Page 30 of Chasing Caine
“When you first told me what painting you were dealing with, I was afraid my father was involved in the fraud.”
Her head snapped back. “What? Does he usually—”
“No, no,” I interjected. That sounded more damning than intended. “He’s… how can I explain it… almost as passionate as you are about art crimes.”
“So, why would you think he was involved?”
I shrugged, not ready to share the full story. No matter how much I wanted her in my life, and how much I knew the truth was important, each detail had to come in its own time. But I could give her most of the truth. “A very good question. ‘Panic’ is the only word I can come up with.”
“Panic? Mr. Confident?” She frowned, no idea the effect she had on me.
I squeezed her hand, smirking. “That morning in Brenton a few weeks ago, I’d had a coffee date with the most amazing woman in the world—”
She rolled her eyes so dramatically she almost fell over.
“—and she put me off my game. Just like every time I saw her.”
“Oh my god.” She feigned exasperation, but the blush crept up her cheeks, giving her away. Perhaps the nerves were still affecting her.
I moved to the edge of my sun bed. I couldn’t be any closer to her unless I was on hers. “Once I’d confirmed my parents owned the original, I spoke with my father about it. We were afraid our family might be implicated in the fraud and decided I would help get to the bottom of it.”
“Did you hear what happened? We had a press conference about it.”
My chest swelled with pride. “Sofia told me. I forced Mario to watch five times.”
She spluttered, releasing my hand to cover her mouth. “You did not!”
“How do you think he recognized you when you arrived?”
“I only spoke for like two seconds!”
I tugged at her waist until she moved to the edge of her sun bed. Our faces were separated by only a foot, but I dropped my voice to a whisper. “Thirty-three seconds, to be exact. And you thanked my company. That meant so much to my father to be involved in catching them.”
“They’re still on the run, though.” Fire flashed behind her eyes. If she were in the States, she would likely be searching for David and Olivia Scott, the mother and son responsible for the Chagall forgery and attempted insurance fraud. She’d focused on them the same way she wanted to search for the flowers fresco.
I nodded.
“If we had a do-over, would you change anything?” she asked.
“That depends. Do I know everything I know now?”
She placed her hand in mine again, holding it against her chest. “Sure.”
“Then it’s an easy answer. I would tell you the truth, and then insist we work together to prove the fraud. And somehow I would ensure you still figured out the arson and murder.” I rubbed at the curve of her breast with my thumb. “And I would have gone a little slower in pursuing you.”
She laughed, leaning her head back. “You were a bit pushy.”
“And I wouldn’t have believed you when you told me you were dating Nathan Miller.”
She winced. “Yeah, that was stupid.”
“Avoiding me was stupid.”
She clutched my hand against her. “Nah, I doubt I would have passed your three-date test under normal circumstances.”
It was teasing, laughing, but I stilled and squeezed her hand. The air grew heavy around us, the waves crashing on the beach and the chatter of the crowd faded into the background. I released her hand to run my fingers through her silky hair and caress her cheek.
“Samantha, if I’ve been unclear about this, please hear me now.” My heart pounded against my rib cage. Did I even have the words to explain how I felt? Something more than cheap and easy words like love and forever? And how many words could I use before they scared her away? “I never needed three dates with you. I knew you were the one for me the morning we went to Russo’s for coffee. Every moment afterward just confirmed it. The letter I wrote to you before I left town was real. I want to build a future with you. With only you.”