“Um…good,” I hedged. I’d tried drafting in the secret room, but as expected, I couldn’t get much done in the silence. Blasting music through my headphones had helped only a little bit. “Like I said, I did more brainstorming than writing. But that counts too.”
“Hmm.” Kai dipped his head and trailed a lazy kiss over my shoulder. “I remember you mentioning something about a detailed sex scene…”
Fresh heat kindled in my stomach. “And I remember I’m not telling you a single thing about it because you were so rude,” I said primly.
“My sincerest apologies. I shouldn’t have offended you so.” He stroked my breast with his free hand. Pleasure lanced through me and manifested in the form of a gasp. “Perhaps there’s a way I can make it up to you…”
There was, and he did, over and over again until the stars blinked out and the first murky hint of dawn crept through the window.
CHAPTER 21
Kai
The next week passed in a blur of sex, work, and more sex. When I wasn’t with Isabella, I was busy putting together my campaign strategy. It was a necessary evil, but other than sending personalized Christmas gifts to the voting members, I didn’t have to implement it until after New Year’s. Everyone was too checked out during the holidays.
I did, however, have to fulfill other social obligations. As much as I would’ve liked to spend all my free time with Isabella, the illicit nature of our relationship meant I couldn’t take her to any of the functions I was invited to, including the Saxon Gallery’s big winter exhibition.
I accepted a welcome glass of champagne from the hostess and scanned the exhibition. Usually, the gallery catered to the downtown crowd, but the big names at its winter showcase had pulled in quite a few uptown and international VIPs. I spotted Dante and Vivian walking hand in hand through the exhibit. The supermodel Ayana floated through the room in an ethereal wash of red tulle while Sebastian Laurent held court in the corner.
Even Vuk Markovic made one of his once-in-a-blue-moon appearances, though he didn’t appear inclined to interact with anyone. He stood in the corner, his wintry eyes dissecting the other guests like a scientist examining bugs beneath a microscope.
“Kai, I’m so glad you could make it.” Clarissa appeared next to me, looking elegant but a touch frazzled in a black cocktail dress and headset. She was the gallery’s director of artist relations, and I would’ve skipped the event altogether had she not invited me personally. I hadn’t seen her since the fall gala, but I felt guilty enough about leading her on that night that I’d accepted.
“Of course. The exhibition looks great,” I said. “You and the rest of the team did a wonderful job.”
We made small talk for a while before an awkward silence descended between us.
Our conversations were never as comfortable or thrilling as those with Isabella, but we’d talked easily enough at the gala. However, Clarissa appeared distracted tonight, like her mind was floating a thousand miles from her body.
“I can’t chat too long. I have to make sure the artists have everything they need. Creative types can be quite temperamental.” She smiled, but there was a strange note in her voice. Her gaze roved around the gallery like she was searching for someone before it settled on mine again. A curious resolve hardened her features. “We should get drinks sometime soon. I still owe you a rain check for leaving the Valhalla gala early.”
“Happy to,” I said, though I felt a bit uneasy about agreeing to what she probably thought was a date when I was involved with Isabella. “Let me know when you’re free.”
After she left, still with that distracted expression stamped on her face, I cut a diagonal path toward Dante and Vivian. I only made it halfway before someone bumped into me and nearly knocked the drink from my hand.
“I’m so sorry!” A familiar voice yanked my gaze to my right. “I—Kai?”
“Isabella?”
We stared at each other, our faces mirror images of astonishment. She’d told me she also had an event tonight, but never in a million years had I expected to see her here. A black velvet dress poured over her curves, revealing miles of tanned skin, while black stiletto boots brought her closer to my eye level. She was clearly a guest, albeit one dressed more for an East Village underground party than a Chelsea gallery exhibit.
“What are you doing here?” Isabella recovered first.
“I could ask you the same question.”
“I’m here with my brother. He’s…somewhere.” She waved a hand around the room. “I lost him a while ago, but there’s plenty of wine and snacks to keep me busy.”
“I see that.” Amusement edged out my surprise. Her free hand carried a plate piled so high with hors d’oeuvres it resembled the Leaning Tower of Pisa. “Are you sure you picked up enough food, love?”
A faint wash of pink edged Isabella’s cheeks and the tip of her nose. “As a matter of fact, no. I was just about to get more when someone got in my way.”
“How rude of them.”
“Very. No one has manners these days.”
“A sign of our imminent societal collapse, no doubt.” My mouth curved into a lazy, appreciative smile as I tipped my chin down. “On a less ominous note, you look beautiful. It’s a good thing you didn’t put that on before I left, or neither of us would be standing here right now.”
I’d spent the day at her apartment before going home to change for the event. Now, I wished I’d stayed through the night. I had some ideas for what we could be doing that rivaled any of the artists for creativity.
Isabella’s mock indignation melted beneath a deeper blush. The air thickened with something warm and honeyed before she shook her head. “Shh.” Her eyes darted around the room. “Someone will hear you. Dante and Viv are right there.”
“Dante and Vivian are too busy making moon eyes at each other to notice anything else.”
But Isabella was right. Though we were having an innocent conversation—for now—drawing any additional attention to us would be unwise. Vuk was already suspicious after seeing us leave the piano room together. Luckily, the man never spoke and never involved himself in others’ business unless he had to, but we wouldn’t always be that lucky.
One of the other guests broke free from his companion and arrowed straight toward me. He was the arts and culture reporter from the company’s flagship paper, which meant I had to entertain him.
“There’s an alcove in the back of the gallery, behind the wave sculpture,” I murmured as the reporter closed in. “Meet me there in an hour.”
Isabella didn’t respond. She turned away, but not before I saw the answering gleam in her eyes.
For the next fifty-five minutes, I mingled half-heartedly before I excused myself to use the restroom. Instead of making a right toward the lavatory, I slipped into the back alcove. The exhibition took place in the main room, so this particular area was quiet save for the low hum of the heater. A deconstructed wave sculpture hid the alcove from passersby, making it the perfect spot for a rendezvous.
Isabella was already waiting when I entered.