it was an even greater seduction. She curved her arms around him, and felt the euphoria sweep through her as they shuddered, almost violently, both rocked by their climax.
He half fell and half eased himself to her side. For a minute he was silent. “Whose idea was it that we were better off moving slowly?” he finally asked.
She smiled and turned into him. “Yours.”
“No, I think it was yours.”
He held her, drawing her to him, and kissed her lovingly. “We won’t always need to be apart. When I’m in the city, it just makes sense for me to stay here.”
“We...” Danni faltered. For her, he was perfect. She’d met him not long after her father died. She’d been at a loss, confused, disbelieving—and Quinn had barreled into her life.
“We what?” he asked her.
She ran her fingers through the lock of hair that fell over his forehead. “You know, I didn’t even like you when we met.”
“And I wasn’t that fond of you, either. Except that I thought you were the sexiest woman I’d ever seen.”
“And now?”
“What do you think?”
“I’ve always thought that actions speak more loudly than words,” she said primly.
He grinned. And she smiled as he swept her into his arms. Their world might be going to hell again. But he was with her that night.
She wanted to cling to every moment until morning came.
* * *
Quinn could only explain the fact that he hadn’t awakened when she left the bed by reminding himself that he hadn’t really slept in almost forty-eight hours. He’d barely been back at his house before Larue had called that morning.
He woke now because Wolf was nudging his hand and whining. And if Wolf was in the room, the door was open. But the dog wasn’t injured and he wasn’t barking; there was no intruder in the house.
He jumped up, grabbing a robe. Then he grabbed a second robe. This had happened before. If the dog wanted him awake but nothing had disturbed the house, Danni was in her studio.
He hurried down the stairs and stopped in the doorway, watching her. He worried when he saw her like this but he was also afraid to startle her. She seemed frenzied and intent, yet she wasn’t actually awake.
She sat before the canvas on its easel, her posture completely straight. She made a picture of absolute beauty with her hair flowing down her naked back. Her palette of colors lay next to the canvas where she worked, and she painted as if she were an automaton.
He walked over to stand beside her.
Something inside him seemed to tighten.
She’d copied the Hubert painting he’d seen in the gallery that morning except...
There was nothing deceptive about its beauty. The colors drew the eye and compelled the viewer to look more closely. What he saw revealed the emotions hidden in the original work. Her version of the painting made immediately explicit what Hubert’s had veiled.
Everyone in this painting had apparently been startled and had turned as if to face a camera. The beautiful woman on the settee or love seat had her dagger out and seemed to be snarling at the man. He’d aimed his gun and moved into position to shoot the woman, an expression of hatred on what you could see of his face. The suits of armor has stepped forward, both holding swords. The chess pieces were running in terror while the children who’d been playing the game were trying to smash them with a large chalice and a medieval shield. Over the fireplace, the man in the portrait was directing the action with a cruel zeal written into his features. The child playing with the guillotine was slicing off the head of another doll—but the doll seemed to be alive and screaming.
That damned giclée. She was creating her own image of the giclée in the shop. Had the horror of it gotten to her?
He knew that wasn’t true. Danni was strong; she’d been born with her father’s strength. He knew her, and he’d known Angus, so he was sure of that.
Danni’s hand paused in midair. He caught her wrist gently and took the paintbrush from her fingers, setting it on the palette. He placed her robe around her shoulders and knelt beside her, shaking her lightly as he said her name. “Danni. Danni, wake up.”
She blinked several times and then stared at him with wide eyes. She shivered, and he gathered the robe more tightly around her. Her eyes quickly scanned the studio and then met his again.
“I—I was sleepwalking?”
“Sleep painting,” he told her.
She didn’t want to look at her creation. He didn’t want to let her, but he knew he had to.
She slowly turned and studied the painting. He saw the horror dawn in her expression.
“It’s just a painting,” she whispered. Anger hardened her voice when she spoke again. “No, not even a painting. A copy of a painting, a giclée.”
“We’ll have to find the real one,” he said.
He had a feeling he knew where the real one was—somewhere in New Orleans.
She shook her head. “Find it? You don’t understand. It’s a museum piece.” She hesitated. “It was just sold. Niles heard a rumor that it’s been bought by someone here in the city. But even if we find it...we’d need millions to get it!”
He stood and pulled her to her feet, holding her close. “It’s coming here?” That rumor confirmed—or at least reinforced—what he already suspected.
“Nothing definite so far,” she said.
“We’ll get it,” he vowed. “Whatever it takes.”
She drew away. “How? First, we’d have to identify the new owner—a multimillionaire or billionaire, for sure—and convince him that he’s spent a fortune on a killer painting? And you suppose he’ll hand it right over?”
He tried to ease her shaking, tried to speak calmly. “We’ll have to break in and steal it, then.”
“Break in and steal it?” she asked. “You think it is here!”
“In the morning,” he said. “Come on. We’re going back to bed.”
“I can’t go to bed.”
“Yes, you can.”
“But...”
“I’m here, Danni. I’m here. And I’ll hold you until you fall asleep, I swear it.”
The slightest smile appeared on her lips; she’d needed his strength. Now, she was drawing on her own reserves. “And then you’ll let go of me?” she asked. “When I’m asleep?”
“No. Well, not until morning when we wake up and want
