Chapter: 12
It was her "someday" vision, and Charley held onto it like a lifeline.
But the only way to get to someday was to go through now. So after some harmless flirting, she�d sit in on the auction, make a few fake bids, then slip away to finish the job she�d started in the bedrooms.
"I never did catch your name." The man held out his hand for a proper introduction. "I�m�"
"Don�t tell me. You�ll ruin my fantasy about a torrid affair with a mysterious stranger."
"Torrid affair?" He cleared his throat, further loosening his tie. "Our relationship is progressing rather urgently."
Charley tapped her temple. "Wicked thoughts, remember?"
"How many of these auctions have you been to?"
"Enough to know how to thoroughly entertain myself."
And enough to know not to give out her name, fake or otherwise. Her carefully chosen identity served two purposes�getting in the door and making fake bids on the art. Nowhere on the list was making new friends.
Even extremely sexy British friends with the kind of body built for pinning her down on the bed and a mouth she�d already imagined melting between her thighs.
"So you�re a regular," he said, eyeing her up. "Let�s see. A curator, collector, or just another member of the idle rich?"
Charley laughed. "Depends on your definition of collector."
"How so?"
Charley gestured behind them, where the beautiful elite sipped champagne and laughed agreeably at one another�s polite conversation. Serious collectors occasionally attended, but private auctions were more often populated by eccentric billionaires who treated rare art acquisition like hunting safaris, and bored socialites looking to one-up the neighbors.
As a girl hanging on her father�s arm, Charley had attended these same events, watching in awe as he worked the room. Not much had changed since then.
"Out of the dozens of people here," she said, "how many know anything about the pieces they�re bidding on?"
"Perhaps they just know what they want when they see it." He held her gaze, those eyes entrancing her as he inched closer. Heat radiated between them where their thighs touched. "Some things are quite pleasurable in their own right, aren�t they."
He wasn�t asking her. He was telling her.
A thrill shot through her veins.
Charley looked away, unable to take the intensity building between them. She didn�t know if she was imagining it, or if the alcohol had lowered her guard, or if her fantasies were finally overtaking the last bit of logical resistance in her head, but everything about this man�his words, his sultry voice, the way he�d come to her aid in the bedroom�was making her embarrassingly, undeniably wet.
She shifted on the barstool, still not meeting his eyes. "Just because something looks pretty doesn�t mean it�s art."
"What is art, if not beauty? Art stirs our deepest passions, regardless of its origins. Is knowledge of its history a prerequisite to our pleasure?"
"Of course not, but that definition is too broad. Bordain�s Garden of the Divine is art, but then, so are the flowers that inspired it. Is a building art? A sunset? A child�s painting?"
"The curve of a lover�s mouth?" he asked.
She sipped her drink, eyes fixed on the glass. "Depends on the lover, doesn�t it?" JrNovels.com
But the only way to get to someday was to go through now. So after some harmless flirting, she�d sit in on the auction, make a few fake bids, then slip away to finish the job she�d started in the bedrooms.
"I never did catch your name." The man held out his hand for a proper introduction. "I�m�"
"Don�t tell me. You�ll ruin my fantasy about a torrid affair with a mysterious stranger."
"Torrid affair?" He cleared his throat, further loosening his tie. "Our relationship is progressing rather urgently."
Charley tapped her temple. "Wicked thoughts, remember?"
"How many of these auctions have you been to?"
"Enough to know how to thoroughly entertain myself."
And enough to know not to give out her name, fake or otherwise. Her carefully chosen identity served two purposes�getting in the door and making fake bids on the art. Nowhere on the list was making new friends.
Even extremely sexy British friends with the kind of body built for pinning her down on the bed and a mouth she�d already imagined melting between her thighs.
"So you�re a regular," he said, eyeing her up. "Let�s see. A curator, collector, or just another member of the idle rich?"
Charley laughed. "Depends on your definition of collector."
"How so?"
Charley gestured behind them, where the beautiful elite sipped champagne and laughed agreeably at one another�s polite conversation. Serious collectors occasionally attended, but private auctions were more often populated by eccentric billionaires who treated rare art acquisition like hunting safaris, and bored socialites looking to one-up the neighbors.
As a girl hanging on her father�s arm, Charley had attended these same events, watching in awe as he worked the room. Not much had changed since then.
"Out of the dozens of people here," she said, "how many know anything about the pieces they�re bidding on?"
"Perhaps they just know what they want when they see it." He held her gaze, those eyes entrancing her as he inched closer. Heat radiated between them where their thighs touched. "Some things are quite pleasurable in their own right, aren�t they."
He wasn�t asking her. He was telling her.
A thrill shot through her veins.
Charley looked away, unable to take the intensity building between them. She didn�t know if she was imagining it, or if the alcohol had lowered her guard, or if her fantasies were finally overtaking the last bit of logical resistance in her head, but everything about this man�his words, his sultry voice, the way he�d come to her aid in the bedroom�was making her embarrassingly, undeniably wet.
She shifted on the barstool, still not meeting his eyes. "Just because something looks pretty doesn�t mean it�s art."
"What is art, if not beauty? Art stirs our deepest passions, regardless of its origins. Is knowledge of its history a prerequisite to our pleasure?"
"Of course not, but that definition is too broad. Bordain�s Garden of the Divine is art, but then, so are the flowers that inspired it. Is a building art? A sunset? A child�s painting?"
"The curve of a lover�s mouth?" he asked.
She sipped her drink, eyes fixed on the glass. "Depends on the lover, doesn�t it?" JrNovels.com
~ LEAVE A COMMENT ~