Page 2

CHAPTER 2

Sienna

T he sound of a glass clinking nearby brings me back to reality, and I take a careful step away from the striking stranger.

The move makes his mouth tick up at one corner.

“Scared, S?”

“I would be a fool not to be a little afraid of a man like you.”

He raises one brow. “A man like me?”

Yes, I want to scream. A man who had just bared me open in a matter of minutes and looked into parts that I thought were well hidden. His mere presence is scrambling my senses…and I don’t know how to feel about that.

More than that, he’s unfairly good-looking. At over six feet tall with a muscled frame and a black double-breasted tailored suit sliding over his broad shoulders and bulging biceps like a second skin, the stranger looks like a panther disguised as a deer.

Even the proper and conservative clothing isn’t succeeding in fooling anybody that he’s anything but lethal.

And then there’s his face.

It’s a face that can make angels sing.

I give him a close-lipped smile, refusing to explain because I have a feeling he knows exactly what I’m talking about.

Self-consciously, I fix my gaze back on my paintings.

“What are they called?” he asks in his deep accented voice.

“The Revelation,” I reply.

I poured my soul into these paintings and, at the last minute, almost pulled them out of today’s exhibition. Well, until Catherina, my very wise best friend, pointed out that my bills weren’t going to pay themselves.

“I’ll hate to see them separated,” I add, admitting forlornly.

“Any collector worth their salt will know not to separate them,” he says.

I hold back my bitter snort. It’s probably why they aren’t getting any attention. So far, there have only been a few stragglers who stopped by for a few seconds to look before going off to look at something else.

“Buying the whole series is not cheap.”

Mr. Santiago pinned a ridiculous amount on each of them. Who is stupid enough to throw such money away by purchasing all five?

I eye the man at my side, noting the expensive material of his suit and the tasteful Cartier watch on his wrist.

Maybe he’ll buy one...

“Are you a collector then?”

“I can’t say I am,” he says evasively, and I narrow my eyes at him.

“I’m only asking. You seem to know a lot about paintings,” I say.

“I know a lot about lots of things.” His mouth lifts into a small smile before he continues, “But I’m partial to beautiful things.”

At that moment, I glance over at him and see his blue eyes on me. My breath hitches in my throat at the look in his eyes. I’ve had men stare at me with interest, but none with such a level of intense fascination as this stranger.

My heart begins to race, and I drag my clammy hands down the front of my pants.

“I can’t tell if I’m more interested in the paintings or the artist.”

I gnaw at my lower lip, wishing I had listened to Kat and worn a dress.

“I don’t know if I should be flattered that you’re thinking of hanging me up in your hallway or scared that you want to take a painting out on a date,” I quip.

His eyes light up with a glint. “I don’t go on dates, S.”

“How unfortunate for every straight woman on the planet then.”

“Does that include you?” he asks.

I peek at him from under my lashes and murmur, “Maybe.”

He reaches out and tugs my lip free from my teeth. I freeze as his thumb makes the brief contact, the look in his eyes pinning me in place and making my insides burn.

“You’re going to bite your lip raw,” he chides.

My face is hot, and I don’t understand what’s going on. Why do I have this all-consuming reaction to this man? This isn’t butterflies in my stomach. It’s an atomic bomb that’s razing all my inhibitions to the ground.

“And I’m quite jealous that I’m not the one doing the biting,” he adds in a low voice.

Images of him biting down on my lip flash through my head, each one more sensual than the last.

The corners of his eyes crinkle. “What are you thinking right now?”

I slant him a coy look and reply, “Nothing all that interesting.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

I laugh. “It’s my secret.”

“You should know that the best way to get me fixated is by trying to keep a secret from me.” His voice is a whisper fluttering between us, and I realize how close we’ve gotten.

Anyone looking at us will get the wrong impression. But I don’t care. Wild horses can’t pull me away from this man, even if they give it their best shot.

“Would you?—”

I never get to hear the rest of his words because Mr. Santiago’s assistant, Veda, suddenly walks up to us with her gaze trained on the stranger, much to my annoyance.

“Miss Marino, I never got your signature on the final contract.”

“Excuse me.” I hold up my index finger to the man, and he gives me a sharp nod, his gaze closed off.

“I didn’t get a contract,” I inform the brunette when I turn to her.

“Oh,” she says without sparing me a glance. “Are you sure?”

I grit my teeth as the realization that this has nothing to do with a contract and everything to do with the blue-eyed man hits me.

“Yes, I’m sure.” My words come out cold enough for her to finally turn to me, her eyes wide.

“In that case, please see me after the event,” she says before going back to gazing at the man. Then, she rudely sticks out her hand to him, dismissing me.

“Hi, I’m Veda Ar?—”

“I’m sure somebody else is in need of your services,” he interrupts. The man’s voice is different, and the icy authority dripping from each syllable makes me shiver, but not in a good way.

She jolts and, without another word, hurries off, her heels clacking against the tiled floor.

“I’m sorry about that, Mr.?” I wait for him to tell me his name, but he doesn’t, so after a few moments, I clear my throat and try again, saying, “I’m Sienna Marino. And you are?”

“I thought we’d get to keep our anonymity for a little while longer.” The words sound like an accusation. “I’m Vincent.”

