Art of Cunning by Steffanie Holmes

Author:Steffanie Holmes [Holmes, Steffanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bacchanalia House
Published: 2015-04-14T05:00:00+00:00

Forty minutes later, I gripped the edges of my seat, my knuckles turning white with terror, while Ryan threw my little car around the streets of Crookshollow like he was on a Formula 1 track, oblivious to all known traffic laws. In the boot, ten priceless paintings bounced and slid against each other.

The boot wouldn’t even lock now. Marcus had obviously bashed his way in last night, and broken the lock. In the end, we’d had to duct tape it shut. Matthew was going to kill me. That was, if I survived the drive.

"I haven't been behind the wheel since my days in Belfast." Ryan laughed as he careened around a corner, cutting off a large lorry exiting Prince Edward Drive. I cringed as horns blasted in our wake.

Once on the high street, Ryan weaved in and out of lanes. "Watch out!" I cried as he raced through a traffic light, narrowly missing a woman pushing her pram across the street. I shut my eyes, unable to watch. I heard my brakes squeal, and the women shouted something unseemly though my open window.

"Oops." I opened my eyes to see Ryan smiling at me. Despite the situation, my insides turned all giddy. Dammit. I didn't want to like him. He was so ridiculously out of my league, and this whole vulpine / fated mates thing was doing my head in. But the more time I spent with him, the closer I was to falling for him. And that was bad, bad, bad. I wasn’t ready to trust anyone again, least of all Ryan Raynard.

"You'd better not think this is funny," I snapped, trying to hide my desire behind scorn. "Park in here." I pointed to a building up ahead.

"Don't you have a space at the gallery?"

I shook my head. I actually did, but it was right next to Matthew's space, and the last thing I wanted was for Ryan to crash my car filled with priceless paintings into my boss' Mercedes. Ryan turned into the building’s entrance, scraping my door along the concrete barrier, and miraculously managed to park on the third floor without hitting anyone. I opened the boot and was surprised to see none of the crates were damaged. Ryan picked up the three largest pieces, while I carried a stack of smaller paintings. We descended the fire escape, Ryan leaping the steps three at a time, while I leaned against the wall and slid along the balustrade, feeling out each step with my heels before I set down my foot.

I’m walking down the fire escape, carrying millions of dollars-worth of precious modern art in my hands, and the world's most sought-after art celebrity – who also happens to be a shapeshifter – is walking in front of me, whistling "Eye of the Tiger" under his breath.

Surreal.

At the staff entrance, I swiped my ID card, and walked through a dark hall into the main storage and inventory space. It was early, and, although there were lights on in the offices, the warehouse was still shrouded in darkness.

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