Page 54 of Watching Her

“Admirable,” I told her, breaking through her disparaging thoughts.

“Not according to my friends.” Her sly smile had returned.

“I would guess the lady would prefer a grander gesture from anyone she might find interesting.”

“Perhaps. As long as it wasn’t dangerous or reckless.”

“I would think a lady with such seductive curiosity would enjoy a hint of recklessness.”

At least I was rewarded with a smile. “Perhaps. My choice.”

“Ah, of course and I completely understand. Then I have a question for you. A choice.”

Her laugh was spontaneous. “Alright. What is the offer?”

“Would you like to dance, or would you prefer going somewhere less conspicuous?”

“Before I answer your question, I’d like one to mine.”

I started to ask her to refresh my memory before realizing what she needed to place any trust in me.

“Christian Tempest.”

If my name and the power behind it registered, she hid it well. She nodded before offering me her hand. When I accepted, I certainly wasn’t surprised her handshake was as strong if not more so than a man’s.

“Penelope Michaels.”

I didn’t force the issue, keeping my promise as to allowing her the choice.

But I had to admit both my patience and my generosity were wearing thin. Not because she didn’t deserve the gesture, but because I’d never offered it before.

The moment and realization were both fascinating.

“Caspian Trent.”

With a slight cock of my head, I waited to see where she’d go with this.

“I’m right. Aren’t I? You’re the artist and the reason I was awarded a very expensive painting for a nonexistent collection.”

“I’m not certain what you mean.” I found it difficult to keep a straight face.

“Please, Mr. Tempest. I’m no fool. You knew I’d placed a bid on the painting, five big dollars. Obviously, there was no way for me to be awarded the bid since the charity catered to the rich and famous. That’s why you were there. Of course. You’re part of the Triton Group. Yet no one knows you’re an artist. I find that fascinating. Why?”

“Why?” This was more delightful than I’d envisioned.

“Why insist I win the bid? Trying to impress me?”

“Were you?”

Her smile was coy. “I’m not easily impressed even with such a… tempting painting, but I do thank you. I’ll have some inspiration when I work. My real curiosity is about why you hide the fact you’re a brilliant painter. Because of who you are?”

“And who am I?”

The way she looked at me was more condescending than anyone had dared offer in most of my professional career. If it were a man, I’d crush him, but with her, I hungered. “Mr. Tempest,” she cooed. “While I don’t know much about you, I do know that your net worth is somewhere just over a billion dollars and that you’ve successfully taken Tempest International into an entirely different level of hospitality, far exceeding the profits and notoriety of even your closest competition.”

“Interesting. When did you know who I was?” There was the fuel for deceit, but I’d yet to be convinced.

“Don’t flatter yourself if you believe I was stalking you, perhaps purposely tossing my coffee on your freshly laundered shirt.”