4. Daddy Wilson

“The bar ?” I snapped as Wren sauntered away. Every click of her red-bottomed heels had my attention wanting to shift down. Had me tempted to let the sway of her hips hypnotize me.

I prided myself on control. Every aspect of my life was organized and planned. Except when it came to Wren Jacobs. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t control her or my reactions to her. And it pissed me off.

“We’re celebrating for a few minutes before we leave.” Her voice floated over her shoulder, though she didn’t turn as she stepped out of the elevator.

“Why?” I scoffed.

Sighing, she spun and crossed her arms, causing her breast to lift, putting far too much skin on display above the neckline of her top. I tried not to swallow my tongue. Breasts were breasts, and while I loved them as much as the next guy, a single pair should not have the power to make me feel like I was having an aneurysm. Clearly, my body didn’t agree with that assessment.

With my tongue still out of commission, I responded with a silent scowl .

“It’s important to take the time to enjoy this moment. I won’t let you skate past that.”

I blinked. Damn, she was right. If it had been anyone else, I’d have happily toasted to my newest acquisition.

Taking my silence for agreement, she turned around and continued on her way.

“Did I forget that I agreed to this plan?” I asked as we made our way through the lobby to the bar.

“We’re here, aren’t we?” Her full red lips lifted in a soft smile.

My stomach bottomed out at the sight of her like this. Fuck. The damn woman constantly ripped the breath from my body. Without slowing, she sidled up to her favorite holiday drink, a cranberry mimosa, and what appeared to be scotch on the rocks. And like the lost puppy I was in her presence, I followed.

“Thanks, Stew.” She sent a finger wave to the bartender.

When the man beamed back, my hackles rose.

“Do you know him?” I stepped up beside her and rested my forearms on the smooth wooden surface, zeroing in on the man who couldn’t be more than twenty-two. God damn. Annoyance vibrated through me. For as young as he was, he was ten years closer in age to her than I was.

She lifted one thin shoulder, then held her phone up and gave it a little shake. “No. The electronic concierge said Stew would have our drinks waiting for us.”

The hulk inside my chest eased back, no longer trying to rip his way out so he could throttle the poor kid. With a sharp inhale, I ran a hand over my face. I had to chill the fuck out.

She shifted slightly closer, and her soft, sweet scent filled my lungs. “This trip must be nerve-racking, but I promise this will be fun.”

Smiling, she rested a hand over my wrist just below the cuff of my shirt. The instant her skin met mine, sparks of electricity danced up my arm.

“Just have a drink.” She reached for her champagne flute, taking her warmth with her, and held it aloft. “To what is going to be the easiest, cleanest acquisition you’ve experienced.”

Swallowing, I reached for my scotch. Drinking was a shit idea, but if I didn’t unclench, I’d never get through the day. “To Stonehenge ,” I said, clinking the rim of my glass against hers.

“To Stonehenge ,” she whispered, her tone full of genuine emotion.

I froze, and instead of drinking, I focused on the way her lips closed around the edge of the glass and the soft skin of her neck as she swallowed.

“It’s customary to take a sip after a toast, Tom.”

The urge to reach across the space and pull her to me was overwhelming. I was desperate to taste the alcohol off her lips instead of from my glass. To see if she’d whimper when I slipped my tongue into her mouth and devoured her. To swallow every moan she made.

But I couldn’t.

So, jaw tense, I lifted my glass and let the burn of the liquor punish me for the forbidden desire I couldn’t shake. I swallowed harshly, then set the rocks glass back on the bar top.

“There.”

She rolled those dark eyes fringed by the longest lashes I’d ever seen, but she wasn’t deterred. With a single step back, she hopped up onto a bar stool, then crossed her long legs.

I surveyed the room, taking in all the men who were watching her. Wren didn’t seem to notice the attention she’d garnered. The woman was probably used to it. Everywhere she went, she was most likely lavished with attention.

Instead of sitting on my own stool, I did the opposite. I stepped in closer, erasing the space between us to block anyone else from butting in.

“Can you go over the game plan with me?” Even though I’d placed myself so close I could feel the heat of her body along my arm, I forced the conversation back into a box reserved for work.

“Sure.” Nodding, she leaned forward. As she lifted her drink, a piece of hair floated close, and without my permission, my hand snaked out to catch it. With one finger, I tucked it behind her ear. The move caused my finger to skate along the shell of her ear, and she shivered in response.

Her eyes locked on mine, open and willing. And when she parted her lips and swiped her tongue out to moisten the bottom one, my heart pounded and my ears buzzed. We were so close, just a foot apart. Slowly, I forced my focus back to her eyes. The emotion I found there was like a blow to the chest. Deep desire bloomed in their depths as she stared deep into my eyes. I almost gave in, but before my instincts could take over, rationality kicked in, and I remembered exactly why I couldn’t. Because I shouldn’t. Right?

I cleared my throat and brought my drink to my lips. With another large gulp, I looked away, relishing the flames that scorched down my throat and into my stomach.

“So when we get there,” she said, launching into a detailed account of what would happen the second we arrived at the MET.

I listened to every word, but I couldn’t look her way. Instead, I focused on breathing and steeled my resolve, putting this gorgeous woman back in the box where my daughter’s best friend belonged, where my own friend’s daughter belonged.

