Dirty, Reckless Love (Boys of Jackson Harbor 3)

“He won’t. And I won’t do anything I don’t want to.” I search Colton’s face, trying to figure out what he’s not telling me.

“You promise?”

What did he make you do? But I don’t ask. A man like Colton wouldn’t answer that question. “I promise.”

“And I promise to protect you.” He flicks his tongue over my ear then yanks my dress higher and pins me against the wall. One of his strong thighs presses into the aching pulse between my legs. “I won’t let you down.” He hooks his thumbs into the lace of my panties and sinks to his knees, tugging them off. “I promise to take care of you.”

He grips my ass in his hands, and I close my eyes in surrender as he does as he promised.

Ellie

“You’re a genius, Ellie.” Nelson McKinley grins at me as he spins a slow circle around my art gallery—his gallery. It only feels like mine. A month ago, I started with nothing but an empty storefront and a budget that would have made my teenage self pee her pants.

The old me would have been terrified by this new opportunity. The new me knows what consumers will pay for art and what artists will sell it for. The new me is fucking perfect for this job and grateful my boyfriend’s father took a chance on me.

Nelson turns to me, his eyes intense. “I spoke with your old boss this afternoon. Tate misses you. He said travel isn’t as fun without you by his side.”

“I won’t pretend I didn’t love the excitement. This is all great.” I wave a hand, indicating the contents of the gallery of prints that can all be purchased for less than the cost of a designer handbag. “But it’s nothing compared to the rush of being near rare art.”

He beams, and I can’t decide what I think of this man. He’s a lawyer by trade, not an art guy. He has money, friends in high places, and a son who hates him but is happy to use him for what he can. I need him for this job, but I always feel as if I’m not sure I can trust my boss. “What if I had a job for you? Something to get you back to the magic of less commercialized art without taking you away from this little venture?”

“You know this is cruel, right? Like offering a recovering addict a single hit?”

“Who wants to be cured of an art addiction?” He rocks back on his heels and studies me. “I have a client who’s a big fan of Ethan Bauer’s work. He wants me to use my connections to help him build his collection. After asking around, I know enough to suspect you’re the only one who can deliver on his requests.”

“Bauer?” I study the ceiling, trying to remember what I know. It’s a rush to think I could help curate a collection again. “The professor who did all those provocative paintings of his students?”

“You know him.” Nelson nods, looking more than a little smug as he folds his arms. “You can take a girl from the art world, but you can’t take the art out of the girl.”

I laugh. “I’m pretty sure running an art gallery keeps me part of the art world.”

He grunts and scans the prints of watercolor skylines and black-and-white photography on the walls. “If you can call peddling prints of pedestrian paintings art, I suppose.” He waves away his criticism. “Back to Bauer. You know his work. What do you know about the Discovery collection?”

“It’s an interesting story. The paintings were shown only once in a gallery in Indiana—the gallery in New Hope.” I shake my head. “So someone wants Bauer’s stuff. He’s pretty prolific, so it shouldn’t be too hard to track down a few pieces. Why do you need me?”

“My investor wants the Discovery collection.”

I laugh. “Don’t we all.”

“His offer is hard to resist.” Nelson’s tongue darts out to touch his lip. “The commission will set you up nicely for your life here. Provide you with the funds for the lifestyle you prefer.”

The hair on the back of my neck rises. I hope this isn’t going where I think it is.

He presses his hand to his chest. “I wouldn’t ask if I thought it would be a risk for you. You know I value you too much for that, right? My investor is hungry.”

A hungry investor is always willing to pay more than a passive investor. Getting the most out of a deal depends on getting the right timing. My old boss is a shark and always had ways of closing deals at the moment they’d be most lucrative to him. I’m guessing Nelson is no different. “If he’s a fan, surely he knows no one has seen those paintings in years. There are rumors they’ve been destroyed.”

“Which is exactly why you’re perfect for the job.”

My stomach twists. “What do you mean?” But I already know. Tate is a talker.

“Tate told me your talents for art go far beyond buying and selling.”

I bite my lip, my cheeks warming in shame. S

omeone else knows my secret. “Oh.”

He beams—a smile that lights up his normally calculating eyes. “Is that a maybe?”