The Perfect Temptation (40 page)

makes them attractive. Living
life by the rules is safe."

Safe.
His conscience boldly thrust his hopes and intentions

forward for scrutiny. Inwardly,
he winced. His fantasies

were dependent on her living
anything but a safe and

rule-bound life. Yes, he could
manipulate her. He was perfectly

capable. But it would be callous
and wrong. Alex deserved

respect, deserved to make her own
decisions, and to

choose
her own-the course of her life.

"Living and dying by the
rules is also boring," he countered

honestly, sensing that he was
casting loose something

precious. "Is being safe
worth a mindless existence?"

Slowly, her gaze came back to his.
"If
you'd asked
me

that the morning I walked into
Barrett Stanbridge's office, I

would have answered you with an
unequivocal 'yes.' But

now ... " The tiniest of
smiles touched the corners of her

mouth. "Sometimes, under
some circumstances, with some

people ... As you said the day we
met, life is risk. I'm learning

that deliberately taking one from
time to time doesn't always

lead to disaster."

A moment's hesitation, a moment
of open assessment. As

the carriage slowed she smiled
ruefully and added, "Unfortunately,

that realization only makes the
choice that much

more difficult. The only
compromise I can see is to spend

my life sailing back and forth
between England and India."

"There's a good number of
people
who do just
that,"

Aiden pointed out, vivid images
playing across his mind.

The popping of the sails, the
spray of the water. And Alex.

Standing in the bow, the wind
threading through her hair as

she laughed up at the sun.

"Yes, but I'm not an
especially good sailor."

He knew better than to entertain
possibility. His conscience

was squirming, telling
him
that the
new hope was

separated from the old by only a
few degrees.
It
wasn't safe.

Not by any stretch of his
imagination. He knew that from

bitter, heart-wrenching
experience. ''Then we'll have to think

of another solution for
you," he declared, reaching for the

door handle and the timely
salvation of having to exist in the

real world.

In a good many ways bringing
Mohan to an auction was easier.

All he did was squirm in boredom
and there was nothing

wrong with placing her hand on
his knee to still him. Aiden,

on the other hand ... He wasn't
bored at all. In fact, she'd

have to say that his mind was
clicking furiously. But along a

track that was miles and miles
away from Christie's. It was

equally clear that whatever it
was that occupied his attention

wasn't a particularly pleasant
thing. He was decidedly

somber, as though he were
weighing the scales in trying to

make some great decision on the
fate of mankind.

And nothing she'd done had been able
to bring him out of

his distraction for very long.
Not even entrusting
him
with

her personal bidding paddle. His
mind tended to wander between

bids, even on the same item.
She'd lost an ormolu

clock because she hadn't been
quick enough in nudging
him

back to the auction floor.

"The next item up for
bidding is a pen and ink drawing by

the contemporary British artist
D. Terrell."

Beside her, Aiden snapped to
attention
,
his
gaze riveted

on the carefully draped picture
being set on the stage's easel.

Intrigued by his sudden
attention, Alex considered the piece.

It was large enough to nicely
fill the space over a mantel.

The frame was thick, ornately
carved, and gilded with heavy,

Spanish silver. The subject, as
much as the drape of black

velvet permitted her to see, was
a man who appeared to be

half looking over his shoulder.
No doubt at a lover. The artist

had beautifully captured the
seductive-

Alex gulped a startled breath.
She knew the curve of that

smile, that delightfully wicked
sparkle in the eyes
.

"Ladies," the
auctioneer intoned, "we caution you and

suggest you avert your gazes for
a brief moment."

A few feminine heads turned away
as the drape was lowered

by two attendants. A few feminine
ones and Aiden's
.

She heard
him
groan, felt
him slump down in his chair.

"Aiden?" she asked
under her breath, staring at the picture

and knowing with every fiber of
her being that those

were Aiden's shoulders, his
torso, his waist, and--dear God

in heaven-his buttocks and
thighs. Her heart was pounding

and the temperature of the room
seemed to have spiked several

hundred degrees. "Who's D.
Terrell?"

"My mother," he
supplied, sounding as though he were

strangling on every syllable.
"D
is
for Darcy."

She leaned closer to keep their
conversation private.

''And who is the subject?"
she pressed as the drawing was

discreetly covered again.
"His build is much like yours
.
So is

his smile. The face is different,
though. Harder."

He seemed to choke back a whimper
before he replied, "I

favor my mother."

"As I favored mine. People
always knew we were

mother and daughter," she
admitted, thoroughly amused by

his mortification
.
Who would
have thought Aiden could be

embarrassed
by
"
anything sexual? "So is the man in the picture

your father?"

"He'd die before he publicly
admitted it."

And his son would, too. Alex
turned her attention back to

the front and the opening round
of bidding. The impulse was

wicked. And it was absolutely
irresistible. She nudged Aiden

with her elbow and whispered,
"Bid."

"No!"

She had to swallow down her
laughter. "Wouldn't you like

to have it?"

"God, no! Why would I want
to look at my father naked?"

Oh, she would pay in her next
life for so enjoying this

moment. A bid was accepted
,
another
solicited
.
She
raised

her paddle and joined the fray. Beside
her, Aiden gasped and

practically came up off his
chair.

''Alex!''

"I'm buying it for my
customer," she explained, artfully

playing the soul of cool
acquisition.

In response, he closed his eyes
and moaned, "Oh, God."

She bid, said, "Aiden
,
you're
blushing," and bid again.

A memory flitted across her mind,
no less clear for the

brevity of its presence. The man
who had stood in her hall and

calmly killed two men was the
same one now sitting beside

her clutching a bidding paddle
for dear life and blushing more

deeply than any maiden bride.
There were so many facets to

John Aiden Terrell. And every
single one of them fascinated

her
.
He awed her, entertained her, and Lord knew he
challenged

her. Being with
him
made her
smile at first light and

happily scramble out of bed, made
her regret the inevitable

setting of the sun and their
parting greetings each night.

Realization came over her in a
slow swell. She held her

breath and focused her attention
on holding her place in the

swirling current of bidding,
hoping the distraction would

drive it back and away from
acknowledgment and acceptance.

The truth wouldn't be denied.

The gavel banged. "The D.
Terrell goes to bidder three thirty-

eight."

Alex looked down in amazement at
the paddle in her

hand. Three-thirty-eight. What
were the odds, she wondered,

of buying a painting in the same
moment you realized

you had fallen in love with the
artist's son?

Another realizat
io
n rolled
over her in the wake of the

first. What price she paid in the
next life for torturing him

this morning would be minor in
the grand scheme of things.

Loving Aiden, though ... That was
going to cost her dearly

in this one. She blinked at her
paddle, trying to .catch her

breath, trying to control her
smile, and desperately, rationally

trying to make herself believe
that
if
she didn't protect

her heart she was going to spend
the rest of her life regretting

the day she'd met him.

Chapter 13

Aiden dragged a deep breath of
cold, crisp
air
into his lungs

and held it, letting it cool his blood.
There was much to be

thankful for, he told himself as
he led Alex toward the line of

waiting carriages. The picture
had been one of his mother's

more circumspect pieces. There
were a few that wouldn't

have been undraped in public. And
he wasn't having to haul

it out the door of Christie's
himself. That was good. Even

better, he wasn't going to have
to ride around town with his

father trying to seduce Alex from
the opposite seat Blessed

be the deliverymen of Christie's.

He was scanning the line of carriages
and groups of drivers

chatting along the walkway,
looking for Barrett's, when

Alex sighed happily and said,
"I
 
think that went
exceedingly