I suddenly wish I was going with him and decide right then to try to get Saturday off, even if I have to use the charity event as publicity for the gallery to make it happen. And I’m darn sure going to make Mark open his thick wallet for a big fat donation.
Chris hangs up the phone and turns to me and I don’t get the chance to ask why he’s taking a cab. “Come with me,” he says. “I didn’t cancel your reservation.”
Knowing more about the charity only makes my reply harder. “Not this time.”
He does not look appeased by my inference that I would accept a future invitation. “That’s not the right answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
He scrubs his jaw and turns to the counter directly beside me and presses his hands to it. His head falls forward and he just hangs there for several seconds, tension rolling off him in waves.
I reach over and run my hand through the spiky blond of his hair. He lifts his head, and the concern in his pale green eyes glistens in sunlight beaming from the bay window behind us. “I’m going to be out of my mind with worry. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to leave you like this?”
“It’s hard for me to let you leave.”
He registers my words, and I know I’ve pleased him, but his mood shifts, his jaw tenses. “I need you to do something for me, Sara. I need you to lock those journals in the safe in my closet and leave them there. I’ll give you the combination.”
My heart begins to race and I lean against the counter to see him more fully. “You’re worried someone will try and take them? I thought you said the apartment was safe?”
He rotates around to face me. “It is safe. That’s not what I’m worried about or else I wouldn’t be trying to talk you into going with me. I’d be insisting instead. What I’m worried about is you reading the damn things and then reading into them. I’m asking you to put them away while I’m gone. Save your curiosity until I’m present and have the chance to explain whatever you read if you somehow relate it to you and me like you did last night.”
“It’s not about curiosity, Chris. It’s about finding Rebecca.”
“Let the private detective do his job. I’m going to put a call into him this morning to talk about what happened last night and see if he can get anything from the storage facility about the incident that we couldn’t.” His hands slide down my hair. “Please, Sara. Lock up the journals.”
I swallow hard against the refusal that wants to spurt from my lips. This is important to him, and there is nothing in the journals I haven’t read at least once before. Reluctantly, I nod. “Yes. Okay. I’ll lock them up.”
Approval crosses his face. “Thank you.”
My lips curve at his thank-you.
He arches a brow. “Why are you smiling?”
“Because most macho control freaks don’t say ‘thank you.’ I like it.”
“Enough to agree to fly up to Los Angeles Saturday after work and help me survive being stuffed in a tuxedo at a gala that evening?”
I wiggle an eyebrow. “I get to see you in a tuxedo?”
“Better. You can help me take it off.”
“Deal,” I say with a laugh. “Though I want a picture before the undressing begins.”
“I’ll give you the picture if I can talk you into bringing the painting I did last night with you. It’s not dry enough for me to carry with me.”
“Of course. I don’t mind at all.”
“Great. There’s a small room in the back of the studio with a high-tech dryer. It’s sitting back there. I’ll call you when I get settled and work out the travel arrangements.”
The phone buzzes on the wall and he grabs it. “Be rightdown,” he murmurs and replaces the receiver before reluctantly announcing, “My cab is here.”
“Why aren’t you driving?”
“I want you to take the Porsche.”
“I have my car.”
“The Porsche has top-notch security. It knows where you are at all times.”
A flash of a past I prefer to forget
Chris hangs up the phone and turns to me and I don’t get the chance to ask why he’s taking a cab. “Come with me,” he says. “I didn’t cancel your reservation.”
Knowing more about the charity only makes my reply harder. “Not this time.”
He does not look appeased by my inference that I would accept a future invitation. “That’s not the right answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
He scrubs his jaw and turns to the counter directly beside me and presses his hands to it. His head falls forward and he just hangs there for several seconds, tension rolling off him in waves.
I reach over and run my hand through the spiky blond of his hair. He lifts his head, and the concern in his pale green eyes glistens in sunlight beaming from the bay window behind us. “I’m going to be out of my mind with worry. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to leave you like this?”
“It’s hard for me to let you leave.”
He registers my words, and I know I’ve pleased him, but his mood shifts, his jaw tenses. “I need you to do something for me, Sara. I need you to lock those journals in the safe in my closet and leave them there. I’ll give you the combination.”
My heart begins to race and I lean against the counter to see him more fully. “You’re worried someone will try and take them? I thought you said the apartment was safe?”
He rotates around to face me. “It is safe. That’s not what I’m worried about or else I wouldn’t be trying to talk you into going with me. I’d be insisting instead. What I’m worried about is you reading the damn things and then reading into them. I’m asking you to put them away while I’m gone. Save your curiosity until I’m present and have the chance to explain whatever you read if you somehow relate it to you and me like you did last night.”
“It’s not about curiosity, Chris. It’s about finding Rebecca.”
“Let the private detective do his job. I’m going to put a call into him this morning to talk about what happened last night and see if he can get anything from the storage facility about the incident that we couldn’t.” His hands slide down my hair. “Please, Sara. Lock up the journals.”
I swallow hard against the refusal that wants to spurt from my lips. This is important to him, and there is nothing in the journals I haven’t read at least once before. Reluctantly, I nod. “Yes. Okay. I’ll lock them up.”
Approval crosses his face. “Thank you.”
My lips curve at his thank-you.
He arches a brow. “Why are you smiling?”
“Because most macho control freaks don’t say ‘thank you.’ I like it.”
“Enough to agree to fly up to Los Angeles Saturday after work and help me survive being stuffed in a tuxedo at a gala that evening?”
I wiggle an eyebrow. “I get to see you in a tuxedo?”
“Better. You can help me take it off.”
“Deal,” I say with a laugh. “Though I want a picture before the undressing begins.”
“I’ll give you the picture if I can talk you into bringing the painting I did last night with you. It’s not dry enough for me to carry with me.”
“Of course. I don’t mind at all.”
“Great. There’s a small room in the back of the studio with a high-tech dryer. It’s sitting back there. I’ll call you when I get settled and work out the travel arrangements.”
The phone buzzes on the wall and he grabs it. “Be rightdown,” he murmurs and replaces the receiver before reluctantly announcing, “My cab is here.”
“Why aren’t you driving?”
“I want you to take the Porsche.”
“I have my car.”
“The Porsche has top-notch security. It knows where you are at all times.”
A flash of a past I prefer to forget
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