I was not an asshole, and I wasn’t a player. I never had been. When Avery’s mother ended up pregnant, she and I got married. I’d been faithful for the four years we were married. Since the divorce twenty-five years ago, I’d had a couple of relationships, but nothing too serious or dramatic. Each ended on relatively good terms, and none of my exes would trash-talk me. Most would claim I was distant. I was not the kind of man who was controlled by desire or passion.

And that wouldn’t change today.

“Sounds great,” I said when she finished her explanation.

“So…” In my periphery, she pinched the stem of her wineglass and spun it gently between her fingers. “What’s next?”

“Next?” I finally let myself look at her, though I moved hesitantly, concerned she’d be angry or hurt by my clipped response.

She wasn’t. Her expression was curious, open.

“Yeah.” She leaned against the bar, head turned my way. “You can’t tell me that once Stonehenge is officially yours, your collecting is done.” With an arch of one brow, she hit me with a playful, challenging look.

“Of course not. I have a list,” I assured her. “If this goes well, maybe I’ll share it with you.”

I had plans, and it was becoming more and more clear that Larry and Pat weren’t the people who were going to make it happen for me. That was something I needed to talk to Erin about.

“Ooh, throwing down the gauntlet?” She smirked and settled back again. “I love a challenge.”

“Of course you do.” I spun my own glass on the lacquered surface beside me. “What about you? Do you have a list?”

“Of paintings I want to see up close? Hell yeah, I do.”

Normally I hated small talk, but as she prattled on about which pieces she dreamed of seeing, I was enthralled. The way her eyes lit up brightened the entire room, and the slight flush of her cheeks warmed me. Even the way her hands moved as she spoke was captivating. She was bewitching. Especially her depth of knowledge of a topic I, too, was passionate about.

“Do you know how big Water Lilies is?” I asked.

She lifted her drink and stuck her bottom lip out in a pout. “Since I haven’t been to the Orangerie Museum, I don’t.”

I shook my head, but before my lips could tug up in a smile, I schooled my features. “I’d always heard it was big, but I didn’t expect it to be practically as big as a football field, that’s for sure.”

Sighing, she tucked a hand under her chin and surveyed the ceiling. “That’s why I want to see them all in person. Experiencing art in person is so different from seeing it in a photo on screen.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Someday I’ll make it back to Paris to see them.” She spoke the words as if they were a promise to herself.

My heart lurched. Fuck, I had the urge to promise to take her. Show her Water Lilies and then Town Hall with a Flag . Apples and Cookies . I knew she’d love Young Girls at the Piano . The colors blended so fluidly in that piece, like liquid air, almost strokeless.

I hated that I couldn’t be the person to make her those promises. I had no right to want her.

I wasn’t a man who had many friends. I was a workaholic who didn’t make time for people. And besides Avery, I had no family left. I was an only child, and my parents had long passed, so my daughter was my family. Alienating my daughter by dating her best friends didn’t seem like the play. Even if Avery was moving on with her life. Even if it was getting harder and harder to resist Wren.

My eyes locked on her lips. Was there a world where Avery might understand? Where she could accept it?

Wren pushed her half-full drink away. “We should probably go. The driver is waiting for us out front.”

Frowning, I brushed off the ridiculous ideas, and checked my watch, certain it wasn’t time to head out yet. But sure enough, we’d been sitting here talking for forty-five minutes.

She popped off the stool, and once again, I found myself following her mindlessly.

By the time we had worked through details and had the painting in hand, I was completely blown away by the woman beside me. The way she inspected the piece of art alongside the authenticators, checking both its authenticity and condition with a cool, level head, was impressive. And she was an expert schmoozer, chatting with the authenticators and the museum staff while stealthily promoting the auction she would be running on Sunday night. And holy hell, the detailing she discussed was so above my head. This woman’s knowledge and ability to charm anyone she met sucked me more under her spell.

I’d been to these things before, and Larry had always done a cursory check of whatever I was buying, but the attention to detail wasn’t like Wren’s. It almost seemed as if she was as excited as I was about the painting.

“Congratulations.” She pressed her hands together below her chin and clapped lightly using just her fingers, beaming, as I shook hands with the director who then passed the box across the table to me.

“Thanks.” Lips twitching, I ran a hand over the box. The painting was officially mine and in my possession. I’d almost let myself smile, but before it broke across my face, she threw her arms around me and squeezed. As her sweet scent hit my nose, I froze, but a beat later, my body came alive, and I pulled her close.

Her tall frame pressed perfectly against my body, like a yin slotting against its yang. Without thought, I slid my arms around her thin waist and tightened my hold. My hands splayed across her back, as if they’d been made to touch her. Chin tucked, I nuzzled into her hair and breathed her in.

I gave myself the space of two heartbeats to appreciate the way she felt in my hold, because I had to step back.

Releasing her was torturous, but Wren turned quickly, face still lit up like what we’d just shared was a normal hug rather than a life-altering experience.

While she thanked the gathered group, I chastised myself for obsessing over this woman. I’d always known Wren was smart and talented, but seeing her in action had made it all so much more real. And it had made her so much harder to resist.

But I had to douse the fires of this infatuation and put some space between us. Quickly.