“Not for long,” Lorenzo said. “I’m very aesthetically sensitive, and it’s quite clear that something’s definitely set fire to your emotions since your move to our Pacific Northwest.” He glanced over at Dillon, who’d remained silent during the exchange. “Or perhaps that’s
someone
,” he murmured.
He extended his hand. Diamonds flashed, gold gleamed. “Welcome to Art on the River. I’m Lorenzo Batista, proprietor and admirer of our darling Claire. This is my husband and business partner, Raphael.”
“Lorenzo and Raphael recently got married,” Claire informed Dillon.
“Congratulations,” he said easily as he shook both their hands. “I’m Dillon Slater.”
“The green flash!” Raphael exclaimed. Then, when he saw Claire’s puzzled look, he put both his hands over his mouth.
“Now you’ve done it,” Lorenzo said with a long, dramatic sigh. “I believe, from Claire’s expression, that Mr. Slater preferred to keep his purchase a secret while waiting for a more intimate time to tell Claire the news.”
“What news?” But a suspicion was niggling.
“That I bought your flash.”
“You?”
While they’d been setting up the display, each piece of the collection claiming its own pillar beneath a spotlight, Claire had waffled about whether she’d wanted to sell the piece that had been born from such a burst of inspiration. And which had opened up a long flare of inspiration that she’d never, thus far in her life, experienced. But when she’d expressed her ambivalence to Lorenzo, he’d informed her that he’d received a call at home on Thanksgiving from a patron asking to buy it.
At the time, she’d assumed it was someone who’d seen the piece in the catalog. Never in a million years would she have expected that person to be this man.
“It’s a special piece. Not that they’re not all amazing, but having watched you make it, I feel a special connection with the green flash.”
“She actually let you into the sanctum sanctorum of her studio?” Lorenzo’s gaze went back and forth between Dillon and Claire. “That’s certainly a first.”
“Darling, you’ve been keeping secrets from us,” Raphael chided with a back-and-forth swish of a finger.
“Dillon is Matt’s basketball coach,” Claire began to explain.
“Ah.” Lorenzo nodded. “That explains the sexy, loose-hipped athlete’s stride.”
“You definitely turned more than one head when you walked into our little gallery tonight,” Raphael told Dillon. “I thought for a moment Lorenzo was going to have the vapors. If I were a jealous man, I’d have worried.”
“I suspect you don’t have anything to worry about,” Dillon said. “As for being there when Claire made the piece, I’d gone to her studio to discuss her son. And was privileged to see its birth.”
“That’s a good way of putting it,” Lorenzo said. “Because creating glass is a form of artistic birth.”
“The roaring glory hole’s pretty damn cool, too,” Dillon said.
Watching Raphael and Lorenzo’s response to that now familiar grin, Claire realized those dimples transcended gender. Because both men looked as enthralled by Dillon Slater’s smile as the steampunk princess had been.
“Claire and I were discussing slipping out,” Dillon said. “She hasn’t eaten all day and I’d like to remedy that.”
“Just because I agreed to dinner doesn’t mean I’m not perfectly capable of feeding myself,” she insisted. As if to prove her point, she snatched a cracker topped with smoked salmon and caviar from the tray of a passing waiter and popped it into her mouth.
“Of course you are,” Dillon agreed. He slipped his arm around her, his hand settling possessively on her waist. “But it’s been a long day and I know you haven’t gotten much sleep preparing for this show.”
He smiled down at her, then looked back toward the two men, who were watching with great interest. And she noticed, spotting the dancing light in Lorenzo’s dark eyes, amusement. “I hope you won’t mind me stealing your artist away.”
“Of course not,” both Lorenzo and Raphael said at the same time, reminding Claire of Dottie and Dorothy.
Which had her wondering if that was a common habit with people who lived together for a long time. It also caused a little twinge of envy that none of her relationships had lasted more than a few weeks. Which was, admittedly, most times her own doing.
“I should stay.” Claire plucked Dillon’s hand away. “One of the buyers might want to ask me questions.”
“I believe, between the two of us, Lorenzo and I can handle any situation that arises,” Raphael said.
“We have had a great deal of practice,” Lorenzo confirmed. “Don’t worry, darling. So long as the food and alcohol lasts, I’m sure no one will even miss you.”
“Thanks,” she muttered. “You really know how to boost a girl’s ego.”
But her smile softened her accusation. There was no way she could be annoyed with them. Partly because they had become friends, and because she suspected that their newly married state had them wanting everyone else they knew to have a hearts-and-flowers romance of their own.
Lorenzo put his hands on both her shoulders and this time kissed her on her forehead, as if she were a child. “Thank you for gracing our humble gallery with your beauty,” he said. “Both your own and that of your stunningly evocative work.”
“Not to mention paying for the Greek honeymoon cruise we’ve booked for after the holidays,” Raphael said.
“I’m delighted to contribute. And thank you both for setting up such a dazzling event. I realize that much of tonight’s success was your doing.”
