Thank you. Everything smells delicious.”

  After fixing themselves another round of drinks, the men weaved though the crowded kitchen and formal dining room, Jared doing his best to avoid eye contact while Evan deflected the overly talkative guests. By the time they reached the expansive open foyer, Jared was feeling marginally better about the evening.

  Evan had been right; the guests were having a grand time, laughing and chatting amongst themselves, enjoying the hors d'oeuvres and drinks his caterers delivered on elegant black trays. Now that they’d seen Jared at home, perhaps the Hastings people would feel a bit more at ease about their potential relationship. And of course, the Children’s Museum of Art would be able to do some great work with the proceeds from tonight’s dinner.

  As much as Jared hated to admit it, he was glad Evan had suggested hosting the event. Despite his anxieties and general aversion to putting his private life on public display, Jared couldn’t imagine the evening being a more smashing success.

  Until the greeter ushered in a late-arriving guest, and Jared’s heart nearly jackhammered out of his chest.

  Standing in the foyer, dressed in a slinky black dress that slid over every delicious curve and elegant satin gloves that reached her elbows, was one very devious, sexy-as-sin, hazel-eyed woman.

  His woman.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ari gave herself ten more seconds to stop feeling sorry for herself and get her head in the game.

  Never mind the Brit’s sexy voice, or the fact that she’d missed out on it last night, way too nervous about the impending job to answer his calls or texts.

  Never mind Vincent’s filthy hands, how she’d fought him off the entire drive up from the city.

  Never mind that she’d hardly gotten any sleep, jolting out of bed at every creak and groan, convinced Vincent had found a way into her bedroom, just as he’d threatened.

  Never mind that she’d lied to Tasha, convincing her that the boss was sending her on an overnighter for an important conference, an event she couldn’t miss.

  Ari took a steadying breath, willing herself to forget it all. None of it mattered. Tonight, right now, standing in this gorgeous mansion in the shadow of the Catskill Mountains, Ari just had to finish the job.

  Get in. Get the intel. Get out.

  And above all, don’t get noticed.

  After checking the hallway to confirm no one had followed her upstairs, Ari slipped into a bedroom and shut the door behind her, confirming what her observations of the first floor had already implied.

  This guy is loaded.

  She hadn’t even done a thorough sweep, but she’d already determined it to be exactly the kind of exclusive, eclectic cache Davidson had predicted: Paintings from the Italian Renaissance, Russian avant-garde, and contemporary works the owner had likely commissioned directly from the artists. Exquisite New Kingdom jars and statues made of Egyptian alabaster and faience. Silk scrolls and wall panels from thirteenth century Japan. The entire home was a museum in and of itself—and that wasn’t even counting the classic cars Vincent had mentioned. Ari knew a lot more about fine art than she did about automobiles, but the way he’d gone on about them, those beauties had to be worth millions.

  Millions that someone else worked for. Someone you’re going to hurt.

  Shaking off the ever-present guilt, she sent Davidson a text to hint at her initial findings, hoping it was enough to keep his incessant check-ins at bay. I’m having a lovely evening—even better than expected. I think a family trip to the region sounds like a great idea! The more, the merrier. LOTS to do here.

  With heavy tapestries drawn over the windows, the bedroom was too dark to explore unaided. Ari flipped on the flashlight on her phone, quickly scanning her surroundings. It wasn’t the master suite, but even this secondary bedroom was lush with paintings and beautiful antique furniture.

  She made her way to a large, walk-in closet full of women’s clothing and shoes, everything protected by clear plastic garment bags.

  Interesting.

  Davidson’s surveillance had indicated that the homeowner lived alone—not with a woman. Then again, with everything bagged up and put away, it was likely that the woman who’d once occupied this room hadn’t been here in a while.

  A low shelf along one wall held an assortment of jewelry boxes, and inside the largest, Ari found a piece that took her breath away.

  With gloved hands, she fingered the ruby-and-diamond bracelet, admiring the way the gemstones sparkled in the low beam of the flashlight.

  It’d been more than a decade since she’d earned a place on her father’s crew with that minor jewel heist. But for a fleeting moment, warmth spread in her belly, a familiar rush that made her feel both excited and dirty.

  Excited, because she’d never forget the look of pride on her father’s face that night when she’d shown him her score.

  And dirty, because rifling through people’s heirlooms and possessions was one of the most despicable things one human being could do to another. More than just a crime, it was a violation, pure and simple.

  With a deep sigh, Ari put the bracelet back, grateful that the only thing she’d be taking tonight was information.

  Through an open archway at the back of the closet, Ari entered a small dressing room, just large enough for a chair, a full-length mirror, and a chest of drawers.

