Romance: The Art Of Love: A Billionaire Romance (6 page)

         
“What’re
you doing?” Annette asked.

         
“Telling
Alex to come pick us up,” Clifford replied. “I’m in no shape to drive.” He
kissed Annette again. “Especially when there are much better ways to occupy my
time.”

         
Annette
blushed. The idea of the driver watching the view in the rear view mirror as
Clifford touched her body was unexpectedly exciting; she could feel her nipples
stiffening against her blouse.

         
“All
right.”
 
Her hand brushed against the
front of Clifford’s trousers. His desire was evident. “But how in the world
will we spend our time until he arrives?”

         
Clifford
took half a step backward, introducing a little distance between their bodies.
“With a little discretion.” He kissed her nose. “Don’t worry. You won’t have to
wait long to get what you want.”

         
Alex
arrived driving the black town car, pulling to the curb directly in front of
Clifford and Annette. Clifford opened the back door, ushering Annette inside.
She slid across the leather seats, heels dragging over the carpeted floor.

         
Clifford
joined her, shutting the door behind him. Annette expected him to speak to
Alex, but he didn’t, not a word. All of the billionaire’s attention was focused
on her.

         
“You
are so beautiful,” he said, slipping a hand under Annette’s and letting his
fingers curl gently over the back of her neck. The contact made her moan; when
he squeezed, she bit her lower lip.

         
“That’s
nice,” he said. Clifford put his other hand on Annette’s knee, sliding slowly
upward under her blue skirt. “I can’t wait to feel your body.”

         
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.”

         
“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, handing 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.

         
“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.”