Secret Things and Highland Flings. Tracy Corbett

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СКАЧАТЬ him to notice. ‘Marcus, as you well know, I specialise in replicas, not originals. It’s a copy.’ Her eye immediately started twitching.

      ‘It doesn’t look like a copy.’

      ‘None of my paintings do, that’s why my business is so successful. A business that was severely jeopardised by your shady dealings.’ Attack was the best form of defence, she’d learnt.

      He placed the flowers on the counter and went over to the painting. She watched him study the signature, which she’d carefully concealed behind a display card.

      ‘I remember you buying a preliminary sketch of this painting. We’d gone to London for the weekend and I’d got us tickets to see the Arsenal game, but you insisted we attend some fancy auction. It was always your ambition to own the original painting.’

      She remembered the weekend well. It was supposed to be a romantic getaway … until she’d realised his idea of ‘romance’ was to take her to the blessed football. Stopping off at the auction had seemed only fair.

      She followed him over. ‘You’re right, which is why I took the opportunity to display this copy when it was offered to me by an aspiring local artist.’ She’d rehearsed her answer many times, using a mirror to perfect her performance. She suspected Marcus didn’t believe her. He was too shady to be outwitted, but she wasn’t going down without a fight.

      He resumed looking at the painting. ‘I assume you found the holdall?’

      And there it was. The bombshell she’d been waiting for.

      She cleared her throat. ‘What holdall?’

      His gaze remained fixated on the painting, so he didn’t see her left eye twitching like a malfunctioning washing machine.

      He turned slowly to face her. ‘I think you know exactly what holdall.’

      ‘Like I said, I gave your belongings to charity.’ She walked off.

      He caught her arm. ‘Let’s go down to the basement and check.’

      She yanked her arm free. ‘I have customers. I can’t leave the gallery unattended.’

      ‘I’ll go then.’

      No way was she letting him loose downstairs. Not that he’d find anything, but that wasn’t the point. ‘It’s locked.’

      ‘I have keys.’ He had the audacity to dangle them in front of her.

      She tried to swipe them, but he moved his hand. ‘Keys that my solicitor has repeatedly asked you to return.’

      He shrugged. ‘Change the locks if you’re that worried.’

      ‘I can’t afford to do that. The security system is highly sophisticated. It would cost a fortune to replace it.’

      He took a step closer, a calculating glint in his eye. ‘Tell you what, I’ll hand over my keys once I have all of my belongings back.’ His expression turned menacing. ‘And that includes the holdall containing my money.’

      Her cheeks became instantly warm. ‘Wh … what money?’

      He laughed. ‘Oh, I think you know what money. I must say, I was surprised. Little Miss Perfect finally did something wicked.’ He tapped one of her large hoop earrings, making it sway. ‘You actually stole from me.’

      One of the businessmen glanced over. Lexi waved and assured him everything was okay before refocusing on Marcus. His cruel taunting had dissolved any guilt she might have felt at scamming him. ‘What a shameful accusation, Marcus. I mean, who would steal from their loved one, right?’

      He had the good grace to look uncomfortable. ‘I never stole—’

      ‘Yes, you did. You didn’t bank the sale proceeds for my Franz Gerste collection. Instead, you ran off to Spain with your PA and left me to deal with your mess.’

      ‘I never meant for that to happen. You don’t know the pressure I was under. The garage was going bust. People were chasing me for money. HMRC were on my back. Everything I tried made it worse.’

      ‘That doesn’t justify you running off with Cindy, of all people. A woman who thinks Liverpool is a country.’ Lexi didn’t normally slate other women; she liked to think of herself as an advocate for women, empowering each other. But that was before she’d been dumped unceremoniously for a women ten years her junior. It stung.

      Marcus sighed. ‘She’s certainly not you.’ He looked almost wistful.

      Lexi resisted the urge to yell, then why did you run off with her? Instead, she opted for, ‘You’re damned right she’s not,’ trying to salvage something of her bruised self-esteem.

      He took her hand before she could move it. ‘I miss you.’

      Ignoring the familiar warmth of his touch, she met his gaze. ‘Well, I don’t miss you, Marcus. I don’t miss being lied to, stolen from or cheated on.’

      Far from being deterred, he saw this as a challenge. He’d always been seduced by things he couldn’t have. She’d suddenly become unattainable. Nothing turned Marcus on more than the temptation of a woman saying no to him.

      He stroked the back of her hand. ‘You forget all the good times we had.’

      ‘You’re right, Marcus, I do. I’ve made a conscious effort to forget every single one of them.’

      ‘I don’t believe you.’

      ‘Frankly, I don’t care what you believe. Now, please leave and don’t come back. I don’t want you in my life anymore. I’ve moved on.’

      He was staring at her mouth like he used to when he was about to bedazzle her with his charms. ‘Christ, you’re sexy when you’re angry.’ He reached forwards to kiss her.

      She pulled away. Jesus, his flattery skills had taken a dive.

      ‘I still love you, Lexi. You know that. We could be together again. Think of the fun we’d have.’ A glimmer of the old Marcus was back. A scheme forming in his mind as his eyes roamed over her body, no attempt to hide where his thoughts were headed. ‘We’d make a great team. You and me, hustling the world. I’m not angry you took my money. Actually, I admire you for it. I never thought you’d have the balls. Think what we could do with it? You’ve been a goodie two-shoes for too long. It’s time to unleash your inner bad girl.’

      Words every woman longs to hear … not.

      What an idiot Marcus was. What an idiot she was for marrying him.

      She was about to tell him as much, when someone banged on the gallery door.

      A tall man with thinning beige hair and matching raincoat was peering through the glass. He drew out an identity badge and held it up.

      Oh, Christ, what now?

      ‘Who the hell is that?’ she said, praying it wasn’t the police. Not that she’d done anything wrong. Well, not much.

      ‘No СКАЧАТЬ