The Collector
Page 104

“She likes her souvenirs,” Ash muttered.
“Ashton, I will speak to you as I would my own son.” Bastone laid a hand on his arm. “Your brother is gone. Give them what they want. It’s an object. Your life, your lady’s, your family’s—they are more important.”
“If I thought that would be the end of it, I’d consider it. She didn’t have to hurt your grandchild. She put bruises on him because she enjoyed it. She failed to get the egg from Oliver, and now from me. That will require payment. The only way to end it is to stop her. To bring both her and this Vasin to justice.”
“Is it justice you want or revenge?”
“It’s both.”
Bastone sighed, nodded. “I understand this. I fear you will find Vasin impenetrable.”
“Nothing and no one is. You just have to find the weak spot.”
Lila spent most of the drive back to Florence scribbling in a notebook. The minute she walked back into the suite, she headed for her temporary office and laptop.
She was still working away when Ash came in with a tall glass of the sparkling juice she enjoyed.
“Thanks. I’m putting everything on paper—sort of like an outline. Characters, what we know about all of them, events, time lines, the connections. It helps me to organize it.”
“Your version of a spreadsheet.”
“Yeah, I guess.” She sipped the juice, watching him as he sat on the side of the bed. “Julie and I aren’t going to have time to look at wedding dresses in Florence.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be. I’d already figured the same. And God, Ash, we’ve had a couple of amazing days—wonderful days, productive days. Are we leaving tonight? She wouldn’t expect that. We’d be back in New York while she’s still looking for us here. It would give us some room.”
“We can leave in three hours if that’s enough time.”
“Packing up is one of my specialties.”
“We’ll come back, after this is finished.”
“I won’t say no as I now have a mission to spend a night hunting for these secret bakeries Luke told me about. And he was right. The Bastones did what they had to do to protect their family. If she’d hurt a little boy . . .”
“I’m going to say this even knowing your answer. But I’m going to say it, and I need you to think before you answer. I can get you somewhere safe, somewhere they won’t find you. If I could believe making a deal with Vasin would end it, I’d make the deal.”
“But you don’t believe it, and neither do I.”
“No, I don’t believe it.” And that clawed at him. “She understood the Bastones’ weak spot, and she hit it. I think she understands mine.”
“Your family. But—”
“No. She’s already killed two of my family, or had a part in it. That didn’t work out for her. You’re my weak spot, Lila.”
“You don’t have to worry about me. I can—”
He took her hands, squeezed them to stop her words. “She hasn’t come after me directly. It’s not how she works. With Oliver, she used Sage. With the Bastones, their grandson. She’s gone after you once already.”
Lila lifted her fist. “That didn’t work out for her either.”
“You’re my weak spot,” he repeated. “I asked myself why was it I wanted to paint you the first time I saw you. Needed to, even with everything else going on, I needed it. Why is it every time I think of starting a new work, it’s you.”
“People in intense situations—”
“It’s you. Your face, your body, your voice in my head. The feel of you, the sound of you. Your sense of right and wrong, your wariness of saying too much about yourself, and the fascination of peeling those layers back to reveal them myself. Even the baffling way you figure out how to fix things. All that makes it you. You’re my weak spot because I love you.”
Now something squeezed at her heart, a mix of fear and joy she couldn’t decipher. “Ash, I . . .”
“It worries you. It’s easier if it stays with affection and sex and figuring out something that involves us both. Love leaves a mark that doesn’t erase easily. More, given my family history, I promised myself a long time ago if and when I finally got there, I’d make it permanent. And that really worries you.”
“We really can’t think about any of that now.” Panic climbed up her throat, clouded her mind. “Not now when we’re in the middle of . . . a thing.”
“If I can’t tell you I love you in the middle of ‘a thing,’ when? Maybe a perfect moment will happen by, but the odds are slim, especially since I’m dealing with a woman afraid of commitment.”
“I’m not afraid of commitment.”
“Yes, you are, but we’ll make it ‘resistant to’ if that’s better for you.”
“Now you’re being annoying.”
“Let’s add to the annoyance and get it done.”
He brought her hands up, kissed them. Lowered them again.
“I’ll get what I want because nothing I’ve ever wanted matters a fraction of what you matter. So I’ll get what I want. Meanwhile I can put you somewhere safe, somewhere out of all of it—even this. That’ll give you time to think.”
“I’m not going to be tucked away like the helpless damsel in the tower.”
“Okay.”
“And I’m not going to be manipulated so—”
He cut her off, just leaned forward, yanking her toward him and closing his mouth over hers. “I love you,” he said again when he let her go, when he rose. “You’re going to have to deal with it. I’m going to pack.”
He walked out, leaving her staring after him.
What the hell was wrong with him? Who couched being in love like some sort of threat? And why the hell couldn’t she stop this slide, even being pissed?
What the hell was wrong with her?
Twenty-five
He woke in New York, at some ungodly hour thanks to a body clock completely skewed from the time change from one continent to another and back again.
The dark, the relative quiet, told him he wouldn’t like what he saw on his watch.
Right on both counts, Ash decided when he picked it up from the nightstand, squinted at the luminous dial. Four-thirty-five in the morning was ungodly, and he didn’t like it.