LITMIR.BIZ

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      “You won’t. We’re just trying to understand what’s going on.”

      “Aimee told me.”

      He nodded. “Okay.”

      “I thought this was supposed to be about a security incident.” Her light brows crinkled. “I mean, what does one have to do with the other?”

      “We’re looking for a motive. If he’s abused one of his employees in the past, there’s a chance she or someone she knows has targeted him for revenge purposes. I get how they might not seem connected, but we have to consider all angles. And Sean couldn’t give us any information on who he suspected might be trying to break into the gallery, so we have to start somewhere.”

      “If he really has abused his staff, would you blame them for acting out against him?”

      “No, but my personal feelings on the situation don’t matter. Our job is to make sure we find out who’s been breaking into the gallery and into Sean’s emails.” He paused for a moment. “If there’s evidence that he’s been hurting his employees, then of course we’ll do the right thing and hand that over to the police. But that doesn’t absolve me from my responsibilities to protect his company. I’m not taking one side over the other.”

      She nodded, her expression guarded. “Have you considered the possibility that perhaps it was a crime of opportunity? Well…an almost crime of opportunity?”

      “Yes, but that doesn’t explain why this person managed to get into the gallery without tripping the alarm but couldn’t get into the storage room.”

      She resumed painting, her movement slow and gentle behind the canvas. “No, I guess it doesn’t. But I can tell you one thing, I am not romantically involved with Sean Ainslie. I may not be perfect, but I’m a one-man kind of woman.”

      One man. Him.

      “Is that so?” Lord help him, but hearing those words made him feel all kinds of satisfied. “The bed was a lot emptier the other morning than I would have liked.”

      “Maybe you imagined the whole thing,” she said softly.

      “I don’t think so, Wren. You know I’m not the creative type. I could never have dreamed up something that spectacular.”

      She bit down on her lip as she painted. “You might not be creative but you are good with your hands.”

      “So why the ninja exit in the middle of the night?”

      “I didn’t want the morning to be awkward.”

      He chuckled. “It would have been many things, but awkward isn’t one of them.”

      “How can you be sure?” Her voice sounded so small, so vulnerable.

      Hidden by the canvas, she continued to paint. Something told him paintings were her shield, a way for her to express herself that didn’t require words.

      “Because I had an amazing time and I was hoping it might continue. I think we work well together and there’s nothing awkward about that.”

      “But we’re so different.” She put down her brush and stepped out from behind the easel. “You’re the perfect specimen of adulthood and I’m…not.”

      “I was hoping after all we’d shared that my maturity wouldn’t be the thing you focused on.” He pushed up from his chair and walked over to her.

      “It’s not, but you’re so perfect at everything.” She laughed. “It’s kind of intimidating.”

      “I’m not perfect at everything.”

      Her arms folded across her chest, propping up her bust so that his eyes were drawn there. The white tank top was splattered with paint. “Oh yeah? Tell me something you’re bad at.”

      “Relaxing.” He held up a hand when she rolled her eyes. “Hear me out. I go crazy on the weekends if I don’t have anything to do. Since I met you, I’ve actually had a meal without working while I was eating.”

      “I’m not sure that counts.”

      “Okay.” The challenge was most definitely accepted. “I suck at keeping plants alive, I can’t make out the difference between expensive wine and cheap wine. I’m an embarrassingly terrible poker player and I was told once by an ex that I give really painful massages.”

      Wren laughed. “I don’t know which of those is my favorite.”

      “I’ve never given a massage to anyone since that conversation. It’s my secret shame.”

      “I don’t believe it for a second.” She reached out for his hand and rubbed her thumb over the center of his palm. “Your hands were good to me the other night.”

      The small touch sent excitement rocketing through him. All Wren had to do was get close and his body lit up like a fireworks display. Normally, he was able to keep his attraction to women contained, controlled. But with Wren, everything he normally held dear seemed to fly out the window.

      “I’m happy to hear it,” he said.

      “Want to see how the painting is going?” she asked, her voice soft and low.

      Knowing how cagey Wren had been about showing him her paintings the night they’d first had dinner together, this show of trust warmed him. “Definitely.”

      She slipped her fingers between his and tugged him closer to the easel. “It’s nowhere near finished. But having you here really helped me to get in the zone.”

      “Must be my type A personality rubbing off on you.”

      “Maybe.”

      From the first version he’d seen, this was leaps and bounds ahead. The lines were filled in; his eyes seemed dark and intense. She’d shaped his mouth to have an almost imperceptible lift at their corners, like they were sharing a private joke as she painted.

      “It’s incredible,” he said. “You’re incredible.”

      Viewing himself through her eyes, he wasn’t invisible. He wasn’t second best. He wasn’t the boy who’d struggled to belong. She saw him for who he really was. He couldn’t let that go, no matter how much his sensible side told him to walk away from this woman.

      She wasn’t planning to stay, so falling for her was a bad idea. He’d be setting himself up for disappointment. But that was before they’d started to explore the chemistry between them.

       What if she had a reason to stay?

       8

      WREN MIGHT BE the impulsive type, but even she could see that getting involved with Rhys was a dumb idea.

      His security company was making headway with their investigation. They’d already figured out that Sean was crossing the line with his employees—how much longer would it take before Rhys figured out her reason for being at the gallery?

       My personal feelings on the situation don’t matter.

      His words danced in her head. It was clear that once he found out the truth, he’d still think her in the wrong, even with her good intentions. Which meant it was one thing to indulge in a night of passion, but it was quite another to go back for seconds.

      But that was the problem with Rhys—she couldn’t get enough. She couldn’t keep her distance. She didn’t want to.

      “We have something here,” he said. “I’m not sure what it is, but I can’t ignore it.”

      “You know I’m not going to be staying after my internship is over,” she said, as though it might shake her brain into action. How could she

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