“I’m very confused right now. My father—”
“Loved your mother very much and we had a falling out with your mother before you even hit your teen years. But Reid and Mike spoke quite frequently. And just so you know, my husband wanted to be here tonight, but we had a private party at the winery that got a little rowdy. Perhaps you can come by for dinner one night.” She glances at me. “With you of course.”
A woman in a suit dress, clearly not here for the party, appears beside us, her attention on Katie. “Sorry, Katie, but I have a situation.”
“What is it Laura?”
“The bidder who lost the auction insists that Mr. Rogers cash out before she leaves.”
Katie flushes with obvious embarrassment. “That’s inappropriate.”
“It’s perfectly fine,” I say. “I’ll cash out now.”
“It’s not necessary,” Katie assures me.
“It’s really not a problem,” I say, looking at Laura. “Where’s the cashier?”
“I can help you,” she says.
I glance at Katie. “I’ll calm the beast in red for you.” I refocus on Faith. “I’ll be right back.”
She nods and I motion to Laura, who leads me out of the room and through the gallery to an office, where a college-aged male clerk attends to my paperwork. I fill out a promissory note, with my banking information and connect him with my personal banker. “One last form,” the man says, shoving his heavy-rimmed glasses up his nose. “This indicates delivery location and instructions.”
My mind goes to Faith and I fill out my information, but put a huge note at the bottom: Hold for guest viewing until Faith Winter’s display is discontinued. I hand the man the form and he glances at me. “Are you sure about this?”
“Completely. Let your customers enjoy it.” Impatient to get back to Faith, I enter the gallery, the crowd thinned to almost nothing, and end up walking toward Katie.
“Paperwork signed,” I say. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Of course,” she says. “I’m sorry again.”
“It’s really fine.”
Her lips curve. “But you just want to get back to Faith. I know that energy you’re putting off. She’s in the Chris Merit display area.” She pats my arm and steps around me, but my feet stay planted.
A muscle in my jaw starts ticking. What the hell kind of energy am I putting off? Damn it, this woman is way too far under my skin if I’m reading like a man who has a woman under his skin. I really do need to fuck her out of my system, and there is no better time than tonight.
I start walking, crossing the gallery, and find an entire room dedicated to Chris, but the only person left inside is Faith. She’s standing in front of a painting I recognize as the Paris skyline, but if she senses I’m here, she doesn’t turn. I close the space between us and step to her side, my hand settling at her back, and touching this woman fires me up in ways something so simple should not fire me up.
She glances over at me. “The lady in red didn’t attack you, did she?”
I laugh. “No. The lady in red did not attack me.”
“It’s an incredible painting,” she says. “Obviously special. Rebecca’s story touched me and I barely know it.”
“It’s not an easy story to know,” I admit.
She studies me a moment. “Not a nice guy, but he has a heart.”
My lips curve. “I’m human despite my best efforts not to be.”
“Don’t worry,” she says. “Your secret’s safe with me.” Her lashes shut as if her words have hit a nerve, and she quickly turns away, changing the subject. “He’s incredible. I really can’t blame the lady in red for wanting the painting. And he has such supportive godparents.”
“Spoken wistfully,” I observe, certain she’s still thinking of that conversation with Katie, and looking for revelations, I add, “People have secrets, Faith. It’s part of being human.”
“My mother sure did.”
I turn her to face me. “What kind of secrets, Faith?”
“Her kind of secrets. Like you have secrets. Tiger.”
“My enemies call me Tiger. You call me Nick.”
“Why do I keep feeling like you’re the enemy?”
“Why are you looking for an enemy?”
“Why are we standing here talking when we agreed this was about sex and then goodbye? Because this, whatever it is, still doesn’t work for me.”
“All right then,” I say. “Let’s go fuck.” I take her hand in mine and start walking, aware that she’s using sex as a distraction, another version of her emotional wall. Certain that her “hard limit” understanding means that she’s played the kind of sex games that makes sex an escape, not a commitment. One might say I’m perfect for this woman. Except that I’m not, because the naked truth awaits. I just have to reveal it.
NICK.
Not Tiger.
Friend.
Not an enemy.
I still don’t know if “not an enemy” is true, and actually, he didn’t clarify our status outside of a name. Tiger is for his enemies. Nick is for me. Technically, that makes me a friend. But as we walk toward the main hall of the gallery, having already determined we’re both parked out back, him holding me close, with his arm at my waist, my bet is on me being neither friend nor enemy. I am simply a challenge to Nick Rogers. And he has proclaimed how much he enjoys a challenge. Once I move from challenge to conquest, he’ll be back in San Francisco where he lives and works, and I suspect I’ll be forgotten. And that works for me. It’s the reason I stopped pushing him away. I get my one night with him, lost in the fierce masculinity of a man who is so big, bold, and demanding, and he’s already proven that he will leave no room for anything else. No guilt, anger, or thought of the new revelations about my parents that just keep adding up every single day.
Just Nick.
Just passion.
Just escape.
Nick and I cross through the center of the gallery, thankfully without delay, the crowd no longer a crowd, using the back employee exit I’ve been granted access to, and other than a few people milling around with no interest in us, we are undeterred. We exit to the dimly lit parking lot, a cool breeze lifting my hair and then traveling straight up my dress. I shiver, and squeeze my thighs together, reminded not just that my wrap is in the car, but that Nick ripped away a crucial piece of my clothing.
“Apparently, panties serve a purpose outside of looking pretty,” I murmur, hugging myself.
He laughs, a deep, sexy sound, and suddenly that cold spot between my legs is hot. “It’s not funny,” I chide, shivering again, deeper this time.