Page 12 of Doomed (Blackwood Brothers #2)

KNOX

I weave through the crowd at Elliot’s gallery, champagne flute in hand. The place is packed—art critics, wealthy collectors, and the usual social climbers all jostling for position. I’m not here for any of them.

I spot her across the room—Bianca Hayes, wearing a simple black dress that somehow makes her stand out more than any of the overdressed socialites.

It’s been three weeks since our kiss. She’s talking animatedly to an older couple, her hands gesturing at her work.

Even from here, I can see the passion lighting up her face.

I take my time, circling the gallery, studying her paintings.

They’re... fuck, they’re incredible. Not just technically skilled—though they are—but there’s a purity about them that punches me right in the gut.

One in particular stops me cold—a woman standing at the edge of a cliff, half in shadow, half in blinding light.

The conflict in the piece is palpable, like you can feel her deciding whether to jump or step back.

When I finally make my way to Bianca, she’s alone for the first time all evening. Her shoulders tense when she spots me.

“Don’t worry, Hayes. I’m not here to cause trouble,” I say, lifting my champagne in mock surrender. “Though I did consider bringing a red marker to leave my number on all your pieces.”

She rolls her eyes, despite the ghost of a smile there.

“Your work is fucking amazing,” I tell her, dropping the smirk. “Seriously. That piece with the woman on the cliff edge? It’s... it makes you feel something.”

Surprise flickers across her face at my sincerity.

“Thank you,” she says cautiously, like she’s waiting for the punchline.

“No joke,” I assure her. “I mean it. You’ve got a special talent.” I glance around at the buzzing crowd. “And seems like everyone else thinks so too. Though I bet none of them have had the pleasure of being slapped by the artist.”

There it is—that reluctant smile I’ve come to crave.

I watch Bianca’s face carefully, enjoying the way her expression shifts. “You know, most people say they like the colors or ask about my technique. They don’t actually... see the meaning.”

“I’m not most people.” I step closer, lowering my voice. “Though I’m starting to think you already knew that.”

She takes a sip of champagne. “Your ego is showing again, Blackwood.”

“It’s not ego if it’s true.” I grin, enjoying our back-and-forth. “So, the piece in the corner—the one with the hands almost touching—is that about desire or restraint?”

“Why can’t it be both?” Her eyes meet mine. “Sometimes the line between wanting something and holding back is paper-thin.”

“And which side are you on right now?” I ask, moving closer until there’s barely space between us.

Before she can answer, a flash of movement catches my eye as Michelle, Bianca’s roommate from the club, materializes beside us, practically wedging herself between us.

“B, there you are!” Michelle’s voice is overly bright. “Sorry to interrupt, but that gallery owner from Chicago is looking for you.”

Bianca looks confused. “Mark? He’s here already?”

“Yep, super important, right now.” Michelle’s grip on Bianca’s arm tightens. “Sorry, Knox, art business calls.”

I raise my glass in acknowledgment. “By all means. The artist is in demand.”

I watch as Michelle drags Bianca across the room, their heads bent together in urgent conversation. Even from here, I can read Michelle’s body language—the rapid gestures, the concerned glances back in my direction. She’s warning Bianca about me.

I scan the room, nodding to a few familiar faces as I pretend not to notice the whispered conversation happening in the corner. Michelle’s pointing now, probably sharing every rumor she’s heard about Knox Blackwood and his legendary way with women.

Interesting. I grab another glass of champagne from a passing waiter and mingle, keeping Bianca in my peripheral vision the entire time.

I make my way over to Elliot, who’s standing near the bar, looking pleased with the turnout. The gallery owner’s face brightens when he spots me.

“Knox,” he says, clinking his glass against mine. “Come to appreciate the finer things in life?”

“Just one fine thing in particular,” I reply with a smirk. “Quite a crowd you’ve pulled for Bianca.”

Elliot leans closer. “Between us, her work is selling faster than anything I’ve shown in years. Three red dots already, and we’re barely an hour in.” He glances around before adding, “Will we be seeing you at Purgatory this weekend? Xavier mentioned a special event for the inner circle.”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Though you might want to wear something more... resilient this time.” I grin, enjoying the flush that creeps up his neck. “Last month’s activities left quite the mark on that expensive suit of yours.”

“Worth every penny,” Elliot chuckles. “Your brother certainly knows how to curate an experience.”

