Page 1 of Nico (Members From Money Season 2, #154)

"I think you should marry him."

"What?"

Startled, Sadie stopped rearranging the framed artwork and stared at the elegant man in the three-piece suit. Andre Sinclair was the owner of the gallery she managed and was also her best friend. He was also unapologetically gay and had a penchant for expensive clothing and falling in love with completely unsuitable men who took advantage of his romantic character and his wealth. Over the last two years, Sadie had stepped in and started running interference in his personal life.

"We just started seeing each other." She righted the dull gold frame on the wall and studied the painting absently. Late eighteenth-century watercolor done by a little-known artist. It had been unearthed at an estate auction in Italy and turned out to be worth a fortune. She loved the subtle drawing and lines that made the painting pleasant to the eye.

"He's a hottie." Andre sighed longingly and stepped back to admire his own magnificent work. Pates, canapes and tiny sandwiches to entice the taste buds. Champagnes, buckets of the most expensive bubbly were already cooling. Tonight was going to be wonderful.

He expected a full house. "And he's loaded."

"I don't care about that." She picked up another painting and frowned at the vivid splash of color. A Jackson Colby original which belonged with the others on the first floor. "We're having fun."

"The man is totally goo-goo over you." At her raised brows, he grinned. "It is a word. He is delicious. How's he in bed?"

"Delicious and intense."

Andre sighed again. "Any chance he swings both ways?"

"Nope." Sadie told him cheerfully. "Totally straight."

"My loss." He added a few bowls of fruit and considered his work finished.

"Is he still painting you? Or was that a euphemism for tearing up the sheets?"

"He is still painting me and refuses to let me see what he has so far. What do you think?" She held up the complicated metal sculpture in both hands.

Andre studied the intricacy of the twisted metal and shook his beautifully cut chestnut brown hair. "The man definitely has talent. Have I thanked you enough for getting him to start showcasing his work here? If he had not been so charmed and taken with you, we would never have landed him."

"I would like to think it's more my professional mannerisms and persuasive arguments that got him to sign with us."

"Nope. It was your sexy body and beautiful face. Kind of why I hired you in the first place. You bring in the clients. And the patrons." He smiled blithely when she threw him a dirty look. "You know I'm right."

"Sexist and proud of it."

"Oh absolutely." Crossing over to her, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and leaned in to kiss her on the lips. She was not only his best friend but had saved him from countless heartbreaks and bad decisions. He had no idea what he would do without her and did not want to find out.

Sadie squeezed his hand affectionately, shaking her head at his antics. "One day, you'll meet someone who actually deserves you, Andre. And when you do, I fully expect you to listen to my advice."

"Are you kidding? I depend on your advice. Without you, I'd be weeping into my caviar and making tragic life choices. Again." He glanced at the clock. "We've got twenty minutes before the first guests arrive. You ready to charm the crowd?"

She gave a half-smile, nerves fluttering in her stomach. "As ready as I'll ever be. Nico promised he'd be here early, right?"

Andre's eyes twinkled with mischief. "He did, and you know artists. Always fashionably late unless there's free food involved. Speaking of, have you seen the gallery's Instagram today?"

Sadie rolled her eyes, reaching for her phone. "Don't tell me you posted the photo of me asleep under that pile of bubble wrap."

"Not yet. But I will if you ever think of quitting." He winked, then turned to adjust a vase of white peonies on the central plinth. "Seriously, Sadie, tonight's big. His first solo show, and yours as manager. Try not to hide in the storeroom."

She grinned, the tension easing as she surveyed the elegant space, the art shimmering in the soft golden light. "No hiding. I'll even smile at the board members."

"That's my girl," Andre said with pride, straightening his tie. "I'll go check the wine. You make sure your dress isn't inside out."

She laughed, glancing down at her sleek black dress, and for a moment, all the anxiety slipped away. Maybe tonight would be wonderful, after all. Maybe Nico's mysterious new painting would be the start of something neither of them could imagine.

