13

She really really wanted to ask him. At least, she thought she did.

She was heading back to his shop with the intention of asking him point blank. In what way and how deeply was he involved? Ozenberg had to answer. He’d clear everything up. Or would he? She took a few deep breaths. In any case, she had to see him. And the idea made her tingle.

The shop was empty. She figured he was upstairs, watching her, the same as the last time. Her heart was racing. She climbed the stairs slowly, gripping the cold railing. She reached the top and found the entrance to a darkened room. She inched forward, alert to the softest sound, the slightest movement. That was when she inhaled his musky cologne. He was right there, in front of her, leaning against the wall. Towering, silent, wearing a black suit, his disheveled silvery hair framing a composed face with a powerful nose. He was challenging her with his gray eyes. Was it the adrenaline, his raw sexual gaze, his intoxicating smell? He wanted her. He’d have her. She knew it. He felt it.

He stepped aside to let her pass. Their bodies brushed. For some reason, she headed toward a small empire desk glowing in the light from a window. He followed her with his eyes. She felt provocative, open, compliant even. She put her bag on a chair to keep it within sight and slowly walked around the desk while grazing the base of the lamp on it with her fingers. The man didn’t move. He simply watched. She started moving around the room.

Everything was worthy of attention, and yet nothing kept it. Her hand paused on the pedestal of a sculpture, a telephone, the armrest of a couch. But spellbound, she was drawn back to him.

Just as she was about to glide past him, Ozenberg reached out and pinned her against the wall. Her breathing stopped instantly, her lips inches from his. He slid his hand down her back and into her waistband. He slipped it into her panties and pulled her bottom toward his groin. She was burning and shaking at the same time. Then, with a powerful but careful move that took her by surprise, he brought her gently to the floor. He kissed her face, gently, under each eye, making his way to her neck. He unbuttoned her blouse, and took her breasts in his hands. He teased her nipples with his supple fingers. A second later, they were desperately ripping off their clothes. Their bodies were one.

Her hips were arched in excitement. She longed for him to thrust himself into her, but it was his tongue that started exploring her every secret. He spread her with his fingers and slowly licked, from bottom to top and down again. He put two fingers inside her and stroked her there, firmly and evenly.

How did this man know exactly how to please her? It was uncanny—almost scary. For a second Marion considered stopping rather than surrendering. But that was when he forced her legs higher and plunged into her. He moved deeper and deeper, faster and faster, sweating, panting, burying himself. At the moment of ecstasy he pulled out and ejaculated on her stomach. She moaned with pleasure and pain, having expelled all her loneliness. With her legs still spread, she held onto him until he rolled to his side and caught his breath. He looked at her long and hard. “That was beautiful,” he finally said. “You’re beautiful.”

She felt spent as she nestled next to him. They were quiet for a long time. He held her in the crook of one arm, and with his free hand, he caressed her body, his fingers forming spirals and shapes, sometimes gently, sometimes forcefully.

“Beautiful. Like artwork,” he kept saying.

She enjoyed the playfulness. It calmed her.

After what seemed like both hours and minutes, she asked him what she needed to know.

“Did you have anything to do with Chartier’s murder?”

Ozenberg pulled away and sat up. His features looked heavier. His jaw was twitching.

“Marion, who told you he was murdered?”

“The cop who’s leading the investigation.”

“The police have already gotten to you?”

Marion stared at him. She didn’t know what to think or do. Tell him more to calm him down? Keep quiet? Wait until he opened up to her? He was apparently more involved than he wanted to admit.

She sat up too and broke the silence. “We work together. He’s looking for information about that sculpture. He doesn’t have any leads.”

Ozenberg looked at her even more intensely. Was he trying to figure out if she was telling the truth? It was making her uncomfortable, like a child caught for doing something bad.

“You haven’t answered my question, Mr. Ozenberg,” she said defensively. “Were you behind the murder?”

How crazy was that? The two of them had just made love, and she couldn’t call him by his first name.

“Do you think I was?”

“No.”

“Then I wasn’t.”

“Don’t play games with me!” she cried out, turning away to avoid his eyes.

“What makes you think I’m playing games?” he threw out with such vehemence, there was no room for objection.

“You had to know the sculpture belonged to Chartier.”

“I knew the sculpture was on the market, and for the record, I wanted it. But I wasn’t the only one. It was sold to a higher bidder. So that’s that.”

“And what if I hadn’t bought it?”

He was giving her a snide look.

“You knew about the will,” she seethed. “Of course you knew. You took a pretty big risk. I could have ratted you out. You didn’t seem too eager to help me the first time we met. That Woman with Child sculpture I was looking for…”

“I was testing you. That said, I still don’t know how to help you get that figure.”

Ozenberg rose to his feet, pulled on his pants, and buttoned his white monogrammed shirt. He headed toward the back of the room to open his minibar. Marion got up too and started dressing.

“Here, this’ll be good for you,” he said, handing her a glass of whiskey. “Have a seat.” He took her by the arm, guided her to the couch, and sat down close to her.

“Do a lot of you know the provisions of my will?”

“Marion, Marion…” he said as he fixed a strand of hair that had fallen over her forehead. “You have such striking eyes.”

“Alain, this is serious.”

“Since Magni died, the art world’s been buzzing. His collection—it’s like a godsend for everyone. I don’t know if you realize how—”

“People will kill for it, yeah,” she answered, once again keeping her distance. “So I’m in danger then?”

He didn’t answer.

“Your silence isn’t very reassuring.”

“It’s not a very reassuring situation.”

“And these networks, these people who steal for you and other people. You know who they are. We could follow their trail.”

“It’s a blurry trail, Marion. You saw Helen D. She’s a fourth intermediary—at least. And they change all the time.”

“But they get paid. We could follow the money trail.”

“There are handlers and one-purpose companies used for a single transaction. Then they disappear. They’re created to collect money and send it somewhere else, like an offshore account, which sends it somewhere else again. By the time an investigation gets under way, the money has already been dispersed to hundreds of similar accounts. It can’t be traced. Are you sure you want to talk about this right now?” He had started to stroke her breasts. “Maybe there are other things we could be doing.”

She shivered, not knowing whether it was the fear or his presence that was giving her the goose bumps. His melodious voice, his breath, his scent… She pressed herself against him and put her head on his shoulder.

“There’ll never be a good time. I just want to get this figured out as soon as I can.”

“We have all the time in the world to talk about it.”

“I need to know.”

“Do you always get what you want?”

“Tell me more…”

He breathed in the smell of her hair.

“You’re stubborn, but I like it,” he said, pulling her onto his lap.