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Teag wandered into a gallery on 2nd Street, drawn by the bold, vibrant colors the artist used. As he stood staring at a particular piece, he felt a woman saunter up next to him and smelled her potent perfume. Turning, he took in her appearance. Long, dark hair hanging in waves to the middle of her back. Dark brown eyes rimmed with smoky tones and fringed with extra-long lashes. Red lips, even redder nails. A perfectly toned body accentuated by a tight leather mini skirt and a black silk blouse. Gold jewelry in her ears and around her neck sparkling in the afternoon light. Black thigh-high leather boots.
“Like what you see?” she purred, the double-meaning in her question crystal clear.
Hmmm.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” he answered, allowing his gaze to wander.
She smiled and gave him a similar once-over.
“The famous Teagan Tate, right here in my studio,” she said, as if it were an everyday occurrence to have a rock star in her presence. Hell, maybe it was.
Teag raised his eyebrows. “You’re the artist?”
“No, but I own the gallery.” She gestured to the painting. “This artist grew up a few blocks from here, and I like to feature local talent.”
“It’s a stunning piece. My sister would love it. She goes for bold, brash colors. Like her personality,” Teag added wryly.
The woman laughed. “Then you should buy it for her.”
The sultry, throaty sound should have been more of a turn-on than it was, but still, she was a stunner.
“I’ll do that. Can you ship it?”
“I can do a lot of things,” she said, more innuendo lacing her words.
“I’ll just bet you can. Maybe you’d like to share your talents with me after the show tonight? I can get you tickets and backstage passes. If you’re interested.”
Her eyes lit up and she smiled, the first genuine smile he’d seen on her face. “To the show, tonight? Yes, I’m definitely interested. I love your music.”
He’d first estimated her age to be late twenties, but he knocked it down a few years once she lost the contrived, sex-kitten attitude. Teag found her much more attractive when she allowed her genuine enthusiasm to shine through. Maybe she was just what he needed to take his mind off a certain stubborn ex-Marine.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Cristina,” she answered.
“Well, Cristina, help me with my purchase, will you, and then I’ll give you all the intel on how to retrieve your tickets. You’re welcome to bring a friend.” He added the last with a naughty grin. Teag had, in the past, quite enjoyed threesomes. Or foursomes, if he was being honest.
She picked up on the subtext and her seductress persona returned. “Let’s get you all taken care of.”
Cristina took Teag’s sister’s information for shipping, ran his platinum American Express card, and made a production out of tagging the painting as sold. In return, he sent a note to the band manager to put through the ticket request.
“Use the VIP line, show your identification, and they’ll hook you up. I’ll catch up with you after the show,” he said.
“I can’t wait,” she said.
Outside the gallery, Julian slapped him on the back. “There’s our boy. Back in the saddle. You’ve been a mopey motherfucker lately.”
“Piss off, Jules.”
Julian laughed. Their lead guitarist had been happily married for longer than Fiona, to the same girl he’d been dating since sophomore year. While Julian pretended to live vicariously through Teagan’s bachelor exploits, Teag knew his friend wouldn’t switch places with him for the world.
“Sorry if I’ve been off lately, mate,” Teag said soberly, as they wandered down the street looking for a place to eat lunch.
“You don’t have to apologize. Natalia was a devious wench.”
Teag grunted noncommittally in response. His moodiness had more to do with his unrequited feelings for Maria than any remaining heartache over Natalia, but he had no interest in sharing that with Julian.
Maybe Cristina would show up tonight to hear him play, and hopefully she’d play with him later. But instead of the thought filling him with anticipation and excitement, he felt a little bit anxious.
