A glance in the mirror showed she needed lipstick, but she’d left that damn little purse back at the table. Hopefully Martin was keeping an eye on it, because she really needed some fresh air. She straightened her dress, smoothed her hair and left.
The auctioneer’s sing-songvoice clipped along at a rapid pace, barking out increasingly higher dollar amounts, and with every lift of a bidder’s paddle, the crowd whooped even louder.
Dom kept an eye on the archway leading toward the restrooms and the rooftop terrace and sensed Mackenzie wasn’t far away.
“Sold to number one-ninety-three.”
While the next item was being readied, Dom leaned toward Martin and casually slipped his leather coat over Mackenzie’s evening bag on the chair beside him.
“So, tell me about your painting, Martin. It’s her, isn’t it?”
Before he could reply, two burly men in tuxedos lifted the nude painting up at the front of the room so that everyone could see, and the auctioneer began to read the description. Martin stood up as the spotlight trained on him and when he bowed tothe applause, Dom reached a hand under his coat and opened Mackenzie’s purse.
Quickly locating the damaged phone, his hand touched upon a silky piece of fabric. She didn’t seem like a handkerchief sort of woman, so he peered under the coat. Sweet Jesus. A pair of dark purple lace panties were wrapped around his phone. His cock shifted against his thigh for the millionth time tonight. So that was what she’d meant when he detected her thoughts about panties. He rubbed his fingers briefly against the lace before he snapped the purse shut, tucked the phone away and discreetly rearranged himself. Again. She wasn’t planning on going home with one of these bozos, was she? His pupils dilated, and he ran a finger under the suddenly tight collar of his shirt.
“How did you know?” Martin sat down as the bidding started. “Did she tell you? Or did Mrs. Thorn?—
“Who? No. Those sweeping, graceful lines of the composition could only belong to her. Although your piece is gorgeous and you’re quite talented, it’s not even a fraction as beautiful as the real thing.”
Several people around the room raised their bidders’ paddles as the tempo of the auctioneer’s calls increased, and Dom glanced around. A horse-faced letch with oversized teeth, a slovenly old man with a blond trophy wife, a barely-out-of-puberty computer geek. Damn if he was going to let anyone else have that painting.
He raised his paddle, doubled the current amount, and the crowd went wild. The Bill Gates lookalike had the nerve to bid again and when Dom doubled the amount a second time, the whole place gasped in a collective orgasm.
“Sold to number three-twenty-two.”
There. Done.
He tossed his number on Mackenzie’s empty chair, gathered up his coat and her purse, and put a hand on Martin’s shoulder. “Do me a favor. Don’t tell her it was me.”
“Why? She’ll be thrilled it went for so much. The Alzheimer’s Foundation is a cause she cares deeply about.”
“Trust me. I can sense these things. She’d be angry and would think I— Just don’t, all right? I’m going to be out of town for a while. Can you arrange delivery in a couple of weeks?”
“You bet.” Martin flipped him a business, card. “Just call when you get back and I’ll have everything arranged with our installation boys.”
On the deckof the rooftop terrace, the lights of the Space Needle twinkled against the ink black sky. Sea air from Elliott Bay blew into Mackenzie’s face, cooling her heat-flushed cheeks, and her hair swirled around wildly. The melancholy cawing of a seagull sounded in the distance and a ferry with its lights ablaze headed toward Bainbridge Island. She heard footsteps behind her and her neck began to tingle.
“It’s lovely, isn’t it?”
She turned and faced Dom. His eyes were shadowed, unreadable.
“That’s the second time you’ve said that tonight. Need a thesaurus?”
He laughed then—a deep resonant laugh, the kind she imagined she’d never tire of hearing—and handed over her evening bag.
“Here, you left this at the table.”
Well, that was considerate. She took it from him and set it on a nearby cocktail table, not wanting the thing to snag her dress again.
“And I’ve said it many more times in my head tonight,” he continued. “I don’t have a problem with redundancy. Would you prefer gorgeous, exquisite, beautiful, magnificent?”
“Whatever. Is this the part where you suddenly get mad again and look like you could eat me alive? You must have some serious anger management issues. That, or you’re totally manic.”
“Perhaps, but I do know what I want.” He slid his hands down the backs of her arms and grasped her balled fists. Her knees almost buckled as he slowly brought her hands to his lips and kissed the inside of each wrist.
“Just so you know, in case you’re wondering,” she said huskily, “I find pricks really unattractive.”
He rubbed the tip of his nose against the delicate flesh and she shivered. She should pull away, right now, leave the terrace, get back to the auction.
