Page 33

I’m not a suit guy, definitely not a tuxedo man, but Cara has told me that while tonight’s dress is dressy, it’s also not formal.

I pull on my suit, slide my money clip into my breast pocket, and double-check my black tie is knotted decently. It’s a wreck. Crooked and wrinkled. I rip it off and unbutton the top button. The only ink on my body that’s visible is the curve of a design that appears in a hint above my collar and the backs of my hands.

I don’t bother shaving, and instead run some hair cream through my hair to hide the fact it’s been mostly beneath a hat all day. Hopefully, it looks good enough to be on Cara’s arm with her coworkers and members of the art community she mentioned she’s dying to impress tonight.

—

I pull up to Cara’s apartment building, only two minutes late, and frown as I see her standing on the doorstep to her place.

Her simple, black high heels add several inches to her height, but it’s her exposed legs that snag my attention first, forcing me to follow the length of them, pausing at the hem of her dress that floats just barely above her knees. She has her arms wrapped over her front, tugging a white wool coat closed around her, and in the chilly breeze, her chestnut-colored hair flows around her shoulders, swirling and giving off a halo effect that makes me want to drop to my knees and pray to God that somehow, she and I are meant to be together.

Yet I’m frowning as I climb out of my car, meeting her at the passenger door where she’s already hurrying to.

“You shouldn’t have been out here,” I say, hating the scolding tone in my voice. I open the door, but block it so she can’t slide in to her seat without brushing past me. Her teeth chatter from the cold even while she grins at me.

“Seems silly for me to wait for you to run up five flights of stairs just to run back down them again. I didn’t mind.”

I take her hands in mine, where she’s been briskly rubbing them together. “Your hands feel like ice.”

She laughs softly, and I almost feel like Lucy when she presses one to my cheek. She has turned me into a dopey puppy needing to please her. “You’re sweet. I’m fine, and like I told you earlier, I could have just met you there. The gallery is closer to your place anyway.”

She’s independent. Trying to live on her own and make something of herself. It’s the reminder of who she is, who she wants to be, that reminds me how utterly uncertain she is of herself too. I draw back, skimming my gaze down her body again.

“Yeah,” I say, this time my voice rough and full of meaning. “But if I’d done that, I wouldn’t have the memory of your sexy legs or what I’m imagining is an even sexier dress, sitting next to me in my car.”

“Well,” she huffs. “I hope it meets your expectations.”

I lean forward and brush my lips across her cheek. She stills at my sudden movement, but relaxes when my hand settles at her hip, holding her to me. “I have a feeling, Cara, that you will surpass all the expectations I have of you.”

My lips linger at her ear, until I’ve inhaled enough of her sweet, flower scent to last me until we get back home. I give her a teasing nip at her earlobe, feeling her shudder from the contact beneath my hand.

When I pull back, her lips are parted, eyes dilated. She stares at me like I’m the most unexpected gift she’s ever received.

Little does she know, I think the exact same thing about her.

I step back, hiding my erection pressing against my dress pants behind the opened car door, and gesture for her to enter. “Shall we go?”

“Yeah,” she whispers, licking her bottom lip, just a hint of her desire still flaring in her eyes and that soft, seductive gesture. “I wouldn’t want to be late.”

I only hope we don’t have to stay the entire night. I saw the hangings earlier. I could barely stomach the sight of them. “Pretentious” came to mind, more paint splatters and wiggly lines in mismatched colors, I couldn’t bring myself to ask Cara’s opinion.

To me, art should have a message. Tattoos aren’t all that different, only a different medium and canvas, but there should always be a story behind the art. Something that resonates with your soul.

The art I saw earlier filled me with the need to pop Excedrin.

—

We arrive early, and Cara speeds off to spend the next hour assisting Luca with final preparations. I make myself available doing whatever Luca requests but art, especially modern art, is outside my realm of knowledge so while I help readjusting lights to Luca’s specifications, I mostly try to stay out of the way.

Once the doors open and the crowd filters in, I give up the idea of spending the night next to Cara. I keep an eye on her, instead, while she’s working, showing off piece after piece, smiling and nodding politely, all while the passion in her rich blue eyes hold me captive. They light with excitement while she discusses not only the pieces available for purchase, but when she is pulled into any conversation that delves into art. It’s obvious from the way her body responds—even as she stifles the occasional yawn—that although she might be worn out from the long day, she not only loves art, creating and discussing the various modes and periods, she lives it.

When she’s in between conversations and sipping sparkling water from a champagne flute, I go to her, settling a hand at her lower back.

“Tired?” The dark circles are blooming beneath her eyes and as I ask, she hides another yawn behind the back of her hand.

“Yes.” She turns to me, eyes fluttering as her gaze travels up my suit before reaching my face. “I’m exhausted. How much more time do we have?”

“Not long, from what I can see, most of the pieces have already sold. You’ve done really well tonight.”