*****

The latest housekeeper his mother had sent over had given up in defeat and Nico could not blame the poor woman. She had tried. He could give her that. But had not been up to the task. She had at least made a dent in the pile of laundry that had been mostly ignored by him for close to a month. He rarely had a change of clothing anyway, until recently.

He grinned as his mind drifted to the woman who had unexpectedly entered his life just three months ago. A stroll into the gallery that morning had been spur of the moment. He had his sister to thank for that eventful moment. If Natalie hadn't browbeaten him into accompanying her because her husband had called off at the last minute, he wouldn't have stepped into the gallery and changed his life. For the better.

Now he was trying to be more organized. He had someone coming over for the first time in what was it? He picked up a half-eaten sandwich and tossed it into the trash can. Two years? Christ! Had it been that long since he had a serious relationship? Shaking his head, he started to pick out some of the clothing the housekeeper had left to dry.

The house smelled faintly of turpentine and violets, a scent that clung to the air no matter how many windows Nico cracked open. He found a clean-enough shirt, shook out the creases, and wondered if Sadie would notice the paint smudge on his cuff. Maybe she'd laugh, the way she had that first morning, when he'd shown up at the gallery. Hair wild, sleeve streaked with ultramarine, and she'd greeted him as if he were royalty rather than a disheveled artist.

Tonight, he'd see her outside the soft, forgiving glow of studio lamps, beneath the bright gaze of an expectant crowd. For weeks, he'd painted behind closed doors, his work a secret even from his own reflection. The piece he'd finished last night was more than a painting. It was an admission, a risk, a quiet hope he carried in his chest like an ember.

He shrugged on a blazer, checked his watch, and for one reckless moment considered calling Sadie, just to hear her voice before plunging into the tide of faces and champagne flutes. But no. He wanted to see her reaction in person, to watch her eyes as she saw the new painting unveiled. It had been two years since he'd let someone this close, and his heart beat a nervous tattoo as he headed for the door, the anticipation prickling warm and electric under his skin.

He was foraging for his keys in desperation when he heard the sound of his front door opening. Grabbing the keys, how the hell did they get behind the dryer? He wondered and sighed when he heard the familiar footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor. His mother. Which meant that he would be late.

"Darling." Linda Coulter was a well-preserved sixty-five-year-old woman with sculpted cheekbones she had passed to both of her children as well as the long and beautifully sharp bottle green eyes. Her hair was a soft sable brown streaked through with burnished blonde, which she wore in an elegant coif at the nape of her neck. "There you are." Her eagle eyes took in the detritus in the living room and had to bite her tongue to stop the comment. She had promised she would keep her opinion to herself for the time being. Besides, it did not seem to make a world of difference to her very indifferent son.

His hair, the exact shade of hers, was unkempt and desperately needed trimming. His shirt was missing a button and was wrinkled. At least the jacket covered most of it.

"Off to the gallery?"

"And I'm running late." Crossing to her, he kissed one smooth cheek and inhaled her scent of lavender and something exotic. Sometimes he found himself wondering if this elegant woman was his mother. Standing next to her always managed to show up all of his failings.

She touched his face gently and let her touch linger.

"Your dad asked me to come over and remind you of the board meeting first thing in the morning."

His mood plummeted, and he had to take a step back and inhale sharply.

"I have the sculpture I've been working on." His voice stuttered to a stop at the icy look on her face. He hated to disappoint her and put her on the spot, but God! He hated those stuffy board meetings. He was heir to the Coulter fortune and had no interest whatsoever in the pharmaceutical company. He was constantly reminded that it had been in his family for several hundred years as if that should mean something to him.

Sitting in an office and making life-altering decisions about controlled substances and medications was not something he would ever see himself doing. And putting on a suit and tie and sitting in an office would drive him crazy in the space of a week. His sister was a doctor and very involved in the company.

But that was not enough for his parents. He was their only son and would inherit the burden of the company one day. Hopefully, they would live very long, so he was free to do what he loved. He was a damn artist and proud of it.

"What time?" He mumbled, avoiding her eyes that seemed to see into his very soul.

"Nine sharp. And please wear a suit. Do you even own a tie?"

"Mother..."

"We ask so little of you."

