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The show was going perfect. Over half the works already had the red sticker that signaled “sold” and there were still more collectors pouring in through the doors. It was a collective exhibition, where she featured most of her artists, and they were all so eclectic and fun, laughter kept erupting from every corner as the collectors got to meet them all.
She knew Court dreaded these sorts of events with too many people. But he was coping rather well, greeting the collectors, being his wonderful self with everyone.
Her stomach jittered with excitement as she thought of the painting she had commissioned from Trini Daddy, a Cuban artist whose graffiti works were getting rave reviews across the art scene. Sydney had requested a special work made for Court that would simply say, “I love you, Sydney”—and it would be ready by tomorrow morning.
It would ensure the perfect beginning together after the perfect evening tonight.
Sydney’s smile faltered when a tall, elegantly dressed male strode as though he were owner of the world through the glass doors and into her gallery, and her heart stopped when her eyes stared into that onyx gaze that had, unfortunately, been on her mind more than she wanted it to today.
He wore a designer suit. He looked extremely sharp, but also a little tired, like he’d had a long day. The impulse to run her hands through his hair and mess it up further, the urge to kiss him, touch him, astonished her. He wasn’t her anything. Why should she want to comfort him?
Except it was good to see him. Supremely, ridiculously good. Just because her pride demanded it, of course.
“Hi,” she said, walking over to him. “You wear a suit.”
“Animals occasionally pluck their feathers when they’re searching for a mate.”
His smile was slow in coming, but when it came, it was a hundred percent sensuality, his eyes sparkling with such sexual mischief that Sydney could only manage to stare at him, the paintings forgotten, the most compelling work of art in the city suddenly standing before her.
She’d heard him being called the black diamond, and she could see the hardness in him, the darkness, but also…that elusive worth.
Her body responded. She remembered the piercings on his nipples, the way she’d tasted his skin. Drawn him into her mouth. His scent, when he stepped closer, tormented her. She closed her legs tighter, clenching her sex to keep it from dampening her panties.
“Hi there,” Court came over, his beautiful face puzzled.
“Court this is, uh, this is…”
Damien stretched out a big hand, standing a head taller than Court, every inch of him so much more…male. “A friend. An intimate friend of Sydney’s.” His smile flashed extra wide, in her opinion. “She invited me to come. She said I definitely had to come.”
Court stared dumbly at him, and Sydney didn’t know why the word “come” sent such a rush of moisture to pool between her thighs, but no matter how hard she gripped her sex, she felt her panties get wet and she wanted to groan.
“What about you? Do you come often?” Damien asked Court, his eyes dancing with silent laughter.
Her best friend eyed her with a look that said where-did-you-find-this-tool, then seemed to shake it off and formally said, “I am Court Reynolds, the gallery manager here at Will Morgan’s Art Gallery.”
Damien only stared at him with a cold smile, making poor Court jerk his eyes away when he’d had enough, and Sydney’s insides roiled at the thought of Damien spoiling things with Court. Court was too nice and too good to have to put up with Damien’s bullshit.
“Mr. Knight, thank you so much for coming,” Sydney said sweetly, but with an edge, “The De Kooning work is on hold but I will gladly notify you when it becomes available.”
Damien’s fingers twitched at his sides. He curled them into fists, his eyes darkening, his smile fading as he met her gaze square on. “I’m not a patient man, Miss Morgan. When I want something, I want it now.”
Her heart sped at the sexual inflection in his words, in his voice. “I’m sorry,” she said tightly, her voice dropping as she leaned forward just slightly, “someone has first choice.”
“No, you’re not sorry,” he murmured, reaching out to stroke his knuckles across her jaw. “You’re not sorry at all.”
A shudder followed in the wake of his touch, and then, a rush of color that heated her cheeks.
They stared at each other for so long, Sydney forgot Court was standing there, watching. What was wrong with her? For the man who was her best friend and the perfect partner to watch her ogle another man, she felt awful. She had to get rid of Damien. Didn’t Damien warn her away only days ago? What was he doing here, except ruining her evening?
Gently, she reached out and touched Court’s jacket sleeve, tenderly saying close to his ear, “I’ve known him for years, and he has more money than he knows what to do with. Maybe we can interest him on one of the Cy Twombly’s. Would you bring them out?”
“Sure.” Smiling and instantly at ease, he pulled her close for a kiss on the cheek, and just the feel of it, the familiarity of his fresh scent and that tender kiss, appeased her, easing the roiling emotions Damien made her feel.
When she turned, Damien studied her intently, his jaw tight, a muscle twitching at the back. He stepped threateningly closer, making her take a step back.
“Please leave. Please. Go.” She couldn’t take her body’s response to him. It was too much. Too powerful. “Please go. I don’t want to deal with you today.”
She didn’t even want to hear his answer. Her plan was perfectly set in motion and she would not let him ruin her evening with Court. Before he could speak, she spun around and fled to her back office, and then stormed out into a small patio, sucking in a lungful of breath air.
