Page 19 of Talk to Me

Chapter

Six

LOCKE

The museum gala was the perfect location to scout a few targets. While the wealthy guests—or at least their jewels—weren’t on the shopping list for this trip, I still liked to keep up on my practice.

What I found fascinating were the abundance of treasures on display around slender necks, dipping between ample breasts, and dangling from ears. Rings, watches, and bracelets were out there along with some very distinctive cufflinks.

But those were rather hit or miss if a woman had on gloves or a sleeve covered the items in question. The mental game of evaluating potential resale value though was an old favorite.

It also gave me something to do while I waited for the right time to pick up the two items I’d come here to acquire.

“Good evening, Monsieur,” Bellamy said as she slid up next to me and tucked her arm through mine. As both curator and hostess, Bellamy had been my ticket to get in.

“Mademoiselle,” I teased her and she made a playful moue but her gaze was constantly on the move. “I am honored that you have taken the time to check on me.”

Her snort of derision added some genuine humor to my smile. “Don’t tease, you bad man. I have seen you eyeing up the clients and the guests. More, I have seen them looking at you…” She bumped her hip to mine as I navigated us around a cluster of women who were debating the depth behind the art on the wall.

“Really? Hmm…I hadn’t noticed. Any suggestions?” The tease earned me a wicked smile and pinch.

“Play all you want, darling, do not get me fired.”

“I would never.” It didn’t take much to affect being scandalized. Bellamy was one of my better contacts. Even better, she was a former lover who made a much better friend than bed partner. She preferred to be the one in control and I wasn’t a shoe licker.

Still, I had to admit—she was definitely gifted in the sack. I seemed to have held up my end well enough she actually looked disappointed when we ended that part of our relationship.

“Champagne,” she said with a note of command and one of the waiters deviated their course directly to us. When we each had a glass in hand, she raised it in a toast. “Monsieur DeMarcan has requested an evening with me after the show tonight. Do not be insulted if you leave alone.”

“If I leave alone,” I told her with a wink. “But thanks for the update.”

She clinked her glass to mine. “It is the civilized thing to do. Now go back to your—perusing?”

“That’s a good word. Perusing.”

I rolled some of the champagne around my tongue as she strolled off. There was a natural slinkiness to Bellamy. She moved like a woman on the prowl, as comfortable with her beauty as she was intelligent.

Course, that also made her dangerous and probably why I’d been attracted in the first place. I still admired her, but we were so much better as friends and colleagues.

Out of habit, I tracked her path across the reception floor. She paused to speak to a couple here, a woman there, and an older man there. Sometimes she answered questions, other times she just exchanged greetings, but she was on the move continuously.

I tracked her until she reached a rather distinguished looking gentleman. He was maybe ten years her senior. They looked quite striking together. He gave her a smile so full of indulgence I had to shake my head.

Grinning, I turned away. The man was putty in her palms and seemed quite happy to be there. Good for them. The private museum was a popular venue in Nice, and I’d been here a couple of times in the past.

The art on display belonged to private collectors, most of them preferring to remain anonymous. The “donated” time here afforded them some financial returns both on their taxes and insurance.

I understood the whole financial morass, I just didn’t care right now. Private museums meant private security. Also, they tended to deal with problems privately and not involve the police or international authorities.

It definitely meant leaving the country with acquisitions was a little simpler. Tonight’s reception was for a popular artist from the sixties, made popular by their graciousness in dying the year previously.

A cache of heretofore unseen works had been discovered and were now on display. They would all be sold before the night was over, but would remain at the museum in the meanwhile.

The artist wasn’t bad, but it was kind of like admiring the clean lines on soup cans. Clean, definitive—boring as fuck. Art should make a person feel and these barely inspired me to take a nap.

After “wandering” the collection, I made my way to the next gallery to explore along with a handful of others. We were hardly restricted to the one gallery. In fact, some couples were taking advantage of the exploration time to find some dark corners.

I found a group enjoying themselves quite lustfully in the impressionists wing. The man seemed to have both women in hand, mouth, and cunt. Good for him. The blonde bouncing happily on his cock beckoned me with a grin, but I just blew her a kiss and kept right on strolling.