  On the wall above the chest was a painting of a dour woman gazing into a mirror. The reflection staring back at her was that of a young girl. Though Ari couldn’t make out colors in the dim light, she knew the woman’s hair was dark, the child’s light, their eyes the same haunting blue.

  She knew the painting by heart.

  Memory’s Memories, by Viola LaPorte.

  It was one of her father’s. From the missing cache.

  Tentatively Ari reached for the painting, tracing the edge with a trembling finger. Tears blurred her vision as she realized with shocking clarity that she’d been searching for this for the last five years, ever since Davidson had shown up a
t her father’s penthouse with his head down, unable to meet her eyes.

  He’s dead, Arianne. I’m so, so sorry…

  All the auctions, the high society events, the fundraisers… It wasn’t just because she was afraid of Davidson, afraid of ending up on the street, afraid of losing her sister. It was because she’d hoped, on some deep impossible level, that she’d find the missing cache. That she’d piece together the clues and follow the trail straight to her father’s murderer.

  That she’d finally clear his name.

  And here, tonight, was her first clue. The first link anyone in the crew had ever found.

  It shouldn’t have surprised her. With a $70 million street value, a cache like that didn’t just vanish. It might go underground awhile, but it always resurfaced, usually in pieces. A painting here. A vase there. Even one piece could lead them to the rest.

  And this was it. Her one piece.

  Ari blinked away her tears and looked again at the painting. If this one had shown up, others would follow. Maybe they already had. Maybe they’d even be in this very house.

  She tried to text Davidson, but her brain kept tripping up, her hands shaking, the gloves making it all the more difficult. She needed to get out of there, get some air, get her head on straight.

  Because after tonight, everything was going to change.

  Out beyond the Hudson River, the rolling hills of the Catskills looked lavender in the moonlight, an ethereal sight that only made Ari feel more alone, more confused. She’d wandered out to the gardens behind the house, trying to decide how to tell Davidson about the painting, but now that the cool night air had cleared her head, she was rethinking it.

  Davidson had always believed that Ari’s father had double-crossed them. He and the others had agreed that they couldn’t waste precious resources seeking vengeance for a man who’d betrayed his crew, no matter that the man was Ari’s own flesh and blood. As far as Davidson was concerned, it was a business decision, plain and simple. She didn’t have to like it, but she had to live with it.

  Now, Ari leaned against an oak tree that stood guard at the edge of the garden, its leaves shivering in the gentle breeze, and closed her eyes.

  What the hell should I do?

  Davidson was hell-bent on taking the artwork in this house—it was worth a fortune, probably the biggest score the crew had ever attempted. If he discovered the painting and anything else from the missing cache, he’d likely just fence it, no love lost. Ari could try to reason with him, but in the end he’d likely tell her to let it go, to move on as the rest of them had.

  And after five agonizing years, the only piece of possible evidence in her father’s murder would vanish again.

  No. She couldn’t let that happen. If Ari was going to trace that painting back to her father—to the man who killed him—she needed to do it alone.

  And that meant going back inside, finishing the job Davidson had sent her here to do, and coming up with a solid plan before Davidson and Vincent made their next move.

  She’d just decided to leave the gardens and head back to the event when she was unexpectedly corralled against the oak tree, strong arms encircling her from behind, a voice hot and dangerous in her ear.

  “Come with me. Don’t make a sound.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The art world was small and incestuous, Jared reminded himself. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for the woman to be here. A coincidence, yes. But not impossible. She seemed to know the inner workings of the art world like no one else; perhaps she’d heard about the fundraiser and decided to attend. Perhaps she was a companion to one of his guests. Or maybe she was employed by the Children’s Museum—she did say that she had a work thing tonight.

  You’re a fool, Blackwell. A bloody fool.

  No matter his justifications—his hopes—Jared could no longer deny the fact that the woman was more than a bit dodgy. He’d followed her to the gardens with every intention of confronting her. But by the time he’d gotten her into the guesthouse, his priorities had changed.

  “You look beautiful,” he said, loving the way her bare shoulders glowed in the moonlight, and the elegant braid twisted around the crown of her head like a soft, amber halo.

  She smiled, but didn’t say anything. In the dim light he couldn’t read her expression, though she’d come with him willingly, almost eagerly. Still, she hadn’t uttered more than a surprised greeting, offering no explanation for her presence at his fundraiser, or—more importantly—for why she’d been sneaking around upstairs.

  He hadn’t asked her about that yet. Part of him was almost afraid to hear the answer, afraid he’d have no choice but to send her away for good.

