Chapter 6 - The Confession in the LibraryThe fire in the study had burned down to glowing embers, casting a warm, amber wash over the two of them.
Chloe didn't answer him with words. Instead, her hands—still trembling slightly—reached out and pressed flat against the crisp fabric of his charcoal vest, feeling the solid, rhythmic thud of his heart beneath.
Sebastian let out a low, ragged breath that sounded almost like a growl of victory.
Without breaking eye contact, he leaned down and captured her lips with his.
The kiss was not gentle; it was fierce, demanding, and filled with all the coiled tension of the past three weeks. It tasted of expensive scotch, dark coffee, and raw, unrestrained hunger. Chloe gasped softly into his mouth, her hands gripping the lapels of his jacket as she pulled him closer, surrendering entirely to the gravitational pull she had fought so hard to resist.
When Sebastian finally pulled back, resting his forehead against hers, his breathing was as heavy as her own.
“Damn you, Chloe,” he muttered against her lips, a rare, genuine smile breaking through his severe expression. “You’ve completely ruined me for anyone else.”
“You ruined yourself the moment you decided to stalk an antiquities appraiser,” she whispered, a breathless laugh escaping her lips.
“Fair enough.” He took her hand, interlacing his rough, scarred fingers with hers. “Come. The library is warmer. There is something else in the safe behind the Rembrandt portrait that you need to see. And this time, it has nothing to do with stolen diamonds.”
Ten minutes later, they were sitting side by side on the deep leather sofa in the library. A fresh fire crackled in the limestone hearth.
Sebastian pressed a hidden panel behind the forged portrait, swinging open a heavy steel wall safe. Instead of cash or weapons, he pulled out a thick, leather-bound journal with yellowed, dog-eared pages.
He handed it to her.
Chloe took it, her appraiser’s instincts immediately taking over. She carefully opened the cover, running her fingers over the faded ink handwriting.
“What is this?” she asked softly.
“My mother’s journal,” Sebastian said, his voice dropping into a quiet, reflective tone she had never heard before. “She was an archivist at the Boston Public Library before my father brought her into this world. She spent twenty years cataloging antiquities stolen from European museums during the war—the very items my family spent generations tracking down to return to their rightful homes.”
Chloe looked up at him in astonishment, flipping through the pages to reveal meticulous, beautiful sketches of artifacts, alongside notes detailing legal repatriation claims.
“Your family... you aren't just a criminal syndicate,” she whispered, realization dawning. “You’re recovery agents operating outside the law.”
“The government calls us criminals because we don't play by their rules,” Sebastian said, looking into the fire. “The men like Agent Vance want the artifacts for themselves, to sell on the black market under the table. My family... we protect what is left of history.”
He turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto hers with absolute sincerity.
“When Derek Lawson sent your file, he included a note saying you were the only appraiser in New England brilliant enough to crack my grandfather’s inventory, but too heavy and unpolished for high-society auctions.” Sebastian reached out, gently tracing her jawline with his thumb. “He was a fool. You are the finest thing that has ever entered this house, Chloe.”
Chloe felt a lump form in her throat. All the years of feeling invisible, of being pushed to the back rooms of auction houses while less talented, skinnier women took the spotlight, melted away under his intense, worshipful gaze.
“And what happens now, Sebastian?” she whispered, leaning into his touch. “The federal government won't just walk away because you dumped their strike team in a creek.”
“No,” Sebastian agreed, his lips curving into a dangerous, confident smile as he pulled her closer against his side. “They won't. Which means you are going to need protection. And I am going to need an expert in provenance to help me legally dismantle every corrupt official in the Boston bureau.”
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“Are you offering me a job, Mr. Rourke?” she asked, a playful spark returning to her eyes.
“I am offering you partnership, Chloe,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, seductive register right against her ear. “In business, in history... and in everything else.”
