His Purrfect Mate by Georgette St. Clair

grandfather originally bring it back here to his house in New York?”
    “Yes, but if your grandmother was trying to steal it from him, it makes sense that he’d ship it overseas and hide it.” Kenneth scooped up a bite of raspberry mousse from a silver bowl, and held it out to her. “Try a bite. I insist.”
    She let him slide the spoon into her mouth and swallowed the bite of mousse. Sweet raspberry heaven caressed her tongue and slid down her throat like silk. Before she could stop herself, she let out a little whimper of pleasure.
    Kenneth had her pinned her chair with his gaze. Now his eyes were blue again.
    “You like?” he purred.
    A wave of heat washed over her, and her panties went damp.  She felt as if jolts of electricity were shooting down her nerve endings.
    “Not bad,” she choked out.
    She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak for a second.
    “Artwork,” she managed, finally.
    “Yes, the dessert is a work of art.”
    “No. Your artwork. You were telling me about the artwork.”
    “Anyway,” Kenneth continued, “ There was no indication as to why the room had been sealed off or what he was trying to hide.  The artwork was taken out and put on display.  It was divided up between my house in Italy and my house in France.   A magazine did a feature on my art collection, which included pictures of those new pieces.    It was after the magazine came out that the thefts of the artwork occurred. I have a very large collection of artwork, which my family has been collecting from all over the world for decades, and I’d barely paid any notice when this new collection surfaced. But clearly, this artwork is very important not just to your grandmother but to many others, and we need to find out why. Here, try another bite.”
    He scooped up another bite of mousse and held the spoon to her lips.  Despite herself, she found her lips parting and she closed her mouth around the spoon and slowly pulled away, as the sweet raspberry foam melted on to her tongue.
    He watched her intently, his eyes glowing.  He was reveling in the pleasure that he’d just given her.
    That hot, sensual feeling jolted through her body again, and if he’d leaned forward to kiss her, she would have been powerless to stop him.  Desire sizzled through her nerves and synapses, and she felt faint. How could she survive an entire plane ride sitting next to this man, much less spending days and days under the same roof with him?
    She pushed her chair back and stood up quickly.  She needed to get out of her before she embarrassed herself even further.  If he kept spoon feeding her mousse, she was likely to orgasm right there at the table. 
    “I could…I could probably just looked at photographs of the artwork, and-”
    “No, this is too important.  You can miss a lot if you’re just looking at a photograph. You’ll need to come to my house in Italy; I’ve moved all of the remaining artwork in the collection there, where it’s under guard.”
    She narrowed her eyes at him. “This trip will be s trictly professional. You’re not blackmailing me into having sex with you.”
    “Blackmailing? My dear, when it happens, I assure you, it wil l be because you want it to.” He winked at her, stood up, and walked away, chuckling at her muttered curses.

Chapter Eight
    The country of Turak
    Bobbi and Pixie were sitting in what was left of a little next to their hotel, drinking tea and dipping flat pieces of bread into a bowl of unsweetened yogurt made from goat’s milk.  The store front of the café had been destroyed by a mortar, and sunlight streamed through holes in the roof.  The café’s sign, which had once read “The Date Tree”, had been mostly destroyed, and now only the letters “ee” were left.
    “ Ee” indeed, Bobbi thought.
    On the street, children scavenged through rubble and played in the enormous craters that had been left behind by the shells that rained from the sky.
    Bobbi and Pixie were dressed modestly,