“She’d be an amazing client. Just having her as a patron would vault my gallery to the next level.” She sighed. “That said, I can’t procure an available Kandinsky out of thin air. When I get back to New York, I’ll have to look around and see what I can find. Maybe she’ll be willing to wait.”
He searched her eyes gently, as though trying to make a decision about something, and her heart throbbed with longing as she stared back at him, the moment strangely intimate and yet without a hint of innuendo—just two passionate art lovers discussing their trade.
“I have one,” he finally said.
“A Kandinsky?” She leaned forward. “For sale?”
“It wasn’t.” He shrugged. “Now it is.”
“Are you serious?”
He nodded. “It’s yours if you want it.”
“Not mine. But I’ll broker it.”
“And I’ll pay you well for that service.”
“You weren’t even going to sell it, J.—Jean-Christian. I can’t take—”
“Either you make something on this deal or you forget it, Lib.”
She wet her lips, catching the bottom one between her teeth for a moment. “Which Kandinsky is it?”
“Composition Seven,” he answered.
Her breath caught. She knew the exact piece—its bright colors and bold brushstrokes were exactly what Mrs. Carnegie was looking for. “God, that’s perfect.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Do you really mean it?”
“Yes.”
“But…why would you do that?”
He took a deep breath and another sip of wine, staring at her in a way that made her feel hot from the lobes of her ears to the tips of her toes and everywhere in between.
“Because I want to.” He shrugged. “Because I can.”
He placed his glass back on the table, staring at it intently, running his index finger around the rim until it hummed. “Come and see it tomorrow. At my gallery.”
“I will. Thank you.”
“I’ll come and get you at nine.”
She nodded. “Sounds good.”
He looked up at her. “What’ll we tell Kate?”
“The truth,” she said simply.
“And that’ll be okay?”
“It’ll have to be,” said Libitz, folding her hands on the table. “It’s just business.”
He nodded at her slowly, staring at her with an inscrutable expression. “Just business.”
“No one is upset with you, chaton,” said étienne’s voice from the dining room. “I promise. Come back and sit with us.”
“Jean-Christian?” Libitz whispered, her hand darting out to clasp his, her heart swelling with emotion as he looked up from his humming glass in surprise. “Thank you.”
His eyes widened as his fingers squeezed around hers for only a moment. “It’s my pleasure.”
The door opened, and they looked up to see a chagrined Kate standing beside étienne. “I’m the worst,” she said, sniffling pitifully. “I’m just so hormonal! I had no right to accuse you two of anything. I’m so sorry, Lib.”
“KK,” said Libitz, standing up from the table and crossing the kitchen to gather her best friend into her arms, “stop! We all love you. We understand.”
“Forgive me, J.C.,” Kate said over Lib’s shoulder.
“Kate,” said Jean-Christian from behind Libitz, his voice warm and kind, “there is nothing to forgive. Everything, chérie, is perfect now.”
Chapter 6
As J.C. pulled into the driveway of Toujours the next morning, he considered what an unexpectedly excellent time he’d had last night at dinner. Kate and étienne had flanked the table, leaving Jax and Gard on one side and J.C. and Libitz on the other, and J.C. was struck by how naturally Libitz blended in with the Rousseau siblings and their partners, the six of them making a merry party as Kate told the story of “étienne and the Rogue Sprinkler.” Thankfully, this prompted Gard to insist on coming over today to help set it up perfectly with the addition of something called a “Slip and Slide” that Gard insisted Caroline English would love.
He’d watched Libitz—subtly, of course—as she grinned at Kate’s anecdote or answered Jax’s questions about her gallery in New York. Occasionally, her elbow would brush against his as she lifted her wineglass, and he felt those touches soul deep, enduring an under-the-table boner for most of the evening, which made him yearn for more from the enigmatic Lib.