Page 90 of Burning Caine
“Nothing. No haze.”
“No haze means…what?”
“Remember the green haze from the old varnish? It’s not here. It’s not anywhere.”
“So, it’s definitely a fake, then?” She grabbed my arm tightly, shaking me.
“It’s possible the varnish was affected by the fire. The temperature could have made it more soluble, then that, combined with the water could cause it to fluoresce differently. Doubtful, but—”
“Possible.” Her grip released as the wind left her sails. “So, this is proof of nothing.”
“Not definitive proof yet. Do you have access to more photos of the painting from here?”
“I do.” She rounded to the back seat of her truck where her laptop was set up. She hopped in, leaving the door open. I stood next to the truck, resting my arms on the top of the door frame, watching the screen. The pose would highlight the shape of my torso, my broad chest, and muscular arms. She would have to notice.
As her laptop started, I had to take care of the regrettable part of my visit. “How is the rest of the investigation going?”
Like at the gala, she typed while she spoke. “Ups and downs. We’ve dropped the theory it could have been stolen.”
Thank heavens. It wouldn’t hurt me either way, but if justice were to be served, she would have to find the actual guilty parties.
“I talked to the neighbor who reported the fire and have more interviews set up this afternoon. Alright—I’m in. What do you want to see?” She paused at the list of pictures, focused on her screen.
I leaned in to get a closer look, close enough my cheek almost touched hers. “The x-ray. Open that one.”
I knew what I was looking for before it was open. I had already started on that section of the painting, anticipating the ultraviolet being insufficient. I paused the appropriate amount of time to pretend I was analyzing the image, then pointed at the center of the painting. “This will help. You can tell Chagall changed his mind on what he was doing. The red flower in the middle of the bouquet was originally down lower. He painted over it and re-added it higher. I think the place where it originally was is on the strip across the middle which survived the fire. If I can clean up some of the damage to that area, an x-ray should tell us for sure. Send it to me. And there is an infrared photo in the list—send that as well.”
She emailed the photos, closed the laptop, and turned to get out of the truck, but I didn’t move. This was date number three. We had taken care of our business. We had shared our heartbreaks. Every fiber of my being told me she wanted me as much as I wanted her. But her heart, her fears, were in the way. It was on her face when she spoke of her mother and her ex-husband.
We stared at each other, our shared desire thick in the air. She rubbed her fingers along her palm and bit her lip. Still so scared.
“Samantha, I don’t want my heart broken again any more than you do.”
She closed her eyes. She was going to say no. Again. But I could be patient. I had to be if I wanted her in my life. Before I could tell her, ensure her she was safe in my hands, she opened her eyes and took hold of my tie. She pulled me to her, slowly, eyes fixed on mine, moistening her lips in anticipation.
“I’ve wanted to taste your lips from the day we met.” I slid a hand to the back of her neck and tilted my head to avoid the brim of her hat. When I pressed my lips to hers, my eyes slid closed. The blood pounded in my ears, drowning out the songbirds outside the truck and the gentle breeze rustling the corn.
As the pressure increased, our lips parted together, and my tongue met hers. Olives. She tasted of olives. I smiled in the kiss, while she moaned, low and guttural. My tongue pushed into her mouth, sliding along hers. We pulled apart slightly, then met again, her tongue sweeping along mine.
Warmth spread through my chest, a happiness invading my very soul. I put a foot on the running board for balance and my free hand on the outside of her thigh, caressing her strong leg.
She suddenly broke away. The tie was still in her hand, but she leaned slowly back, eyes wide, brows turning down. “Oh my god, I shouldn’t have done that. I’m so sorr—”
“Yes, you should have.” I leaned in, meeting her lips, and slid her toward me.
She had a moment of hesitation, until she moaned again and rolled her fist around the tie to pull herself closer to me. Her tongue moved around mine in hungry circles and she grabbed my hand on her thigh, moving it to cup her ass. The blood pounding in my ears started traveling lower.
Her watch pinged. She jumped, releasing my tie and hitting her elbow on her laptop. “Shit!” She slammed a hand on her watch to silence her alarm. “I’m late! I need to grab Lucy!”
Shoving me out of the way, she launched herself out of the truck.
“Lucy?”
“Yeah, I dropped her off at a diner for lunch.” She ran to the back of the truck, grabbed the photos and Russo’s containers, then passed me again to throw them in the back seat. “We’ve got more claims this afternoon and interviews.”
“Bella, we should have a third date, you and I.”
“Yeah, sure.” She raced back to slam the tailgate shut.