“And I’d like the chance to make some good decisions…and maybe a few bad ones…with you,” Marc continued with a shaky smile.
“I’d like that very much.” Royce leaned in the last couple of inches separating them, capturing Marc’s lips in a searing kiss. He broke off the kiss because the hard floor and cool spring breeze blowing in through the open doors was starting to grow more uncomfortable. But he had to ask, “When you say bad decisions, you’re talking things like sex on uncomfortable surfaces, right? No more lost paintings.”
Marc’s grin grew. “Well, I am pretty confident that I know the location of that lost Vermeer.”
“No.”
“We could just give Angelo a call—”
“Definitely not.”
“And we can be in Barcelona in less than twelve hours.”
“Spain?”
“For a start, to talk to another collector I know, then we’d leave for Istanbul.”
Royce’s laughter echoed through the house, bouncing off the ceiling and flying out the open doors. Life with Marc would never be dull, and he welcomed it.