“You were asking me something?” My words come out small and nervous. Something changed between the time of Veda’s arrival and now.

But what?

Did he realize he spent far too much time with me already? Honestly, I don’t want our conversation to end. It’s the first time in over a year that I’ve been interested in having an extended conversation with a man.

Since my ex, the few dates I’ve been on left me feeling more alone than ever. But even with my very short time with Vincent, I feel alive. Maybe it’s all in my head, though somehow, I doubt it.

His blue eyes shift over my shoulder for a second before coming back to mine. “It’s getting late. I have to go, Sienna.”

The sound of my name rolling off his tongue is a sensual caress against my senses, and my mouth goes a little dry.

“Of course.” I smile, trying to keep my disappointment hidden, but from the way his gaze searches mine, I know I don’t succeed. For a second, it’s on the tip of my tongue to ask if we can see each other again. I’m too much of a coward, though.

Or maybe I’m smart enough to see he has lost interest.

I turn away from him, locking my gaze on the safety of my painting. “Goodnight, Vincent.”

I don’t want to watch him walk away from me and leave the building.

For the rest of the event, I paste on a smile and try to explain the thought process and passion behind my work to the guests that show an interest, but my heart is not in it, and they can probably tell.

My phone begins to ring while I’m talking to a suited man whose eyes keep sliding down to my breasts, and I’m glad for the excuse to escape from the conversation.

I won’t sell that creep my painting even if he were the last person on earth.

“Hey,” I say, smiling into the phone as I make my way to a quiet hallway.

“Let me guess. They’re all fighting over The Revelation,” Kat chirps, “And there’s a brawl. Should I call the cops?”

I roll my eyes fondly. My best friend is my biggest supporter, but she has a habit of overestimating my value. Kat is willing to battle with anyone who doesn’t think my work is better than the Mona Lisa.

“Only the six-foot tall ones with blue eyes and painted-on uniforms,” I say. “Speaking of blue eyes…”

“Oh my God, I know that voice. It’s the I-met-a-super-cute-guy voice. Tell me you met someone!” she squeals, and I wince at the ear-splitting sound.

“I did meet someone, but cool your jets. I’m probably never going to see him again.” The thought is far too depressing, even though I barely even know the man.

“Did you get a name? Tell me everything,” she orders.

“His name is Vincent, no last name. He’s a freaking Adonis, Kat.” I sigh wistfully. “He walked up to The Revelation and said a bunch of really astute things about it. We flirted a little. Things were really going well, and I think he was about to ask me out until snarky Veda interrupted.”

“That bitch!” she hisses.

A peal of laughter slips out of my mouth. “And then he closed up like a clam, made an excuse about it getting late, and disappeared.”

“Weird,” she says, voicing out exactly what I’m thinking. “Maybe he’s married.”

“Can you hear that? That’s the sound of my heart breaking.”

“Or maybe he’s still pining over his ex like a certain someone.” Her voice comes out a little vicious, and I snort.

Kat has never been a fan of my ex-boyfriend, Salvadore. When she heard about the break-up, she dug out a bottle of champagne she had been keeping for the event.

“You know that’s not how I feel about him. Besides, how do you always find a way to throw a jab at Sal?”

She laughs. “I’m creative like that.”

“Miss Marino,” someone calls. I turn to see Mr. Santiago’s assistant staring at me from under her nose. “The boss wants to see you.”

“It’s that bitch Veda, isn’t it?” Kat gripes.

I ignore Kat and just say, “I’ve got to go.”

Hanging up, I tuck my phone back into my pocket and make my way back to the now-empty showroom, where the staff is shutting the door.

Mr. Santiago immediately spots me and begins to approach, a wide smile splitting his face. “Sienna, darling.”

Ettore Santiago’s gallery was recommended to me by another artist who sang praises about how wonderful working with him was. He’s a forty-something-year-old bespectacled man with salt and pepper hair. He’s honestly wonderful, but he really needs to throw Veda out on her ass.

“You’re a treasure, a delight. I don’t know what you said or did, but you must have struck a chord because you sold.”

I gasp. “I—I did?”

“Yes. I’ve just said so, haven’t I?”

“How many?”

“All of them,” he exclaims. “And they paid far more than what I valued them for. Three million for the paintings.”

My mouth drops open in shock. “Just the five? For three million?”

He gives me a pitying look. “That’s not what I meant.”

I start to smile, just glad that someone bought the entire series. “Oh, okay.”

“I meant they paid three million apiece,” Mr. Santiago says. “A total of fifteen million dollars.”

At those words, my smile dies off, and blood rushes through my ear. I can’t have heard that right. “F—fif?—”

But he’s already walking away and barking orders at the staff, his assistant trailing him.

I rush after him. “Is there a name? The buyer. What’s the buyer’s name?”

“No name,” his brown-haired assistant, Veda, replies stiffly. “Why do you want to know anyway?”

Because I have a hunch as to who bought my paintings.

“To write them a thank you note or something,” I reply with a tight smile.

She huffs and begins to mutter something about looking too desperate, but I’m barely listening. My mind is stuck on the fact that my paintings are en route to the gorgeous, blue-eyed man’s house.

Even if I never see him again, just knowing he now owns a part of me is enough.

It has to be.