for a moment to spare a glance at the so-called work of art. The work of art that almost wasn’t.
You are truly a master, Lorenzo. I have to give you that.
He made a mental note to send the man a gift of appreciation over and above the sum they had agreed on once this whole affair was over. Once he managed to lay his hands on the original and return it, he might even keep Lorenzo’s work of art as a souvenir.
As to finding out who had the original, the clock was definitely ticking. Come morning, he was going to have to turn his considerable energies to finding out just what had happened to it. For the last week, his attention had been focused on manipulating the press so that their attention was on the gala, not the piece, until it was ready.
It had been touch and go for a while. At one point, it looked as if he was going to have to postpone the opening, but then Lorenzo had come through, the way he always did. The copy was ready a full eighteen hours before the big opening.
Just enough time for the work to “cool.”
Cole had had his doubts, up until the unveiling, that they could pull it off. But when Lorenzo had placed the statue before him, undraping it with a flourish, he’d been speechless. He was by no means an expert, but he certainly couldn’t tell the difference between the statue he had been shown in MacFarland’s mansion and the one that was now taking its place. Provided with a multitude of photographs, Lorenzo had managed to nail the statue right down to the minute details.
The hunt for the missing statue was for tomorrow. Tonight Cole wanted to enjoy the fruits of his efforts. And possibly to enjoy this young woman who was looking at the sculpture with such rapt attention.
As he came up behind her, he caught a whiff of something seductive that went straight to his gut. That was twice now, he thought.
“It is beautiful, isn’t it?”
Elizabeth didn’t turn immediately to look at the man standing behind her. Her attention was completely focused on the statue, to the exclusion of everything and everyone else. Situated the way it was, on a tall pedestal within a ring of blue lights and roped off from general access, it was too far away for her to study in detail.
Even so, there was something that bothered her about the statue, something not quite right that she couldn’t put her finger on.
Granted she’d only seen the statue once, and that had been on an old VHS tape that dealt with unique pieces of art that had found their way into private collections. But still, there was something nagging her about the statue. She needed a closer look, but she knew hopping over the golden ropes that surrounded the piece would be frowned upon.
“Yes, it is beautiful,” she murmured, finally looking away and at the person who addressed her.
Space within the gallery was at a premium. Rubbing elbows was not only a euphemistic description, but an accurate one as well. It was hard to move within the vast room without brushing up against someone. Right now she found herself brushing up against a sophisticated, handsome man with sea-blue eyes, light-blond hair worn like a lion’s mane and a killer smile.
The latter seemed to burrow itself right into her very bones, bones that were currently experiencing, for lack of a better description, a startling jolt of electricity.
He was tall, very tall. At six-one or six-two he dwarfed her, despite her four-inch heels. He also filled out his deep-gray suit to perfection with shoulders that in an emergency she was certain could probably easily accommodate an aircraft landing.
He was definitely a man who deserved to be regarded as one of the beautiful people, she mused, studying him as she took a slow, languid sip from the champagne flute she was holding.
Cocking her head, she glanced back at the sculpture. “It looks as if it was done yesterday.”
Very few things threatened to make Cole’s heart stop. This, however, was one of them. Just who was she? Had she been sent by the person responsible for the statue’s disappearance? Was she here to expose him?
Cole kept his cool as he quietly asked, “I beg your pardon?”
Waves of unease reached Elizabeth. She’d startled him for some reason. Why? Her observation was harmless.
Wasn’t it?
“The timelessness,” she clarified, watching him more closely now. “The sculpture looks as if it could have been created in this century instead of 1862.”
“You’re familiar with the work, then?”
“With the artist,” she amended. “I know that Auguste Rodin was heartbroken when his sister died and this was his way of honoring her. It’s the first known piece he ever did.”
She got nothing more. The waves she’d thought she detected had faded. Her imagination? Maybe her new-found freedom was playing havoc with her perception.
“A pity,” she went on, “that it’s been hidden all this time.”
So, she was an art enthusiast. Cole felt a little relieved. Right now, he was more interested in her than in the sculpture. “Speaking of being hidden, why haven’t I seen you before at one of these openings?”
Her smile was slow, he thought, like early-morning heat in New Orleans, spreading languidly, poking invasive fingers into the shadows. “Maybe you weren’t looking.”
Her voice was like Southern Comfort being poured into a tall glass, thick, smooth. It suited her.
The undercurrent of excitement didn’t leave.
“Trust me, you’re not the type to be overlooked.” He extended his free hand to her. “Cole Williams.”
She raised her eyes to his, innocence and sin mingled in equal proportions. It went with the smile. “Yes, I know who you are. Ariel Lockwood.” She told him the name that was on the invitation. The woman had connections to the world of the rich and famous, but was currently in Europe, according to something she remembered reading. That meant she couldn’t put in a sudden appearance. “And is that your best line?”
He laughed softly, keeping his other thoughts from registering on his face.
“Does sound like a line, doesn’t it?” He subdued the urge to slip his arm around her waist and guide her to a more private corner. There was no more private corner. He didn’t need a head count to know that everyone who had gotten an invitation had shown up. “But it’s not a line,” he assured her. “It’s merely an observation. Where are you from?”
Because the din had increased, she leaned into him before answering, “Here and there.”
Magnetism, that’s what she had, he thought. The fact that he felt it intrigued him. “I’m acquainted with the life. Jet-setting on Daddy’s money, or your own?”
She raised her chin and he saw the pride in her eyes. That, too, was something he was acquainted with. “My own. Definitely my own.”
Cole paused to take a sip of his champagne. As he did so, he looked around, anticipating being the target of unveiled daggers. But there was only envy in the eyes of the men who were close enough to inhale the pricey fragrance the woman in red was wearing.
In
