“God help me, Callie. I can’t ever let you go.”

*  *  *

It took only a few minutes for Callie to fall asleep in Wes’s arms. He held his breath, counting the seconds before he left the bed and quickly returned with a small lotion bottle. She snuggled right up against him again and he warmed a drop of lotion on his palm before he slipped it beneath the sheets and rubbed it over her back in slow circles. It would help her skin to soften and heal. Not that he’d marked her, a few red lines that would fade in a day. No welts, no pain. That was what she needed, just a hint of darkness, a hint of something close to the edge. And giving it to her had been euphoric. She had given him what no other woman had been able to give him before. Complete trust and surrender.

He’d done much harsher things to other submissives depending on their needs, but nothing had fulfilled him like tonight with Callie. That shadow in his soul, the scars he hid from the world, seemed to burn away whenever he touched her. She was a light, shining clear through him and obliterating that darkness he warned her about. It scared the fucking hell out of him. She had the power to save him. He didn’t want someone to have that strength over him, but he couldn’t pull back. He was in too deep. Callie belonged to him, and he wouldn’t give her up, even if it meant losing himself to her in return.

A soft sigh whispered against his bare chest as her lips parted and she murmured his name. He tightened his hold on her. Was she dreaming about him? The thought made his lips curve into a genuine smile. Dreams were a sacred realm, and if he owned her there, she was his. Forever.

Chapter 22

Callie had lied to Wes. And she hated it. But something in her gut told her it was necessary. He’d given her access to the Monet painting and in the last two days she’d done as he asked and forged the painting. Stroke for stroke. It was perfect. Even she, someone who was constantly doubting her own skill, had to admit it was a remarkable replica. She’d made the piece Wes needed and it would be bait for the art thief. But that wasn’t what made her tense with shame.

Her secret wasn’t technically a lie, not really. The guilt at concealing something from him was strong. If she dared to share it with Wes, it might jeopardize her own plan to catch the thief. She knew Wes was doing what he thought was best, but Callie had ranch instincts. That sense of when a storm is coming, even if you can’t see a cloud for miles. She was convinced the thief was still one step ahead of Wes and the FBI, as sure as she could smell rain on the horizon.

After Thomas Stonecypher’s attack on her in the library, Callie was convinced he was the thief. He’d snuck up on her and she wasn’t going to let him do that again. If he had some scheme to steal the Monet, she was going to do everything in her power to stop him.

“Callie?” Wes stood in the doorway of the studio, dressed in dark brown riding pants and a navy blue polo shirt. His riding boots gleamed from fresh polish and looked new except for the slight scuffing on the toes. His red hair was swept back carelessly as though he’d combed it with his fingers. The man looked like a walking personification of sin. Why did he have to look so good? She swallowed her guilt and smiled. It was only temporary. She’d be able to tell him everything once all of this was over.

“Is it time?” She glanced at the small delicate wristwatch with a mother-of-pearl face and a brown leather band on her left wrist. Wes had bought it for her in Paris after he’d taken one look at her old digital watch. She’d lost track of time this morning, but painting seemed to have that effect on her. His lips twitched as he walked over to her and reached for her.

“No! I’m covered in paint. You’ll ruin your clothes.” She protested, but couldn’t escape when he captured her in his arms. His soft lips brushed against her cheek and everything inside her warmed up and she wanted to purr like a contented cat. Every time he held her, it was like coming home, taking that first step inside her front door after a long day’s hard work.

“I’d much rather ride you than any polo pony today, but it’s important to go. Agent Kostova will see that the forgery makes it to the Gilded Cuff tonight.”

She stiffened in his arms and raised her head to meet his eyes. “You’re not going with them to make sure it’s secured there?”

Wes shook his head. “Jax will be there to make sure it’s handled, and Stephen Vain said he’d help out. He heard we were featuring the Monet at the upcoming party and as a curator he makes art preservation his priority.”

“Mr. Vain?” She remembered him from the gala. Another dom.

“Yes. Good man, Vain. He used to be on the Camden Auction House Board, but Camden underwent a few board changes in the last year and he resigned two months ago. I helped him secure the curator position he has now.”

Callie didn’t know anything about auction houses or boards. “Why would someone resign from a board position? Isn’t that supposed to be a good job to have?”

Wes curled an arm around her waist as they left the art studio and walked back to her room where she could change for the polo match.

“He and the newly elected board chairman, Peter Wells, didn’t see eye to eye on pretty much everything. I’d never tell Stephen, but Wells might be the better choice. He’s all about trimming costs and maximizing auction efficiency so Camden can sell more pieces a day than it has been doing in the last few years. Several of the current board members came to me and asked me about adding Wells to the board, and I agreed that he would be a good choice.” Wes leaned one shoulder against the bedpost while she dug through her clothes in the walk-in closet, trying to figure out what she would wear.

“So when Wells took over, how did he make Vain resign?” Callie plucked a rose-red dress with a flowing skirt that reached the tops of her knees and held it out so Wes could see. His gaze drifted over the dress and he nodded, an approving light in his blue eyes that made her flush.

“From what I heard”—Wes’s voice grew louder and she turned to see him walking into the closet with her—“Wells waged a bit of a campaign against Vain. It got nasty. Vain bowed out within just a few months of Wells starting.” Wes watched as she unbuttoned the large paint-covered dress shirt and let it drop to the floor. He made no move to help her undress, and she knew why. He loved to watch her strip. She had figured out that in Paris. He would order her in that deep dom voice and she’d peel off one article of clothing at a time, letting his gaze devour her.

When she stripped out of her pants and threw them at him, he caught the jeans, dropped them to the floor, and then lunged for her. Callie shrieked and darted out of the closet, laughing as she evaded Wes. The low, playful growl behind her made her shiver and then gasp as he pinned her to the side of her bed. She bent over, and he followed her, whispering in her ear.

“After the polo match, you and I will have a little time to ourselves.” He rubbed one palm over her ass and smacked it lightly. Heat flared in the wake of his touch and she let out a throaty purr.

The erection pressing into her bottom was a clear sign she wasn’t the only one affected by their position and her reaction.

“You are killing me, Callie.” He kissed her cheek, and with a reluctant sigh, let her go. “Get dressed before I change my mind and make us late to the match.”

After flashing him what she hoped was a saucy grin, to which he rolled his eyes, she ran back to the closet and got dressed. When she came back out, she noticed the tip of a canvas tucked under her bed close to Wes’s boots. She forced her gaze up to his, hoping he wouldn’t notice where her eyes had focused seconds before. The lie, the deception ate away at her stomach again, and she prayed he wouldn’t sense anything was amiss.