Page 33 of Burning Caine
“I can handle it.”
“Like you could have handled hitting your date?” He smirked and put the sunglasses on, walking to the door. He held it open as I grabbed the case and left ahead of him, the humid air hitting me like a wall. A step behind, he ushered me to the inside of the sidewalk.
Four days ago, I’d debated searching this neighborhood for the mystery man from the restaurant, knowing I didn’t have the nerve. Now here I was, on a sunny summer morning, praying I could get through the next two hours without tripping over my words or on a crack in the sidewalk.
“So, I didn’t have a chance to ask the last time you were in. I thought Hailey was the only one who worked with us?”
“I have more experience than she does.”
“Interesting.” He paused, shaded eyes flicking around the neighborhood. “Experience with what, specifically?”
“Art claims.” The case felt heavier than earlier, like I’d added three additional paintings to it. “Has anyone made progress on the color field I brought in Monday?”
He laughed. “Alice will work on it next week.”
“The estimate was for two weeks.”
“Sì, and she’ll have it done on time, don’t worry. We are exceptional at what we do.” He turned to me and leaned closer with a smirk. “At everything we do.”
I flinched at the innuendo, unable to control my reactions. He knew he had power over me. I could have hit him for it. “Dr. Ferraro, regardless of you finding me in a weak moment Saturday night and me agreeing to go for coffee, I’m here for a business meeting. We aren’t here to talk about us or whatever the hell you’re talking about.”
“Oh, Samantha.” The smirk didn’t leave his lips. “Just tell me you’re not interested, and I’ll stop flirting with you.”
I stopped dead in my tracks. I stared at his broad back and shoulders, his perfect ass, his graceful movement, as he continued a couple steps before stopping. He turned around slowly, taking off his sunglasses.
“I already told you Saturday night.”
He put the arm of his sunglasses in his mouth and looked me up and down. “But you know me better now.”
“Jesus Christ! Do you have the ability to turn that thing off?”
His smirk faltered for a moment as he stared at me, brows turning down. Like I’d hurt his feelings or something. Great.
“Listen, I’m sor—”
His lip twitched, rapidly evolving into a full laugh. His hand covered his mouth, then his heart. His laugh was infectious, but I did my best to contain my own chuckle.
“I’m sorry. Alright, I’m done. I promise.” He put his sunglasses back on. “Nothing more than coffee between two old friends.”
“We’re business associates, not friends.”
“You are a remarkable woma—business associate, Samantha. Let’s make a deal. Forget about everything before this moment. No more flirting, I promise. Fresh start?”
I was rattled by my intense attraction to him, the way my heart skipped beats at his voice, how my palms sweat, and how I wanted to stare at him. I was used to being in complete control, but he could reduce me to a quivering pile of jelly with a wink.
But I had work to do. I didn’t need to call Hailey and reassign the art claims to her. If nothing else, I had to prove to myself I could do it.
“Okay, fresh start and coffee. But I’m not taking my eyes off you until you review this painting.”
“Not taking your eyes off me?” The smirk ratcheted up again. “If this is going to work, you can’t flirt with me, either.” With a wink, he turned back to Russo’s and ushered me along the sidewalk.
Oh my god. This day couldn’t end soon enough.
A green awning withRusso’swritten on it hung across the front of the Italian café down the street from the Ferraro’s office. It shaded six small black metal tables with matching chairs, three of which were in use.
Antonio pulled out a chair for me and I thanked him as he pushed it in. Taking a seat for himself, he hung his sunglasses from his shirt, and I placed the painting case between my foot and the chair to make sure it didn’t go wandering off anywhere. One million dollars’ worth of canvas and gouache paint sitting on a random sidewalk in Brenton, Michigan.
He faced away from the door but took a quick look in the window and nodded to someone inside. A middle-aged man in a crisp white apron came out to us almost immediately, sporting a beaming smile. He threw his bar towel over his shoulder as he stopped at our table, producing a small vase with some short-stemmed roses in it.