  Had Hastings sent her to spy, to get close to him and find out his deepest, darkest secrets? If that were the case, both the woman and the CEO of his soon-to-be acquisition would be sorely disappointed. Any secrets he’d had were covered by the tabloids last year.

  Besides, the idea seemed a bit preposterous, even for Hastings. The old man was a huge pain in Jared’s ass, but he was a by-the-book pain in the ass.

  Whatever this woman was up to, it was her own brand of trouble.

  Trouble that Jared couldn’t seem to get enough of.

  What are you up to, love?

  “So this was your work thing?” he asked, the two of them standing toe-to-toe in the darkened foyer of the guesthouse. The sparks between them were as undeniable as ever, quickly burning Jared’s resolve to ash.

  “Yes,” she said. “And your boring party, I see.”

  Jared smirked. “What are the chances?”

  “I was wondering the same thing.”

  “Do you work for the museum?” he asked.

  “The Children’s Museum?” She shook her head. “No, I’m just a… a consultant. But my company is a major supporter of their work. When we heard about the event, we couldn’t pass it up.”

  “I see.” Jared relaxed, but only slightly. Even if her story were true, it didn’t explain why she’d been snooping upstairs, just like she’d been snooping at the auction last weekend. “Have you been inside yet?”

  “I… yes. But it’s so overwhelming in there.” She wrinkled her nose, the most adorable look of distaste Jared had ever seen. “I kind of hate parties, to be honest.”

  “That makes two of us,” Jared said.

  “We’re practically fugitives,” she said, glancing around the foyer. “Hiding like a couple of kids who don’t want to go home for supper.”

  “The opposite of party crashers.”

  “Party dogders.” She laughed, a delightful, musical sound that stirred something deep within him.

  A woman with a laugh like that couldn’t be all bad, could she?

  “I don’t suppose we might finally exchange names?” He was trying to find a subtle way to tell her that it was his house, his overwhelming party. But he regretted the question instantly. He’d broken the rules again, pushed her harder than he’d meant to.

  “No.” The woman lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry. I… I should probably just get back inside. I need to make an appearance, and—”

  Jared silenced her with a kiss, something he’d wanted to do since he’d first seen her in the foyer of the main house an hour ago. Even as he’d followed her upstairs, watching from the darkness as she snuck into the guest bedroom and closed the door, he’d wanted to kiss her. To taste those lips, feel her warm breath, feel her soft tongue sliding into his mouth.

  Fuck, this is a bad idea. But it feels so, so right.

  She sighed in his arms, her body pressed so tightly against him he could feel her nipples, swollen and stiff beneath her dress.

  “I’ve missed you terribly,” he whispered, running his thumb along her lower lip. She opened her mouth, closing her eyes as he slipped his thumb inside.

  “Do you still want to leave me, love?” He drew his thumb from her mouth, dragging it down the front of her dress to her nipple.

  She shook her head and leane
d into his touch, her breath ragged against his neck.

  “Tell me what you want,” he whispered. “Don’t be shy.”

  “I want more,” she said. “I want your cock. I want you to fuck my mouth, to let me take you in deep.”

  Jared’s cock thickened at her words. “Are you sure that’s—”

  “Yes.” She knelt before him, her hands sliding down his chest to the zipper on his pants. In a single, fluid motion she freed his stiff cock, grasped it in her firm, warm hands.

  Her touch was fucking incredible.

  Screw his control. He’d given that up the moment he’d seen her in the foyer. She wasn’t just here for a fundraiser, that was certain, and Jared didn’t know how much longer either of them could continue this make-believe game. But for now, she was his, kneeling before him, licking her lips as she prepared to suck his cock.

  “I want to taste you.” She teased him with her tongue, circling the tip and driving him wild. “To suck you hard.”

  He couldn’t hold back. With both hands Jared grabbed the back of her head, guiding his cock straight into her throat.

  Her eyes fluttered closed as she took him in deep, stroking him with her eager lips and tongue, moaning against his flesh. He’d missed her so much—her touch, her lips, everything about her driving him wild.

  She pulled back, dragging her tongue along his shaft as he slid out of her mouth, her breath hot on his engorged head. With a smoldering gaze, she looked up at him and said, “I want you to fuck my mouth, take me as hard as you want me.”

  He almost came right there, but she closed her lips around him again, and he regained control, guiding her as she sucked him hungrily.

  “Take it,” he commanded. “That’s it. Take it in deep.”

  This wasn’t like the night at the auction, hiding in the closet and doing his damnedest to keep quiet. This was his property, a small guesthouse tucked away from all the people at the party, from all the prying eyes and ears. He didn’t have to hold back here.

  Neither of them did.