Last week I gave you a little bit from the beginning of the story. Now I give you a snippet from the second half.
From Painted Love.
Now, which dress? Classic black or crazy red?
Mh, hard choice. The little black number was an old favorite and the usual choices when she had to patrol a place for a job. Sexy in a classy way, it didn’t draw too much attention, making it easier to blend into the crowd.
The red one was a spur-of-the-moment purchase. It had called at her as she strolled by Crescent Creek’s manicured streets, and the indulgence hadn’t come cheap either. But God, it was fantastic, hugging her like a second skin, all red lace from its off-the-shoulder neckline to the ankle length. The only thing breaking the blood red color was the black band that made its sleeves.
Slightly uncomfortable, not created for blending and disappearing into the crowd, and meant solely for titillating a man’s fantasy. Rhett’s fantasy.
Of course, she picked red, and she gave in with a string of curses directed mostly to her stupid heart.
To sooth the guilt of choosing a man over her job she walked to the storage closet, retrieved the little safe she’d hidden under her luggage and took one more little brick of the clay stashed in it, pushed it in the pills box and stuffed it in the purse.
Makeup and hair took more time than usual since she was going for a sophisticated image.
Then she grabbed her shoes, her purse, and sat on the sofa. The TV remote beckoned to her and seemed a great idea to lobotomize herself with some show, so anxiety didn’t give her a panic attack. Flo let the pouch fall on her lap, realized the second brick of clay, the one she’d added because of a bad case of guilt, made the purse look like an overstuffed ravioli.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Having such a bulge in a dress purse would not work. Could not.
She pulled the pillbox out, went back to hide it. And changed into the black dress.
Who was she kidding?
Work was what she had to think of, not showing off to a guy who, in the best-case scenario, she will leave in a couple of months.
Stealing the last painting.
Stealing mattered, not how Rhett’s eyes would sparkle as he took her in.
Smart, cool, and alert was how she must be, especially tonight. Not starry-eyed, not excited, not happy.
When her phone vibrated for a text, though, she had to fight back tears.
The carriage is awaiting you, princess.
Damn man, always finding ways to screw her plans with a bunch of words.
To top it all off, her mouth watered when she saw him in a black suit. Rhett was never sloppy, but the open collar shirts and jeans he used for work and when they went out didn’t do him justice. The formal suit sure did, and the gleam she’d expected in his eyes only added to the moment. She was hot for him and smitten by him, which shouldn’t be fair. “You clean up well, Mr. Beckett,” she said as he took her hand.
“And you make me want to ditch the exposition and stay home.”
Fear of losing her shot at Aidan’s place and hunger for the images his words conjured a frozen vertigo.
Keep calm. “And kill half of the fun? I’m going to enjoy myself immensely, knowing what you have in mind.”
“Such a bad, bad girl.”
“You have no idea,” she muttered. In her purse, the little clam and clay weighed tons.
By Viviana Mackade
Thou shalt not steal.
Oh, but Florence had, and would do so one last time.
Ten pieces her grandfather painted for her because he loved her.
Ten pieces her mother lost, along with anything else, for loving the wrong man.
She couldn’t get back everything he’d wasted away, but she’d be damned if she’d give up those paintings.
Easy and genuine, Rhett loves his life–his family, his market, his town. Until he meets a British woman with grey eyes and a cute little smile. The woman he’s been waiting for.
The thing is, to love her is easy, but can he trust her? When Rhett pushes to uncover her agenda, Flo knows she will lose something–the man she loves or what she’d been fighting for her entire life.
Which road will she choose?
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