My attention shifts as I catch movement across the room.

A gray-haired man in an expensive suit has cornered Bianca.

I can read her discomfort—her shoulders tense, her smile fixed, as she tries to maintain professionalism while subtly attempting to create distance.

The man places his hand on Bianca’s lower back, then slides it down.

“Excuse me,” I mutter to Elliot, already moving.

I cross the room in seconds, my body on autopilot. As I approach, I hear the man’s slurred voice.

“Such passion in your work. I wonder if that extends to other areas...”

His hand is still on her ass when I reach them. Bianca’s eyes meet mine, relief flashing across her face.

“There you are,” I say smoothly, sliding my arm around her shoulders and positioning myself between her and the handsy guy. “Sorry to interrupt, but the curator’s looking for you.”

The older man blinks, recognizing me. “Knox Blackwood? I didn’t realize you were... acquainted with Ms. Hayes.”

“Very well acquainted,” I say, my tone friendly but my eyes cold as ice. “And I’ve always been particular about who touches my things.”

“I’m not your ‘thing,’ Knox,” Bianca hisses through a tight smile, her eyes flashing with anger.

I give her a stern look, tilting my head slightly toward the exit. “Play along,” I mutter under my breath.

Her expression shifts as understanding dawns. She’s caught between thanking me for the rescue and being pissed at my territorial display.

“My apologies for the interruption,” I tell the older man, my hand firmly on Bianca’s waist now. “But I’m afraid I need to steal her away.”

The man’s face sours as he realizes his evening plans are dissolving. “Of course. Perhaps another time, Ms. Hayes.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” I reply before Bianca can speak, steering her through the crowd.

Once we’re out of earshot, she shrugs away from my grip. “I could have handled that myself.”

“I know you could have, but why should you have to?” I stop walking, turning to face her. “The guy was a creep with wandering hands. I saved you the trouble of having to knee him in the balls in the middle of your own exhibition.”

Bianca crosses her arms, clearly conflicted. “Thank you,” she finally says. “But that ‘my things’ comment was completely unnecessary.”

“It was the fastest way to make him back off.” I shrug. “Men like that only respect territorial pissing contests.”

She shakes her head but can’t completely hide her smile. “You’re impossible.”

“Let me walk you outside. Get some air.”

The night air hits us as we step onto the sidewalk, the sounds of the party fading behind us. Bianca takes a deep breath.

“Your show’s a hit,” I say, watching her face in the glow of the street lights. “You should be celebrating.”

“I am,” she replies, turning toward me. “I needed a moment away from... everything.”

I step closer. “Everything, including me?”

“Especially you,” she whispers.

My hand finds her cheek, thumb brushing across her skin. Her breath catches. I lean in slowly, giving her plenty of time to stop me.

Our lips are inches apart when she places a hand on my chest, gently pushing back.

“Don’t think because you saved me from one old man that I’m suddenly going to be putty in your hands,” Bianca says. She takes another step back.

I can’t help but smirk at her defiance. That backbone of hers—it’s what keeps me coming back to her.

“I’d expect nothing less from you, princess.” I lean against the brick wall, not bothering to close the distance she’s created. “If you were that easy to impress, I wouldn’t find you half as interesting.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s that hint of a smile again—the one she tries to hide whenever my teasing finds its mark.

“I should get back inside. People are actually here to buy my art, not to harass me.” She straightens her dress.

“Harassment? Is that what we’re calling chemistry these days?”

Bianca shakes her head, already turning away. “Goodnight, Knox.”

I watch as she walks back into the gallery, the light from inside briefly illuminating her silhouette before the door closes behind her.

Fuck, even the way she walks away from me is captivating, confident, and dismissive, like I’m another nuisance she has to deal with rather than the man who’s consumed her thoughts.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. Xavier’s name flashes on the screen.

“What?” I answer, not bothering to hide my irritation.

“Need you at Purgatory. Now.” Xavier’s voice is clipped, all business. “We’ve got a situation.”

I glance back at the gallery doors. Through the glass, I can see Bianca laughing with a possible client, champagne in hand, completely in her element.

“Fine. Be there in fifteen.” I hang up without waiting for his response.

As I head toward my bike, I take one last look at the gallery. “Next time, Bianca,” I mutter to myself. “Next time I’ll snare you.”