“Which is why we get fifty percent.” Raphael’s quick grin and cocky statement lightened the mood, making them all laugh.
4
5
“I like your friends,” Dillon said as he and Claire left the gallery and began walking along the river back to the hotel a few blocks away on the opposite bank. Although he’d left his SUV in the parking garage, he’d offered to call a cab. But Claire decided she’d rather walk.
“They’re wonderful people who were early supporters back when a lot of people were telling me that I ought to stick to jewelry. Which I love making, but I wanted another creative outlet, if that makes sense.”
“It does, and I, for one, am glad you didn’t listen.”
A full moon rode across the sky, its light edging the dark, gathering clouds with silver. “You didn’t have to buy that piece.”
“Are you kidding? The minute I saw it I wanted it. But I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you to feel obligated to give me any special deal. So I just called the gallery and had them put me on the invitation and catalog list.”
“It was the most expensive piece listed.”
“And well worth it. It’s a hell of an investment. Not that I’d ever sell it. Every time I look at it, it’s going to remind me of that day. I don’t think I’ve ever been hit by as much of a punch as I was when I walked in and saw you looking so hot. By the way, I’ve been meaning to mention that you look gorgeous tonight.”
“Please. It’s a plain black dress.”
She dragged out the simple black sheath, with a sweetheart neckline that skimmed her shoulder blades, long sleeves, and a flared skirt, whenever she needed to make a public appearance. Preferring to keep the focus on her work, and uncomfortable in the spotlight that exhibitions required, she thought of it as a blank canvas. Tonight she’d paired it with a three-strand necklace she’d created from natural pearls and garnet.
Her wool coat, which she’d just bought last week at the Dancing Deer Two, was a seasonal scarlet. Although it was much brighter than what she usually wore, the minute she’d seen it in the boutique’s window, she’d wanted it.
Knowing that she’d be standing on her feet for hours, she’d worn practical black flats, which ended up giving him even more of a height advantage but made walking through the crowds who’d gathered along the river to watch the parade of Christmas ships much easier.
“Sweetheart, you are definitely a case for not gilding the lily. You look super in anything. Why detract with a lot of dazzle when you can get the attention of every guy in the room just the way you are?”
“You weren’t kidding when you said you learned about women from your sisters, since that was, of course, the perfect response.” She thought about the steampunk dominatrix and wondered if he was going to keep that card. Not that she cared.
Liar.
“So I guess I should take back my space gun and cancel my tattoo appointment?” she asked.
“Depends on the tattoo,” he answered as they edged around a group of Japanese tourists. “And where it is.”
The boats were beginning to make their way down the river, decked out in flashing Christmas lights that reflected on the water.
“Oh, now I wish Matt were here,” she said as one floated by sporting the outline of a huge fish, which, from the lit-up words
CO HO HO
,
she took to be a salmon. It was wearing a Santa hat created from twinkling red lights. “Though he’d probably pretend to hate it.”
“Next year,” Dillon suggested. “He’ll be acclimated by then.”
“I hope so. Though he is doing so much better. And I realize I have you to thank for that.”
“Your son’s a good kid,” he said.
An elderly street saxophone player was sending Christmas carols out over the waterfront. They paused to listen to “I’ll Be Home for Christmas,” which had Claire thinking how home wasn’t necessarily where you came from but where you chose to make it. She and Matt were already beginning to settle in. Hopefully by next Christmas they’d have set down new, transplanted roots.
Others, drawn by the music, had joined them. There was a scattering of applause as the last note lingered on the chilly air. When Dillon tossed some bills into the candy-cane-painted bucket, the musician complimented him on being with the most beautiful woman in the city.
“He’s right,” Dillon said as they continued on their way.
“Flatterer.”
“It’s not flattery if it’s the truth. Can I take your agreeing to have supper with me as a sign you’re reconsidering your moratorium against getting personally involved?”
“No. It merely means that I’m hungry. And, just for tonight, I’m willing to suspend judgment.”
He took her hand, linked their fingers together, and gave her another of those slow perusals that warmed her blood and made her pulse race. “Tonight is a beginning.”
46
“We’re not going to have any alcohol, right?” Johnny asked as he and Matt drove up into the hills where Taylor Bennington lived in Shelter Bay’s sole gated community. “I mean, if we break training, we get kicked off the team.”
“No alcohol,” Matt promised.
“Good. Because it took me a really long time to land myself in a family, and I’d hate to blow it.”
“You’re not like a dog,” Matt said. “Your parents aren’t going to get rid of you.”
“Shows how much you know about real life.”
“My dad never stuck around,” Matt reminded him.
“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that. Sorry.”
“No problem. It’s not like I knew the guy or anything.” It wasn’t anything like what Johnny had gone through with his mother.
Most of the inside house lights were off. Matt might have thought they had the wrong address had it not been for the music throbbing from inside. Both sides of the street were lined with cars, forcing Johnny to park a few houses away.
