Priceless (2 page)

E
ven the most unsophisticated observer could see the emotion in Mallerton’s work.  The ability to make people emote is a true artistic gift.  Tristan Mallerton was blessed with that ability without a doubt.  It was the thing that’d drawn me to his work in particular when I’d begun my studies.  Plus the fact my father owned an original Mallerton portrait.  Passed down through the years of Hargreave descendants, it was of Sophie Hargreave, my great, great, great, grandmother, and would someday be mine.

I loved the formal pose of her in a gorgeous
blue and white gown, her incredibly long mahogany hair artfully arranged to the side, but it was her expression that ruled the portrait.  There was an air of amusement to her smile.  The elegant Sophie possessed a mischievous twinkle in her pretty eyes, suggesting she wasn’t all seriousness and convention.

And Mallerton’s
rare talent of portraying the subjects of his paintings in such a way that had you wondering about who the people were, and their life’s story, just made the portrait all the more interesting.  Something for which Mallerton was known.  Quite simply, his art left you craving for more.  Who were the people in his portraits?  Whom did they love?  Why was a particular pose or setting chosen for the subject?  These very questions, still asked today, were the exact essence of Mallerton’s talent, which had given him such acclaim, both in his lifetime, and now, two hundred four years later.

Two
hundred years.  Four years.
  They might as well be the same thing.  A lot could change in just four years…

You’ve changed.

I tried not to think about what I’d lost, but my self-imposed loneliness got the better of me sometimes, and I’d be lying if I couldn’t admit I longed for even a portion of the bliss Mrs. Gravelle had in her painting.

The chances of you ever finding someone who will inspire you
to look like the bride in that painting is slim to none—

“I found you,” a smooth voice said behind me.

I turned to see who was speaking to me and got an eyeful of beautiful.  The man before me was six feet plus of dark, lean and sexy with green eyes the color of my dress.  He flashed me a smile that could only be described as wicked.

“
Are you sure you were looking for me?”  He appeared to have money because I’d bet my extravagant new gown the tux hanging off his fine form was most certainly bespoke.  No doubt about it.  Was he a patron in need of a gallery tour?  A large contributor VIP?

“Oh yes, it’s
definitely you,” he purred, “the beauty in the green dress.”  He leaned forward.  Close but not touching, his face tilted toward my neck.  I backed up.  He followed…until I was pressed against the wall.  “And they were so right,” he said in his silky voice. 

“Right about what?” I asked, mesmerized by his features and his
delicious scent, and totally overpowered by how close he was to me. My God, he smelled good.  “Um…d-did you want a t-tour?” I stuttered, amazed coherent words were even forming from my lips.

“Mmm hmm,”
he said, nodding slowly, drawing his gaze up my neck, “I definitely want
your
tour.”

Why are you speaking like that
to me?
  I was clearly at a disadvantage in this situation and could definitely feel the weirdness coming at me from all directions.

Who was this Greek
god trapping me against the wall, looking like he wanted to devour me?  And was it bad that the thought of him actually doing some devouring made a long shiver roll down my back?

Mr. Man-Beauty
didn’t appear to be in any hurry, his green eyes tracking over my body, roving over everything they could see.

I swallowed hard.
 

“Who—who was it that sent you to find me, ah…mister—?”

“—Ivan
hoe.  The service notified you, right?”  He inhaled and moved a fraction closer, just staring with a confident half-smirk on his face.  “You’re definitely who I’m supposed to meet tonight.  Nine o’clock and wearing a green dress, which by the way is very…
very
…nice.”  The last three words were spoken slowly as his eyes raked up my dress until he landed somewhere around my lips.

“Nine
o’clock,” I repeated dumbly, overwhelmed by his maleness and his friggin’ gorgeous…everything, to the point I had apparently lost the ability to carry on a conversation.

W
ait.  Service?

“So you are Mr. Ivan
hoe, and you want me to give you the tour.” I said a tad too sarcastically, wanting to slap myself for the ignorance that kept spouting out of my mouth.

I was in utter and
complete bewilderment of what was going on with him though.

I
knew
for a fact I hadn’t been informed about any VIP named Mr. Ivanhoe needing a contributor’s tour tonight during the gala.  But it was clearly what he was expecting, standing boldly, looking like a man who was
very
sure of what he wanted.  I couldn’t just say no and blow him off.  It would be incredibly rude and possibly get me into trouble with the university.  And that was the thing with VIPs.  They tended to be less predictable and often showed up, expecting special treatment.  Their deep pockets were what kept the charities going though, and offending a generous donor was a big no-no. 

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes
a little, his brow wrinkling for an instant.  “Call me that if you wish, I don’t mind, and yes, I want whatever you have arranged for me.”  He brushed back his hair with a hand and held it there gripping at the back of his neck, his elbow coming up and framing me in even more.  “I’m ready to begin if you are.”  He smiled.

Whatever I have arranged
?
  I had nothing planned.  I had no idea why any of this conversation between us was even happening.  I knew nothing.  Well, I knew one thing—I couldn’t take my eyes off his hair.

