After she left, still with that distracted expression stamped on her face, I cut a diagonal path toward Dante and Vivian. I only made it halfway before someone bumped into me and nearly knocked the drink from my hand.
“I’m so sorry!” A familiar voice yanked my gaze to my right. “I—Kai?”
“Isabella?”
We stared at each other, our faces mirror images of astonishment. She’d told me she also had an event tonight, but never in a million years had I expected to see her here. A black velvet dress poured over her curves, revealing miles of tanned skin, while black stiletto boots brought her closer to my eye level. She was clearly a guest, albeit one dressed more for an East Village underground party than a Chelsea gallery exhibit.
“What are you doing here?” Isabella recovered first.
“I could ask you the same question.”
“I’m here with my brother. He’s…somewhere.” She waved a hand around the room. “I lost him a while ago, but there’s plenty of wine and snacks to keep me busy.”
“I see that.” Amusement edged out my surprise. Her free hand carried a plate piled so high with hors d’oeuvres it resembled the Leaning Tower of Pisa. “Are you sure you picked up enough food, love?”
A faint wash of pink edged Isabella’s cheeks and the tip of her nose. “As a matter of fact, no. I was just about to get more when someone got in my way.”
“How rude of them.”
“Very. No one has manners these days.”
“A sign of our imminent societal collapse, no doubt.” My mouth curved into a lazy, appreciative smile as I tipped my chin down. “On a less ominous note, you look beautiful. It’s a good thing you didn’t put that on before I left, or neither of us would be standing here right now.”
I’d spent the day at her apartment before going home to change for the event. Now, I wished I’d stayed through the night. I had some ideas for what we could be doing that rivaled any of the artists for creativity.
Isabella’s mock indignation melted beneath a deeper blush. The air thickened with something warm and honeyed before she shook her head. “Shh.” Her eyes darted around the room. “Someone will hear you. Dante and Viv are right there.”
“Dante and Vivian are too busy making moon eyes at each other to notice anything else.”
But Isabella was right. Though we were having an innocent conversation—for now—drawing any additional attention to us would be unwise. Vuk was already suspicious after seeing us leave the piano room together. Luckily, the man never spoke and never involved himself in others’ business unless he had to, but we wouldn’t always be that lucky.
One of the other guests broke free from his companion and arrowed straight toward me. He was the arts and culture reporter from the company’s flagship paper, which meant I had to entertain him.
“There’s an alcove in the back of the gallery, behind the wave sculpture,” I murmured as the reporter closed in. “Meet me there in an hour.”
Isabella didn’t respond. She turned away, but not before I saw the answering gleam in her eyes.
For the next fifty-five minutes, I mingled half-heartedly before I excused myself to use the restroom. Instead of making a right toward the lavatory, I slipped into the back alcove. The exhibition took place in the main room, so this particular area was quiet save for the low hum of the heater. A deconstructed wave sculpture hid the alcove from passersby, making it the perfect spot for a rendezvous.
Isabella was already waiting when I entered.
“I was joking the first two times, but this is no coincidence. You are following me,” she teased.
I closed the distance between us with three long strides. “You have quite a high opinion of yourself, Ms. Valencia.”
Her grin bloomed further, carving beautiful dimples in her cheeks. “But is it unwarranted?”
“Not at all.”
Her answering breath brushed my chest. The scent of rose and vanilla teased my senses, and I was sure even the goddesses of myth had never smelled so divine.
My palms tingled with the desire to wind my fist around those silky dark waves and map every curve and valley of her body—the elegant column of her neck, the smooth curve of her shoulder, the indent of her waist, and the flare of her hips. Velvet and silk, ripe for the taking.
The need pulsed like a living thing inside me, but I kept my arms at my sides, as did she. Sneaking away at an event filled with our peers and journalists was dangerous enough, but trying to stay away from her was like asking the ocean to stop kissing the shore.
Impossible.
My chin tipped down while hers canted up, bringing our eyes together. We didn’t speak. We didn’t touch. And yet this was the highlight of my night.
“I’m tempted to leave before the official artist speeches,” I murmured. “But that would be impolite of me, wouldn’t it?”
“Possibly.” Isabella swallowed when I tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. I couldn’t help it; I needed some form of contact with her before I went crazy. “But politeness is overrated.”
Good, because there was nothing polite about the thoughts running through my mind right now.
“Well, this is unexpected.”
The oily voice doused our warm intimacy more effectively than a bucket of ice water. My hand dropped, and Isabella and I jerked apart like marionettes yanked in different directions.
“Kai Young and the help canoodling at a public event. I never thought I’d see the day.”
Victor Black stood in the alcove entrance. His eyes gleamed with malicious delight as they roved between me and Isabella. He must’ve just arrived; I hadn’t seen him earlier.
A rope of dread wound tight around my chest.
Technically, Isabella and I weren’t doing anything wrong, but Victor had a talent for spinning innocent situations into tawdry, bestselling bullshit.
“We’re not at Valhalla,” Isabella said coldly. “I’m a guest here. If you’d like someone to direct you to the exit, I recommend checking with one of the staffers wearing clearly marked badges.”
“My mistake. It’s so easy to forget when you’re dressed like a hooker.” Spite slicked Victor’s smile as his attention swiveled toward me. “No wonder you were so upset when you saw me talk—”
I crossed the room quicker than he could react. The rest of his sentence dissolved into a pained grunt when I slammed him against the wall with my forearm pressed against his throat.
“Second mistake of the night, Black,” I said quietly. “Do not disrespect any woman like that when I’m in the room.” Especially not Isabella.
Cold fury wedged jagged shards in my chest and washed the room in crimson. Victor’s features morphed into a map of vulnerable points—the eyes, the nose, the jaw and temples. A well-aimed strike could shatter any and all of them.
Isabella’s presence was the only thing keeping me semi-leashed. An outsized reaction would confirm Victor’s suspicions, and the short-term satisfaction of rearranging his face would pale next to the long-term consequences.
He must’ve come to the same conclusion. Despite the twinge of fear bleeding into his eyes, he didn’t back down.