Smirking, Audrey puts her hands on her hips  as she looks to the man sitting as grinning at her as if he were the cat with the canary. He is rather cute, though, even if his entire setup is a total cliché. Her green eyes sparkle, as she sizes up the man sitting in the chair, looking as dangerous as he is mischievous. What is this man planning? He didn’t look even a little surprised that she’s here.<br/><br/>What did she miss in her planning? No. Audrey had a solid plan. She did everything right. Was James Thackery—the King of Spades, himself—really that much better than her? He has been waiting for her. He knew she was coming.<br/><br/>Ugh! Being made wasn’t any fun at all.<br/><br/>She is acutely aware of the guards blocking her exit. There would be no escape through a window, either. The only way out of this was for her to talk her way out—that too is a long shot. Thankfully, it is certain that no one would be calling the authorities. Certainly, there should be at least a little bit of honor among thieves?<br/><br/>“You are a complete mystery James Thackery!” She laughs lightly as her gaze wanders to the painting. “I mean truly. Who makes two, even three copies of one little painting? It’s totally bollocks.”<br/><br/>Still, she finds herself gazing up at the painting. Time stops, and Audrey can’t help but sate her own curiosity. Is it the real painting? It has to be.<br/><br/>In her mind, as she slowly wanders in closer to that painting, she takes in every stroke. Carefully, she makes note of the hues; how the cheeks of the man seemed to almost glow against a dull maroon background. Each gradient of the old man’s beard from black, to gray, to white were of impeccable detail, and yet almost mechanical. The contract of the highlights and midtones speak of another time, when it was about realism as much as artistry: perfection and reason to the exclusion passion. Audrey was smiling as she could almost feel the old man’s eyes look down from that as if he were someone of importance, and knowledge. Of course, it was likely that the subject was of moderate importance. Yes. This was the real painting.<br/><br/>She has no doubts.<br/><br/>As Audrey continues to confirm what she already knows in her heart to be true, she does not hear the guards exiting the room, closing her only exit behind them. She does sense him, however. He moves as smoothly as a dagger slices through water. His glass, filled with a cool amber drink is silent as he sets it down on the end table.<br/><br/>She sees him without looking as he draws close, until he is standing behind her, and Audrey closes her eyes, as if the spell of the painting is broken. Licking her lips, she opens her mouth to speak. Words fail her however, as she feels the man drawing even closer.<i>Back away!</i>Her mind tells her to move away; imminent threat. It is a silent argument, however, as her body has a very, very different opinion about this man whose hands are now resting on her shoulders.<br/><br/>It is an electric shock shooting directly down her spine. Audrey’s entire body sparks alive. Dear Lord this man is impossibly attractive. He is supposed to be the enemy! She is trying to steal from him—to take back the thing that doesn’t belong to him. It is hardly the time to be aroused.<br/><br/>She should have listened to her mind. Audrey should have heeded the old man’s veiled warning: reason over passion.<br/><br/>The moment he touched her, Audrey would later realize that she didn’t have a chance.