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I'm stunned. I instinctively retreat, pulling my hand back with a quick jerk. I've never been recognized by a man. Ever. It made sense given that my jewelry line was an eclectic mix designed just for women. Yet here was a man who knew exactly who I was.
"I'm flattered," I blush slightly realizing that he's recalling an article written about me more than a year ago in the alumni newsletter of the small community college I went to in Rhode Island.
"You're very talented, Ivy." He shifts closer until his lips are mere inches from my cheek.
I close my eyes, inhaling the subtle scent of his breath. It's a heady mixture of bourbon and peppermint. I take a deep, heavy mouthful of air, placing my hand on my abdomen to steady myself. I can feel him step even closer, the w
armth of his body radiating.
"Is this one of your designs?" I feel his fingers lightly graze my neck before there's tension pulling softly on my earring.
I nod, reaching for his shoulder to steady myself.
"What about this?" His hand glides back to my neck. His index finger traces a pointed line down the gold chain until it reaches the black onyx pendant hovering between my breasts. My eyes are glued to his finger as it brushes against the top of my red lace bra that is peeking boldly past the neckline of my dress.
My breathing stops as my body tightens. "It's all mine," I whisper.
"Yes." His lips sweep against my ear. "But for a price it can all be mine."
"Ivy! Ivy!" Liz's voice breaks the moment.
I glance at Jax, the grin on his face a clear sign that he has enjoyed our brief rendezvous in the middle of the crowded gallery. He steps back allowing Liz to march right up to me.
"I thought I lost you, sugar." Liz Sander's southern drawl, although misplaced at an event like this in the heart of New York City, is always a pleasant surprise. She still looks as perfectly put together as she did when we left her apartment two hours ago. Her makeup impeccable, her brunette hair tied tightly into a chignon and her blue Chanel dress clinging to her slender frame like a glove.
I sigh, disappointed that Liz has decided to pick this second to come looking for me. Where had she been ten minutes ago when I was ready to bolt for the door in search of a glass of Chardonnay and something decadent to ease my ever growing hunger?
I open my mouth to speak, but Liz isn't done yet. "I need you to come with me, Ivy. There's someone you absolutely must meet." She gingerly grabs my elbow to direct me to walk with her.
"It was nice meeting you, Jax." I reach for his hand, forcing Liz to halt in her tracks.
"Your pleasure was all mine." He lightly runs his fingertips over my palm. "Wait...I mean..." His dark eyes look directly into me as he continues, "no, that's exactly what I mean."
I stare at him unable to pull myself free from his gaze. Liz pulls harder on my arm, forcing me to turn and follow her.
We aren't more than five feet from Jax when the expected inquisition begins. "What on earth was that?" Liz is pulling me towards a group of people gathered across the gallery.
"Apparently it's a painting, but I'd beg to differ." I try to keep a straight face as she stops mid-step to frown at me.
The heavy groan she exudes is more dramatic than necessary, which is a character trait of Liz's that I both love and loathe. "Ivy. Be serious. You know exactly what I'm talking about."
"Where's Brighton?" I feign searching the room for the artist I have little interest in. "I'd love to meet him."
She takes the bait. "He's there. Come." She jerks my arm and pulls me unexpectedly to the left.
I turn for one last lingering glimpse of Jax, but he's not where I left him. "Damn," I grumble under my breath. He certainly had potential.
Liz steers me towards a group of men and I instantly pick Brighton Beck out of the bunch. He's average height, slight, with expressive hands, vibrant blue eyes and light brown hair. He's excitedly telling a story to the spellbound crowd. His hands are rushing to keep up with the words as they effortlessly flow from his lips. He has artist written all over him.
He stops mid-sentence. "Liz, there you are." Brighton reaches to kiss her, first on the left cheek, then the right.
Liz giggles which in turn makes me smile. Her preoccupation with male artists, those of the straight variety, has become fodder for much good natured teasing by me.
Brighton turns his attention to me. "You must be Ivy." I offer him my hand, which he graciously accepts, bringing it to his mouth in one fluid movement. I feel his moist lips press against my skin, lingering there for a moment too long.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" His smile is infectious.
"Yes, thank you. I am." Or I was, I think to myself, when I was talking to that delightfully tall creature named Jax.
