I’m gazing at a particularly stunning portrait of a nude woman standing so that her hands extend out of the top of the canvas. Though we can’t see it, her wrists must be bound with the red ribbon that dangles between her breasts, covering just enough of her crotch to be more modest than revealing, and all the more sensual because of that.
The portrait shows her bare feet on a hardwood floor, and there is a shadow on the ground, as if someone is standing just out of the frame, watching her. Her eyes are open, her back slightly arched and her nipples are erect.
The title of the portrait is Anticipation, and though I’ve never been tied up and naked and on display, there’s something about this image that excites me, enough so that when Evelyn comes up to me, I actually blush.
“Stunning, isn’t it?” she says. “Have you met Blaine? He’s lost in the crowd somewhere.” She lifts an unlit cigarette and takes a long drag. “Damn things will kill you. And if that’s not bad enough, nowadays you’re vilified if you want to light up.”
I make an effort to look sympathetic.
“Jamie said you’re pitching a project to Damien.”
“Sort of,” I admit. “A friend submitted a proposal to Preston Rhodes for me. I guess it’s on Mr. Stark’s desk now.”
“Have you asked him if he’s seen it?”
“No.” I lick my lips. “I was going to, actually. But he was with that model. Are they serious?” I ask the question casually, and hope that Evelyn can’t tell that the answer matters to me. Stupidly, ridiculously, I actually seem to care.
“Honestly, Texas, I’ve known that boy for years, and I don’t think he’s ever been serious about a woman.” She takes another fake puff on her cigarette. “Damien’s…well, the truth is that I adore the boy, but he keeps himself locked away. As for that one, I think it’s gone on longer than most.”
“So they are serious,” I say, and she guffaws.
“I didn’t say that,” Evelyn says as Jamie wanders over. “To tell you the truth, I think he’s with the ice princess because with her it’s so easy to keep that chill around his heart.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure what to say to that, but I’m surprised how sad her words make me feel. Not because I want him and Carmela to be serious, but because I hate the thought that this man is keeping the heart of himself locked up behind walls. I know something about that, after all, and for a brief moment, I can’t help but feel that Stark and I are kindred spirits.
Someone waves Evelyn over, and as soon as she slips off, Jamie leans in close to me. “What’s with you? You’re still all about Stark tonight.”
“I am,” I admit. “It’s so weird. I feel like I know him. No,” I add, correcting myself, “I feel like he knows me. It’s the strangest thing.”
“No shit,” Jamie says. “Just be careful, okay? Damien Stark goes through women like water. You don’t want to end up being one of many. And you don’t want to screw up the good thing you’re finally getting going with Ollie.”
“I won’t,” I say, because she’s right. Ollie is a good thing. Hell, he’s perfect for me, and it’s about time we acted on it. He’s a man who loves me. Who already knows all my secrets. Who takes care of me. And that’s not something I want to lose. “I promise,” I add. “I’m just—”
“Off-kilter,” she finishes. “I know. That’s my point. Don’t do anything stupid.”
I assure her again that I won’t, and she leaves when Evelyn waves us over to join a group singing Christmas carols around the piano. I hang back, not in the mood to sing, and instead am taking one last look at the painting before I go check out the view from the balcony when I feel a shift in the air.
I stand perfectly straight, the hairs on the back of my neck tingling, my entire body suddenly hyperaware.
“Nikki Fairchild.” His voice is as soft as a caress, and has about the same effect on me, sending a sensual trill racing up my spine. He steps up beside me so that we are both facing Blaine’s painting.
“Damien Stark,” I say in return, then shift so that I am looking at him more directly. I immediately regret that. The man truly takes my breath away. “How do you know my name?”
“I asked Evelyn,” he says. “I wanted to know the name of the woman who was so eager to talk to me.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve been looking for me all night,” he says. “You’d search the crowd, then stop when your eyes found me, then repeat the process again whenever you lost track of me.”
I consider denying it, but what would be the point? “You must have been paying attention yourself.”
Very slowly, his gaze rakes over me, and it’s all I can do not to reach for him simply to steady myself.
“Yes,” he says. “I was.”
“Oh.”
“Why?”
I blink, confused. “Why?”
“Why were you looking for me?”
“Oh. Right.” I clear my throat, then tell him that I have a proposal on his desk.
“I know. I recognized your name the moment Evelyn told me. It’s an interesting concept. Elegant. Brilliantly coded from what I’ve seen.”
“Then you’re interested?” I’m not sure if the tingle of excitement I feel is because of the man or the work.
He is looking directly into my eyes when he says, “I’m very interested.” And, damn me, I feel the reverberation of his voice all through me, settling ultimately between my thighs.