He almost laughed at that. So little, as if the weight of legacy was a trinket lightly handed from one palm to the next. He tamped down the urge to say so, instead tracing the worn edge of his keys with his thumb, grounding himself. "I'll find one," he said, though he was thinking of paint-stained jeans and the restless urge in his hands that only left when he held a brush.

Linda pursed her lips, but the bite in her gaze softened, just slightly. "Your father worries, you know. Not just about the company." She glanced around the flat, at the canvases leaned against the wall, at the clutter of empty mugs and tubes of burnt umber, and then back to him. "He doesn't want to lose you."

He let out a breath, unsure if it was relief or resignation. "I'm not going anywhere, Mother. Not tonight. And not tomorrow either, even if I have to sit through hours of quarterly projections and talk of market shares."

That coaxed the barest smile from her, and she smoothed his collar with deft, practiced fingers. "Good. Now remember to eat something before you leave. I don't want you fainting in front of your admirers."

He grinned, almost boyish. "I'll manage." He started for the door, then paused as she gathered her purse and gloves.

"Break a leg," she said, and for a moment, he caught a flicker of pride in her eyes, unguarded and fierce.

He stepped into the night, the city humming around him, the weight of family and hope and art pressing close. Tonight, he would show his heart. Flawed, unpolished, but his alone.

*****

Chandeliers dripped and glittered like sharp white ice from the ceiling. The crowd milled around the various pieces exclaiming in hushed tones their pleasure and approval. It was a formal event, and the women had gone above and beyond in dressing for the part.

It thrilled Sadie to play hostess as well as be a fount of information whenever a patron approached to ask about a piece. Her feet were killing her, and she cursed the decision to wear the new and horribly expensive Jimmy Choos instead of something more practical.

She had noticed Nico as soon as he entered the room and smiled at his lost and baffled look. The man never ceased to amaze and amuse her. For someone with such a brilliant mind, he often appeared to be awkward and ill at ease in a crowd. She had glided over to tuck her arm through his and felt a thrill at the pleasure blooming on his face.

"You managed to get dressed." She observed.

"I could not find a suit." He looked self-consciously at the wrinkled shirt. He had refused to surrender his jacket at the door.

"That's fine." She assured him. "You also managed to look quite dashing without one."

"And you, darling, happen to be the most beautiful woman in the room. How on earth do you pull it off?"

"That's my secret." She beamed at the compliment and patted his arm. She had gotten involved with him despite her reservations. Her history with men was not stellar. She had made a few mistakes along the way and had become involved with a glass blower a year ago. He had used her to get his work displayed and then slept with as many rich women patrons as he could. Her pride had been badly dented, and she had sworn, never again.

Besides, Nico Coulter was not some random artist starving for his craft. He was the sole heir of a multi-billion-dollar company. And though he dressed as if he had bought his clothes at the thrift store, he was seriously loaded. She had met his family, and they treated her well, but she knew they wanted more for him. And she had told him so.

He blew her away with the first kiss and when they made love, he had shocked her with his expertise. For the first time in her life, she had experienced real orgasms that had almost shattered her.

Under all that scholarly and vague look, the man was a serious stud. She was going to have to be careful not to have him slip past her guard. And she ignored the voice that wondered if he already had.

She left him alone to answer questions about his work as she circled the room. Andre was in his element, handing out glasses of champagne from a passing wait staff and discussing several paintings with some art lovers.

She paused by a sculpture bathed in blue light, slowing her breath so it matched the sculpture's poised serenity. As she observed the reflections of crystal and silver in the glass, a buzz of conversation drifted her way. Talk of international buyers, hints of record sales, and a rumor that a renowned critic was somewhere in the crowd. Sadie's heart ticked a little faster. This opening was more than a glittering showcase. It could change lives.

A petite patron approached, fingers fluttering nervously over her beaded clutch. "Ms. Greene, is this the piece inspired by the old Venetian tradition?" she asked, voice breathless.

Sadie leaned in, her practiced warmth at the ready. "Exactly so. The artist spent a summer in Murano, absorbing every glimmer and curve of the glassmakers' genius. If you look closely, you'll see hints of those ancient techniques. Layered color, intricate cane work, woven right into the modern form."

