Two
Beah accepted Carrick’s brief kiss on her cheek, heard his low-pitched “good job” and smiled. Earlier Paris Cummings had verbally agreed to move his artwork through Murphy’s and she’d helped to persuade the billionaire Murphy International was the right avenue to dispose of some of his lesser artworks, including a small Lowry.
Sure, they didn’t have a written agreement, but in the art game, bigger and bolder deals were solidified on a handshake. Trust was imperative in the world they operated in.
Tomorrow she would meet with Finn and Paris at his Hyde Park house and they’d trawl through his collection, making the final decision on what he was prepared to sell, and give estimates on what returns he could expect to realize. Yes, that would mean another face-to-face with Finn, but to land a client as important as Paris Cummings, she’d meet with the devil himself.
Beah watched Carrick escort Paris out of the restaurant, intensely aware of Finn at her side, the fabric of his designer suit brushing her bare shoulder. He smelled like he always did, of sunshine and fresh air, sex and sin, and Beah felt her head swim.
Maybe she shouldn’t have had a second glass of prosecco.
Oh, who was she kidding? It wasn’t the wine making her head swim, it was the presence of her hunky husband...ex-husband.
Acting professional throughout their meal had nearly killed her. She’d done nothing more than move her food around, conscious of those incredible green eyes on her, of every movement he made. She noticed his strong hands and remembered feeling them sliding over her bare skin. She noticed the way the subdued lighting turned his blond hair to gold...his broad shoulders, the way his black shirt fell down his wide chest and over what she remembered to be a six-pack stomach.
He still made her feel squirmy and whirly, and his effect on her—the throbbing deep inside her, the heat between her legs—frustrated her. She was not the young, high-on-great-sex girl she’d been at twenty-one. She shouldn’t be feeling anything for him...
Not anymore.
Beah touched her chignon, checking that her curls were still under control. She hated her hair. When she allowed it free rein, she instantly looked ten years younger, wild and out of control. And her wild curls reminded her of Finn raking his hands through and burying his nose in her hair.
It was a memory she hated. And loved.
But these days, she always, always kept her hair pulled back. It was easier to maintain, control...
Control was important.
“You look good, Beah.”
At his unexpected compliment, Beah lifted her face and her eyes slammed into Finn’s. To the casual observer, he looked relaxed, urbane and debonair. But she knew him well enough to see the tension in his tight lips, his slightly raised shoulders. She knew Finn hated these meet-and-greet dinners and suspected the past two hours had been as difficult for him as they had been for her. But for completely different reasons.
Beah started to respond, to return his compliment, but then pulled her words. What was the point? She’d respond, he’d reply and within a minute they’d run out of conversation. Conversation had never been their strong point.
Beah lifted her fingertips to her forehead, conscious of the pounding behind her eyes. “We don’t need to exchange inanities.”
Finn’s eyes darkened with what she suspected was irritation. “It’s been a while, but you should know the one thing I don’t do is inanities.”
He made her sound churlish. “Thank you for the compliment.” She pushed the words past her teeth.
Finn gestured to the exit. “Let’s head for the bar, have a drink.”
“Why?” Beah asked, conscious of his light touch on her back. It didn’t mean anything; it was just Finn being his well-mannered self.
Except his touch made her skin sizzle, sent sparks dancing across her skin. Why was she still reacting to him like this? So much time had passed, but Finn could still rocket her from controlled to capricious in ten seconds.
Beah edged away from him, putting some space between them. Their intense chemistry was a good reminder of why they needed to keep an ocean between them, why they could never work in the same city, in the same building. On the same continent...
Finn made her feel off-kilter and off-balance and she didn’t like it, dammit. She’d worked very hard to create her calm, orderly world, but one dinner and five minutes’ conversation with Finn and she was feeling flustered.
Damn him.
On exiting the restaurant, Beah turned to Finn and shook her head. “I’m going to skip having a drink with you. I’m tired and I still have work to do tonight.”
Finn pushed his jacket back to jam his hands into the pockets of his suit pants. He tipped his head to the side. “Coward,” he quietly murmured.
Beah narrowed her eyes at him. “You think I’m scared to have a drink with you?”
How dare he imply she was a chicken? She’d divorced him, refusing to take a cent from him, moved back to her home country and worked her butt off to claw her way up the corporate ladder. She’d never asked for any favors from either her ex-husband or her ex-brothers-in-law, and few people within the organization, especially those in the UK, knew she’d once been married to one of the owners of the company.