Marie Ferrarella - Colton Undercover

She pushed that observation aside, far more interested in the photographs that were in his hand. Leonor had to admit that as much as she was trying to remain above the exchange, or at least appear to be above it, the man she was sharing bread sticks with had managed to arouse her curiosity.

Her eyes riveted to the photographs in his hand, she asked, “What’s the scouting part of it involve?”

“I’m looking for the proper place to—let’s be honest—” he told her with a smile, “show off some of my collection.”

At that point, Josh carefully spread out all five of the photographs on the side of the table, creating rather an interesting column.

She didn’t want to look as if he had captured her attention, but he most definitely had.

Giving up all pretense of disinterest, she drew one of the photographs closer to her and looked at it, then at him. It couldn’t be a photograph of what she thought it was.

Could it?

“Is that a—?” Leonor deliberately let her voice trail off, waiting for the man sitting across from her to fill in the artist’s name.

Which he obliged.

“A Jackson Pollock? Yes. I have to admit that I’m more willing to lend that one out than I would be, say, my Van Gogh. Or the Turner.” There was a fond expression on his face as he admitted, “I’m probably rather lowbrow in the opinion of a lot of the so-called ‘refined’ art critics but there’s just something about a seascape that moves me.”

Leonor drew all five of the photographs closer to her and studied them, one by one, then raised her eyes to his. “And these are originals?” She didn’t bother hiding the note of skepticism in her voice.

“They’d better be, considering the price I paid for them.” And then he laughed, lightening the moment. “Yes, they’re originals. I had two different art appraisers verify their authenticity.”

“Two?” she questioned.

He nodded. Picking up a bread stick, he broke it in half before biting into it. “One could have always been bought by the collector supposedly ‘selling’ the painting. Two different appraisers from different companies are far less likely to be in collusion.”

“So, you’re a skeptic,” she noted. She felt herself softening despite her resolve. It wasn’t in her nature to constantly hold everyone at arm’s length.

Josh nodded, although he looked as if he took no joy in admitting the fact. “I’m afraid that these days, you have to be. There are a lot of people out there who want to part you from whatever prize possessions they have their eye on.” And then he flashed a smile at her. “But I don’t have to tell you that.”

“Why?” she wanted to know. He did recognize her, she thought. Why else would he have just said something like that to her? He was telling her that he knew she was aware of what he was referring to, namely, the blatant fickleness of her neighbors that she had had to endure when that scandal surrounding her mother had flared up.

But that apparently wasn’t what he was telling her, she learned.

“Because it’s obvious that you find me highly suspect,” Josh told her. “You wouldn’t be that way unless something had happened to you along the way to make you so suspicious of everyone.”

It was her turn to shrug. “Maybe I’m just naturally suspicious.”

“A woman as beautiful as you?” he questioned, shaking his head. “I doubt that.”

She had no idea what being attractive had to do with it. “You’re pretty free with your compliments.”

The look that he gave her could have melted a rock—and she wasn’t a rock, she thought, doing her best not to succumb.

“Only when they’re merited,” Josh countered.

He was being much too smooth. There had to be a way to get to him, to unravel all these pretty words before they completely undermined her defenses.

“So if I had a face that could stop a clock—?” She left it up to him to finish.

“I wouldn’t tell you that you were beautiful,” he said honestly. “I’d shine a spotlight on all your other assets.”

“And flatter those,” Leonor guessed knowingly.

He inclined his head, as if considering whether he would or not. “If they deserved it, yes.”

She decided to reserve judgment on the man for another time. Right now, the photographs he had shown her had her attention.

“You’re really looking for someplace to display these paintings?” she asked, a wary note in her voice. She would hate to be taken in by the likes of this Joshua Pendergrass. She knew that the first thing anyone would think was that she had gotten swept off her feet and dazzled by the man’s overwhelming good looks rather than by his breathtaking collection.

Josh nodded. “Yes.”

She knew she would hate herself if he actually decided to go this route and she lost out, but she needed to know why he hadn’t thought of this himself.

“Why don’t you just get in contact with the Museum of Modern Art in New York City? I’m sure that they would be more than happy to put your collection on display.”

He finished off the second half of the bread stick before answering. “I’m sure they would.”

She looked at him. It seemed rather clear to her. “So? Why don’t you?”

“Because the entire museum is teeming with works of art,” he explained. “The people who come through those halls are almost anesthetized, accustomed to seeing the greats and near greats at every turn they take, every hall they walk through. I think my collection would be better appreciated displayed in a smaller venue. Someplace that isn’t quite as overwhelming.” His eyes met hers. “If you get my thinking.”

“I do,” she told him.

She was trying to play it cool, but she had to admit to herself that she was growing progressively more excited, with each passing moment, about the possibilities this man whose path she had crossed represented to her. To the art museum where she worked. She’d certainly had her share of bad luck, but this had to fall under the heading of the most fortuitous meeting she’d ever had.

Deciding to stop being so morbidly cautious, Leonor broached the subject of where she worked to him to see his reaction.

“You know, I work for an art museum.”

She expected him to look delighted, or at least extremely pleased. She hadn’t expected him to look disappointed—in her.

“Now you’re just having fun at my expense, Ms. Colton.”

“No, really, I work at an art museum,” Leonor assured him. “And please, call me Leonor. When you say ‘Ms. Colton,’ I expect to turn around and see my mother standing there.”

“All right,” he agreed, then tried her name out on his tongue. “Leonor.” It seemed to all but float between them. And then he got back to the subject under discussion. “I looked this town up before I came here. I don’t recall reading that there was an art museum in the vicinity. So, unless that guidebook is out-of-date—”

“It’s not,” she admitted. “You didn’t read anything about there being an art museum in Shadow Creek is because there isn’t one.”

Josh shook his head, his rather long dark brown hair moving ever so slightly. “I’m afraid you lost me. I thought you just told me that you worked for an art museum—”

“I do, but I don’t work here,” Leonor clarified before he could get any further. “I work for an art museum in Austin.”

“A museum, not a gallery?” he specified, watching her face intently.

She was beginning to think that a lot of people had tried to put one over on this man at one time or another. He came across as smooth, gregarious and charming, but at the same time he seemed rather subtly alert, as if he was waiting for things to go wrong before they eventually went right.