But she’d done this before and, as a result, knew that she had to slam her foot on the brakes. She’d fallen into the arms of a sexy man and, within a few weeks, fallen in love. She’d wanted to believe that Dennis was a good man, a man worth marrying.
Five years later, a marriage and ugly divorce later, she was stronger and wiser and fully understood that the same man who made you quiver and sigh could also make you cry. A pretty face could easily hide a cold heart, and malice could live under a charming facade.
Dennis had a lovely face and buckets of charm but under it all, he had the personality of a psychopathic honey badger. And from what she’d heard from Carrick’s ex-wife and Beth, one of Sadie’s oldest friends and her virtual assistant, so did Carrick.
Sadie hadn’t been believed when she tried to tell her friends and family that Dennis was verbally abusing her and subjecting her to emotional torture that was both cruel and cunning. So when women she respected talked about their men, she listened.
But damn, why was she a magnet for bad boys?
And she wasn’t talking about those cute, trouble-finds-me-but-I’m-a-good-guy-at-heart men. One of those she could handle. No, Sadie was attracted to bad bad boys. The ones who played games, lied, used...
Abused.
As had happened with her ex, nobody would suspect Carrick Murphy—a business phenomenon and a hell of an operator in the art world—of being a dick, but she’d heard enough from Tamlyn via Beth to understand that women should go into any relationship with him with their eyes propped open.
Not that that was what she was doing.
Sadie glanced at her watch again and, after readjusting her bag on her shoulder, she headed out, her heels clicking against the tiled floors. This was the first time she would be meeting Carrick’s important clients and she wished she could definitively tell them that the painting was a lost Homer.
Not only because that news would set the art world alight—authenticating a “sleeper,” a previously undiscovered painting, would be a kickass star on her résumé—but also because her job would then be over and she could remove herself from the temptation that was Carrick Murphy.
But she was many weeks, possibly months, away from submitting her final report. There was still so much data outstanding, including the results of the paint analysis. She was tracking down leads with regard to the labels on the back of the painting and she’d yet to receive any replies from the many galleries where Isabel and her family routinely bought art.
Establishing an artwork’s authenticity took time. Sadie hoped Carrick’s clients understood this.
Reaching the door to the conference room, Sadie lightly knocked and stepped inside. Because she was currently enjoying the luck of a blind mouse in a cattery, the room was empty except for Carrick, who stood by the large window, looking down onto Boston Common. He turned, that lethal smile flashing, hinting at that shallow dimple in his left cheek, and Sadie’s heart kicked up a beat. Yep, there went her blood to that special place low in her womb, and heat meandered through her body.
Chemistry was a hell of a thing.
“Sadie.”
Her name, rumbling out of Carrick’s mouth, had never sounded sexier. Sadie sighed and just managed to stop herself from putting her hand on her heart.
Pulling her eyes off him, she placed her bag and her folders on the conference table and managed a quiet “good morning.”
“Isabel’s heirs are running late. They should be here in fifteen minutes or so.”
Damn. What would they talk about while they waited? The weather? The painting? How amazing, strong, powerful and masculine he felt when he slid inside her...
Slade! So not helpful!
Thinking that she had to aim for sophistication or, at least, to act her age, Sadie walked over to the window, keeping a healthy distance between her and Carrick. Because, you know, chemistry...
Sadie saw him cast a glance over her outfit as she walked across the room and wondered if her boldly patterned red and orange dress was too arty and too bohemian for the conservative, upmarket offices of Murphy International.
She didn’t care. She wasn’t a black-suit-and-white-shirt-wearing type. She was an art lover and connoisseur, someone who needed color like other people needed to breathe. Carrick would get used to her clothes and if he didn’t...
Tough.
She’d changed for one man, toned down her clothes, swallowed her thoughts and opinions and designed her life around a man who’d repaid her by having numerous affairs with everyone from her cousin to her masseuse. She would never dim her shine again, not for anyone.
Sadie looked past Carrick’s very broad right shoulder to his stupendous view. The afternoon sun was starting to sink and the light held a touch of the same rose-pink Degas used for the dancers’ tutus in his work Dancers in Pink. Or was it closer to the color of that rose Renoir painted in Gabrielle à la Rose?
Ooh, now she saw a hint of orange...
Carrick’s knuckles rapping on the window brought her back to the present. She expected him to look annoyed, so his amusement was a surprise.
“Something happening on the common I should know about?”