Mr. Ivan
hoe’s hair was dark and straight, worn deliciously long in the European style, hitting just above where his broad shoulders met his neck.  I wanted to touch.

He’d
been blessed in more ways than just his wallet. 
An alien perhaps?

“All right,” I said carefully, swallowing hard
again, and wondering just how the next thirty minutes were going to go with the each of us staring and speaking in some kind of mysterious code.  “Where would you like to start, Mr. Ivanhoe?  What are your main interests?”

He offered his arm,
which I accepted and let him lead us into the hallway. 

“Beauty interests me right now.”  He looked down at me and smiled darkly, his lips slightly parted and my arm tucked firmly under his.

It interests me
, too.
  “Well, there is plenty of beauty here to show you,” I said.

“
“I thought so.”  He stopped us at a door. “I can’t wait to see it all and experience it for myself.”

He opened the door and led me inside a darkened anteroom.  Various
works in progress of restoration and archival rooms were down this way.  I was about to ask him if he wanted a tour of the conservationist wing when he shut the door and pressed me back against it.  “Bloody perfect,” he mumbled.

“What—
?” was all I managed to get out before he took my face in his hands, slammed his mouth down over mine, and started kissing me with his beautiful mouth.

MY
“date” was interesting tonight.  Sexy as all get-out but mysteriously illusive with what sounded to be an American accent.  And so damn beautiful my eyes were stinging.

We
really needed to get this party started, and we couldn’t very well just stand here in a quiet gallery hallway mentally undressing each other now, could we? It would be wholly inappropriate, and someone was bound to come by and see eventually.

I do
n’t usually go in for public shags but was far too gone in attraction to my “tour guide” to care very much.  I’m a man of action.  Give me a problem and I will do my damndest to find a solution.

Like
right now for instance: 
Where can I find a place to get Maria alone and see what she’s got hidden beneath her sexy gown?

Was Maria really
her name?  I tried to remember the text I’d received, and thought I was right, but details like that slip my mind consistently.  I
was
however, well aware how escorts didn’t like for clients to use their working names where somebody might hear.

I always followed the rules wit
h the ladies, still shocked this beautiful creature was an escort in the first place and not a model for Vogue or Harpers.  She could be, in a heartbeat. 

A d
oor appeared in front of me, so I opened it and brought her in with me.  Dark, empty, private.  “Bloody perfect,” I said.

I pressed her up against the door and took her face in my hands.  Her eyes were a stunning dark green, almost the sa
me colour as mine were, but I just had to get to know that luscious mouth of hers first.

I could look in
to her eyes once we were shagging in a few, and I planned on it.

I wanted a taste of those lips
mostly, and then I’d move on to other parts.  I knew what I was doing and I was totally confident she did, too.

“What—
?” she murmured, just as I descended.

The
time for talking has well passed, lovely thing.

When I covered her mouth with mine a
nd got a first taste, something switched on inside me and I sort of lost my normally maintained control.

I ju
st wanted to push my way in and get lost in her for a while.

She froze at first and sucked in a breath
, but then she seemed to soften and go with the program, and started to kiss me back.  She tasted like a delicious wine I couldn’t seem to get enough of, so I just delved deeper and held her firmly.

It took a moment
, but I felt her response grow to the point where her hands got into the action and buried in my hair.  Once that started happening I knew everything was good.  We had chemistry together and I was sure of one thing—I’d be getting Maria’s number so we could do this again.

I moved a hand down to sweep under her skirt and slid my palm up her thigh and right between her legs. 
I felt lace.

And
a bundle of hot, sexy female.

“Ahh
h…” she moaned, standing up on her toes and throwing her head back when I touched her.  I moved my mouth to her throat and down the deep neckline of her dress.  My fingers dove under the lace of her knickers and found my target, skimming back and forth where it counted.

That she was totally turned on and primed for action
, was never in question.  I had the proof over my fingers.

This
goddess in my arms, wearing a green dress I wished I could strip her out of, was about to come on me. 
Fucking hot
.

I gripped her face with my free hand and brought her back to
face me.  “Open your eyes.”

She complied instantly, her lashes flipping up and revealing those green beauties I’d admired earlier.  Her breathing was coming in hea
vy pants now.  Time to hit a bullseye with Miss Maria, I decided.

I moved two fingers into position and buried them inside her.  In the same moment I seized her mouth and impaled
myself there, too.  She was totally mine to conquer and I relished the control in moments like this.  I was all about control when it came to sex.

Especially now.

I matched the stroking of my fingers with the pace of my tongue, and in no time, I had her riding the wave of an orgasm as she rode my hand.

I swallowed her tensing cries
with my mouth, and slowed everything down for her until she was completely melted against the door, fighting for breaths.

Mission accomplished.

“God, you’re beautiful.”  She widened her eyes and focused on me, a look of utter satisfaction simmering in them as she breathed against the door.  What I wouldn’t give to have her in my bed right now.  The possibilities flashed in images through my head as I moved my fingers slowly out, retreating carefully from her body.  She gasped softly and rolled with my movements, coming down from the rush to stand on her own again.  Her head was slightly tilted and resting on the back of the door.  My hand still on her face, I lowered it down to her shoulder, caressing as I went.