Read Because You Are Mine Part VIII: Because I Am Yours for Free Online Page A

anxiety ghosting features that would have looked cold and impassive to other eyes.
    She thought she’d had a heart attack. She clasped her chest.
    “Why’s he done this?” she asked Davie under her breath.
    “I think it’s his way of saying he’s sorry. Some men send flowers, Ian—”
    “Sends the world,” Francesca whispered through numb lips. Ian started toward her, and she followed in kind in his direction, moving like a sleepwalker toward the man she couldn’t take her eyes off of, and whom she craved more than anything she had in her life.
    “Hello,” he said quietly when they met.
    “Hi. This is quite a surprise,” Francesca managed, her heart seemingly crowding out everything else in her rib cage, squeezing her lungs. She realized distantly that probably dozens of stares were on them, but she only could focus on the warmth—the wary hope—in Ian’s.
    “Did I have it hung to your satisfaction?” he asked, and she knew he meant the painting.
    “Yes. It’s perfect.”
    Her heart did its usual jump when he smiled. He held up his hands. Recognizing the familiar gesture, she unbuttoned her coat and turned. When he slid her coat off her arms she spun toward him, chin high, spine straight—yes, even in the boho dress. His gaze ran over her fleetingly and she saw he recognized the dress. His smile reached all the way to his eyes. He took two glasses of champagne from a waiter who was passing and murmured a request before handing the man her coat.
    A moment later, he handed her a flute and stepped closer. Francesca had the impression that the other party participants tried to focus their attention back on their own conversations, giving them a little privacy. Ian touched his flute to hers.
    “To you, Francesca. May you have everything you deserve in life, because there is no one so deserving.”
    “Thank you,” she murmured, taking a reluctant sip, unsure as to how she should be feeling in these bewildering circumstances.
    “Will you spend this evening with me, both now,” he glanced around the crowded lobby, “and later? There are some things I’d like to tell you in private. I hope you’ll listen.”
    Her throat tightened when she guessed at what some of those ‘things’ might be. She suddenly doubted she could endure the next few hours, wondering what he’d say. A tiny part of her said she should refuse, the part that wanted to keep her heart safe. But then she looked into his eyes, and her decision was made.
    “Yes. I’ll listen.”
    He smiled, took her hand and escorted her into the crowd.
    * * *
    It was past midnight by the time Ian opened the door to his suite for her and she walked into the subtly lit, elegant room.
    “I thought maybe I’d never be in this bedroom again,” she said breathlessly, glancing around, cherishing little details of Ian’s private sanctuary as she never had before. They’d been together all night, Ian never leaving her side, Francesca highly aware of him as he introduced her to movers and shakers from the art world or showed her the last four of her paintings that had been recovered, or they conversed with friends and family. All the while, she wondered what he was thinking . . . what he would say to her when they were alone in private.
    She’d been courted by three renowned galleries for future collections and asked to do a showing at the Barcelona Museum of Contemporary Art. She’d looked to Ian for that, since he was the owner of her current paintings, and he’d told her point-blank it was up to her to decide. Four collectors had made bids on her paintings, although Ian had refused to sell, point-blank. To top it all off, one of the offers had been made in the company of her father, whose incredulity at the price mentioned had made her father turn pale. In general, Ian’s effect on both of her parents had been quite marked. They’d been so tongue-tied and eager to please in his presence that she was quite sure Ian must have thought her a liar