Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 145112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
My disgust at his disregard gushes out on an exasperated sigh. ‘And if Brent decides to sell it and it’s authenticated again’ – I swing my arm towards the mansion behind me – ‘everyone will know that one is fake.’
‘And?’
And? Why isn’t that a problem for him? With no other instruction coming to me, no thoughts, no words, I slap his arm for his insolence. It spikes the most gorgeous-sounding chuckle. It makes me want to hit him continuously so my ears are drowned in the dizzying sound for ever.
Becker gazes at me as the sound fades, until there’s only silence left between us again. We simply stare at each other. He wanted me to know all this. He wanted to share this with me. He’s brave, trusting me for a start, but more than that, he’s opened up to me, whether he realises or not.
He smiles. ‘The rivalry between my family and Brent’s goes back nearly a century, Eleanor. I’m continuing the family legacy. That’s all.’
‘Your dad was looking for the sculpture?’
He nods. ‘And my grandfather, and Brent’s grandfather, and Brent’s father. But I’m going to find it. Please don’t let morals cloud your judgement. Brent’s father ripped my dad off for a lot more than fifty million.’
I pout, unable to comprehend such a sum. More than fifty million? But I still ask. ‘How much more?’
‘A fucking lot.’ His smile is quickly gone, and I’m not sure what to make of the misery slinking on to his face, drowning out the elation of a few moments ago.
He’s feeding me scraps. I want a three-course meal. ‘How much is a fucking lot?’
He pushes himself off the bonnet of Brent’s car, swallowing. ‘Don’t make me go down that road again, Eleanor. I just needed you to know there’s a method to my madness.’ He plasters a false and rather inappropriate smile on his face. ‘Brent Wilson thinks he has his smarmy hands on Head of a Faun, so now I can focus on finding the real one without an Indiana Jones wannabe tailing me all over the world.’
Every scrap of my irritation slides away. I have my very own treasure hunter. It’s crazy for me to find his simple explanation acceptable. Really crazy. Maybe Becker Hunt is making me crazy.
‘This has become more about pride and winning.’ Becker taps the end on my nose. ‘It’s not about passion for treasure. Brent’s just proven that in there.’ He points to the mansion. ‘He isn’t selling that sculpture anytime soon. He’ll keep it for his own sad, private satisfaction. He thinks he’s won, princess.’
‘You said you can focus on finding the real one. I thought you knew where it is.’
‘I do. Like I said, I have a map.’
I shake my head, stunned by it all, but I don’t see this as foolproof. Becker must have thought about the consequences. ‘If it’s discovered that Brent Wilson bought a forgery, the authenticator will be hung, drawn, and quartered.’
‘He’s long gone with a few million in his off-shore account. Retired. This is a testing business, you know.’ He smirks.
I have nothing to say to that, but then I think of something else. ‘Brent will want his money back. Surely the Saunders can’t keep all his money.’
‘The Saunders family are financially ruined. They’ll use the money to pay off their debts.’
‘He’ll sue them,’ I fire. Jesus, fifty million quid gone? Just like that? Brent Wilson will have a hernia. And that hernia will burst if he knows Becker is responsible.
‘They didn’t authenticate it,’ Becker points out quite rightly. ‘And anyway, you can’t sue someone for something they haven’t got. This is all ifs and buts, princess. Wilson will never share the fact he’s been conned, if he finds out. His ego is too big.’
His ego is too big? Hilarious. But I’m done. I’ve presented every hole in his plan and he’s filled them in swiftly. ‘You’re immoral.’ It’s all I have left.
He grins and slides his hands on to my waist, lifting me from the car and holding me against him. We’re in that grey area again. It doesn’t stop my hands from sliding around his neck, though. Or my eyes from feasting on his obscenely handsome face. Or my body from becoming hypersensitive to every part of him that’s touching me.
His soft hazel eyes shimmer with happiness. I can’t fathom why it blankets my worry right now. All I know is that I feel I know Becker Hunt so much more than I did an hour ago, and he made that happen.
‘I’m not immoral, princess.’ He chastely kisses my cheek, making an over-the-top noise about it, too. ‘I’m a fucking saint.’
I smile, and it is beyond my ability to hold back. It’s also beyond my ability to break free of his arms as he carries me to Gloria. ‘Saint Becker?’ I ask, letting him lower me to my feet and open the door. ‘I’m not so sure about that.’ I slip in and pull my belt across, then jump when Becker virtually throws himself across the bonnet of the car like a stuntman, his shoulder meeting the metal first and the rest of his body following fluidly in an expert roll. He lands lightly on his feet on the driver’s side of the car and brings two fingers up to his lips. I shake my head in dismay when he blows across the tops of them before holstering his imaginary gun and strutting to the door, opening it swiftly and falling into his seat.