The woman's eyes widened in delight, and she nodded appreciatively before moving on. Sadie allowed herself a quiet, satisfied exhale. The art had spoken for itself and so had she.

She drifted nearer to the long windows, champagne flute in hand, and caught a glimpse of Nico deep in conversation, gesturing. Animated and alive. She smiled to herself, feeling the evening's possibilities unfold, luminous like the chandeliers above.

And she felt a little flutter in her belly as she looked over and saw him watching her. Taking a deep breath, she sent him a smile before turning to the client who demanded her attention.

*****

"I asked Nico to wait for you inside the office." Andre informed her as they made a last-minute sweep of the gallery. The caterers had cleaned up and the paintings and other pieces had been arranged in their proper order. Both she and Andre insisted on doing everything before morning, no matter how late the show ended.

"I told him to go on home." Stepping out of her heels, she closed her eyes and felt her feet weeping.

"The man clearly wants to make certain you go home with him." He looked around with a pleased smile. "You've outdone yourself. Lady Margaret ordered several pieces of Nico's sculpture and a few paintings. Her check has so many zeros, I think I'm having an orgasm."

"Then she did you two favors." She smirked at him. "Since the last time you had one was too long to count."

"Bitch," he murmured wryly. "Go on and see to your man. He's patiently waiting."

She lingered a few more minutes, checking inventory and adjusting a few more paintings, before heading to her office. Leaning on the jamb, she watched in amusement as he sat behind her desk sketching. His head was bent, and he was completely absorbed in his work. Locks of disheveled sable brown hair tinted with gold were hanging over his forehead. He had discarded the jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his wrinkled shirt to reveal long forearms dusted with hairs a little darker than the ones on his head.

He had long lashes as she had often teased him about, much to his acute embarrassment. The sight of him did things to her heart rate and her pulse.

As if aware of her presence, he looked up, eyes lighting up with pleasure.

"I suggested you go home."

"I did not mind waiting." His bottle green eyes wandered over her face and he felt the familiar stirring of lust. "And I wanted to make certain you did not have an excuse for not coming home with me."

Her spectacular mahogany eyes twinkled. "You have a difficult time taking no for an answer." She wandered in and sat on the edge of her desk.

"Where you're concerned, at least. I hope you don't mind me invading your space." He nodded to the desk.

"Not at all." Twisting her head, she studied the sketch, brows raised in surprise. "That's me."

He grinned, a dimple creasing the left side of his cheek. "Very observant."

Taking the sketch from him, she studied it in detail. It was her on the floor, her head turned to the left and one arm slightly lifted, and it was perfect even though it was rough and done in pencil. The man was brilliantly talented.

"What will you do with it?"

"Finish it in charcoal and hang it in my bedroom."

She lifted her eyes to his face and had the urge to run her fingers through his dense hair. "Without my permission?"

"Creative freedom." He shrugged and took the sketch from her. "Ready?"

"Just about. Don't you have a board meeting tomorrow?"

He grimaced and rose lithely, circling the desk so that he was standing in front of her. "Something I have every intention of forgetting until the last minute." He tilted her chin up and bent his head to crush his lips against hers. It was intended to be a light caress, but the sparks went off immediately. Her arms came around his waist and she leaned into the kiss, forcing him to take it deeper. He loved the taste of her, the sweet dark mystery of her mouth that had shattered him the first time he kissed her.

His hands wandered up and down her back before circling her neck and removing the pins she had so carefully tidied her hair with. Long artist fingers combed through the thick strands as his mouth devoured hers.

His breathing was harsh, his body tight with need. Lifting his mouth from hers, he eased back and shook his head.

"What you do to me. How about we get out of here before I end up making a fool of myself and giving your esteemed boss a show?"

Sadie placed a hand flat on his chest as if to ward him off and battled with the emotions tumbling around inside her. She wanted to suggest forcibly that they both take a step back. To give the argument that she was not ready for this. Instead, she nodded her assent, her body primed and ready for him.