Playing the Billionaire's Game

Pushing down on a feeling he refused to name, he led her to the door to the basement, flicking on the lights for the staircase and taking the lead. ‘The previous owners converted the entire area into a very expensive wine cellar,’ he said, all the while questioning why he was persevering with this. Anything he’d hoped to gain was now well and truly shot to pieces. ‘But with a few tweaks I realised it would be perfect,’ he said as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

‘Perfect for what?’

‘This,’ he said, turning on the low lighting that instantly brought warmth and light to the cavernous underground chamber. The space stretched beyond the footprint of the estate, almost all the way to the boundary. It could have been a World War One weapons bunker for all he knew, but it had been exactly what he’d wanted for his collection.

He was strangely satisfied by the gasp of surprise that fell from Sia’s lips. He’d fallen in love with it the moment he’d seen it and it had been the sole reason for buying the estate. Beautiful sand-coloured stone slabs made up the flooring that met aged brick, running along, up and over the walls and curved ceiling of the basement. Soft blond up-lighting mirrored the arches in the walls that led through to other rooms and areas that ran off the central corridor stretching before them. It was his pride and joy and he’d been so excited to share it with Sia, but the moment he’d seen that look in her eyes, the fear of what he might reveal to her, he knew he only had himself to blame.

The space was what Sia noticed first. The walls she noticed second. Paintings. Everywhere she could see. Paintings by unspeakably famous artists, some that she’d only ever heard of and some she could have sworn were hanging in museum

s and galleries visited by tourists every day. She left Sebastian to walk through the stone corridors and arched hallways, her mind lit with wonder at the most incredible private art collection she’d ever seen. There didn’t seem to be a particular pattern, subject matter or epoch to curate the paintings, other than ‘famous’ and ‘priceless’.

She noticed that the temperature wasn’t cold, nor too hot, Sebastian clearly taking great care of a collection that’s value increased with every single new painting she saw. It made her head swim.

Further into the space she came to a stop.

On the far wall was a small square of velvet covering a painting. There was even a little golden rope attached to it, as if for some grand reveal. Her pulse spiked and leapt, her heart thudding wildly. She was scared. Scared that it was the Durrántez, scared that it wasn’t. Now the moment had arrived she still didn’t know what to do.

There was a table in front of the painting and it felt strange, inappropriate almost. As was the bottle of champagne gathering condensation, waiting to fill the two empty glass flutes on the ivory tablecloth. The whole thing felt absurd, as if he were making even more of a joke of her and it hurt—the idea that whatever was behind the cover was some form of entertainment.

Sebastian hadn’t said a word, remaining behind as if leaving her to face it by herself. Sia felt his eyes on her as she slowly walked towards the velvet cover, conscious of the way her dress shifted over her skin, the way the wedge of her shoe felt against the slight unevenness of the stone flooring, causing her hips to sway, the awareness straightening her spine, and she gently stretched her shoulders back as if determined to meet her fate head-on.

She reached for the golden cord and even before she’d pulled strongly enough on it to lower the velvet she knew.

It wasn’t the Durrántez.

‘Allegory of Fame by Artemisia Gentileschi,’ she heard him explain unnecessarily as she took in the painting she’d always wanted to see.

It was breathtaking in the truest sense. Sia’s eyes hungrily consumed every inch of the small painting—the richness of Fame’s dress, the golden trumpet in her grip, the angle of her head as she leaned to one side... It sounded so mundane but in reality, in person it was incredible.

And it was not the Durrántez. No. It was the thing she had told Sebastian she would want for her perfect day. Which made sense of the table behind her, the chilled champagne, the exclusive, intimate private viewing of a painting that she’d always wanted to see. A painting that it must have, at the very least, cost a fortune to secure for even a single night—as she refused to contemplate the idea that he might have actually bought it.

She ran a hand over her face, unsure as to whether she was relieved or even more upset.

‘I thought...’ She trailed off, unwilling to say the words out loud.

‘I know.’

She felt him come to stand behind her, the wall of heat at her back bringing her senses to life.

‘Did you want it to be the Durrántez?’ he asked, his tone so neutral she could have screamed.

‘I don’t know,’ she replied honestly.

With one last look at the Gentileschi, she turned, still unable to meet his eye. ‘I ruined this, didn’t I?’ she asked.

‘Not at all,’ he said lightly, handing her a glass of champagne.

‘You’re a terrible liar,’ she said, the last word catching in her throat. She couldn’t help the tear that escaped down her cheek. A tear that Sebastian swept away with his thumb.

The Durrántez would always be there. Coming between them. Until one of them broke. She just didn’t know which of them it would be.

His thumb moved from her cheek to rest against the centre of her bottom lip, as it had done earlier that day. Instinctively, she gently bit down on the pad, anchoring it in place, desperate for anything that could connect them beyond the damn painting.

Her lips came around the tip of his thumb, so slightly sucking on it before letting him go. She turned away, still unable to make eye contact, to let him to see the shame she felt, the embarrassment that she had got it wrong. Got him wrong.

But his hand came up to her jaw, gently guiding her to face him. He waited for her to raise her gaze to his. If she’d expected censure, frustration or resentment she’d once again misjudged him.

Fire blazed in his eyes and it pulled open a door within her, creating a sudden backdraught of desire. A hot, twisting sensuality that she felt calling to her body from his. His eyes dropped to her lips and something wild and feminine cried out from her soul. In the days since they had first come together Sia had learned a lot about her body, her desires. He had taught her how to ask for what she wanted, how to listen to her body and know what that was. He had driven her to heights of ecstasy she could never have imagined in moments of beauty she could never have expressed to another living soul.