“Quite a crowd,” he said as they walked up to the door, where a sign had been taped telling them to come on in.
“Yeah. It looks like word got out,” Matt said. So much for his chances of being alone with Taylor. He figured he’d be lucky to find her in this crowd.
He was wrong.
They’d no sooner entered the house when she came running up to them. Running being an exaggeration, since her dress was so short and so tight, and her heels so high, it was kind of amazing she could walk at all.
“There you are! What kept you?”
Matt figured he’d lose any cool points he’d gained from the game if he admitted he’d had to wait until his mother’s scheduled call from Portland before her show. “I got busy,” he said, forcing his most nonchalant shrug.
“Well, you’re here now.” She flashed her perkiest cheerleader smile. Although he couldn’t quite tell in the darkness of the room, he thought her eyes looked a little too bright. She linked her arm with Matt’s. “Let me get you something to drink.”
“Coke’ll be fine,” Johnny said.
“Are you sure? Because we have a full bar. And I’m a really good mixologist. My dad likes a cocktail when he gets home from the dealership.”
“Coke’s great,” Matt confirmed, backing Johnny up.
Her lips, painted a rosy red tonight, made a sexy little pout. Then she immediately brightened. “Oh, well. It’s early yet. Maybe you’ll change your mind.”
It was already ten. And he wasn’t going to change his mind. Exchanging a look with Johnny, Matt figured they were thinking the same thing. That there was no point in arguing.
Matt pulled the tab on his Coke and looked around. Most of the team seemed to be here, along with other jocks from the football and baseball teams. The girls were all pretty much clones of Taylor, which, for some really weird reason, had him thinking of Aimee, whom he suspected he wouldn’t be seeing here tonight.
“Do you like video games?” she asked Johnny, her smile and eyes bright.
“Sure.”
“Great. We’ve got a killer game room.” This time it was Johnny’s arm she linked with as she practically dragged him through the crowd to a really impressive room.
“Tristan,” she called to a long-haired guy who looked a couple of years older than everyone else in the place, “come over here.
“This is my brother, Tristan,” she said, introducing him. “He’s taking a break from college while he figures out what he wants to do with his life. Tristan, this is Matt and Johnny.”
“Hey, dudes.” As opposed to Taylor’s bright sparkle, his eyes were decidedly unfocused.
Fuck. Wasn’t that all Matt needed? To get busted at a pot party?
He was trying to decide what to do when Taylor said, “Come dance with me, Matt.”
Matt paused, caught between what he knew he should do and what he wanted to do.
“Go ahead,” Johnny said with a careless roll of his shoulders. “I’m okay here.”
Still not entirely comfortable with the situation, Matt allowed himself to be led into another room, where music pounded and strobe lights flashed.
“Nice setup,” Matt said.
“Isn’t it?” Although the pulsing hip-hop beat wasn’t exactly designed for slow dancing, she twined her arms around him like a python and pressed her body up against his, swaying in a way designed to create flames.
“Where’s Dirk?” he asked as she ran her fingers through his hair.
“I’ve no idea. We broke up.”
“Really?”
“Really.” She sighed and wiggled closer, like she was literally trying to crawl inside his skin. “Small-town boys are so immature.” She took hold of his wrists and placed his hands on her butt. “Sometimes I think about moving to Hollywood,” she confided.
“Really?”
Matt was beginning to wonder what was wrong with him. He had hot Taylor Bennington’s very fine ass in his hands, her lush boobs were pressed against his lower chest, and she was grinding against him like he was a stripper pole, which caused his body to leap to attention.
But unlike when he’d been rolling around on Lila Greene’s canopied bed, his mind was totally disengaged. He glanced around and saw another couple dancing pretty much the same way, but the guy’s right hand had disappeared down the front of the girl’s jeans.
“Would you like me to give you a tour of the house?”
“Um. Okay. If you want to.”
“Goody.” One leg was now wrapped around his calf. “I thought maybe we’d start upstairs.” Her hand slipped between them to play with his belt buckle. “With the bedrooms.”
There it was. The freaking golden ticket. So, why didn’t he just reach out and grab it?
Sensing his hesitation, she went up on the toes of those high spindly heels and pressed her open mouth against his.
Her tongue slithered inside, seductively engaging his with a hotness that even Lila, who’d been pretty experienced, couldn’t touch.
But as Matt compared her skilled expertise to Aimee’s raw, unpracticed, passionate attack—knowing that he’d probably throw himself off the cliff for turning down what would undoubtedly be hot, blow-his-mind sex—he heard himself saying, “I’m sorry. But I have to leave.”
“What?” She pulled back and stared up at him.
“The team’s got an eleven o’clock curfew.”
“Oh, that.” Her smile returned. “Don’t worry. Not a single player on the team has ever paid any attention to a silly old basketball curfew.”
Having a good idea how she knew that and realizing that he was probably just one in a long line of Dolphins to be given a tour of this house, Matt suffered an immediate and epic ego fail before finding Johnny and telling him it was time to go.