I cocked my head, feeling more in control now that he was irritating me. “Okay, tell me. What am I missing?”
He moved to step in front of me, blocking the painting. Hell, blocking everything. He filled all of my senses, making me a little drunk merely from his proximity. From the sight of him before me and the scent of his cologne, all spice and wood and male. Even the echo of his voice played in my head, those radio-quality tones making me want to shiver.
I didn’t have his touch, but the sensation of his hand upon my skin still lingered, and I clung tight to the memory. And as for taste—well, a girl could only hope.
Eternity passed in the space of seconds, and when he spoke, there was a musing note to his voice, as if he were speaking more to himself than to me. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?” I asked, but by the time the words escaped my lips, the spell was broken, and it was as if he hadn’t spoken at all.
“It’s an important night for Tyler and me,” he said, his voice now tight with formality. “I’m glad you came, but I should get back to the rest of the guests.”
The abrupt change in his tone disappointed me, but I clung greedily to the words themselves, and tried to ignore the rest. He’d said I’m glad. Not we’re glad.
And I, apparently, had reached a new level of pathetic if I’d sunk so low as to be analyzing pronouns.
“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” I said, hoping my own voice didn’t reveal the loose grip I had on my sanity.
He flashed me that killer smile, then turned toward the main gallery. But after only two steps, he stopped, then looked back at me. “By the way, you owe me,” he said, and this time there was no denying the humor on his face.
“Oh, really? And why is that?”
“How is it you started working here three months ago and I didn’t notice? That’s not like me at all. And, frankly, Kat, if you’d spent that much time at my side, I assure you it would have caught my attention.”
That spark of heat was back in his voice, but I barely noticed it. Instead, I’d turned a little cold. A string of curses whipped through my mind, and I had to force myself not to spit out a choice one or two.
Instead, I did what I’d been trained my whole life to do—I got my shit together and ran with it. “Oh my god, Cole, I’m so sorry. I meant to mention weeks ago that the mortgage company might be calling, but I got caught up in helping Angie with wedding prep stuff, and now I’m closing next week and I’ve been packing, and then—”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I get it.”
“It’s just that my hours at the coffee shop haven’t ever been steady, and I didn’t want the underwriting people to think I don’t have the means to make my payments.”
“It’s okay,” he repeated. “Buying a house is a very big deal. It’s cool. It’s been well over a week since they called, and I verified everything. If they haven’t requested any more information from you by now, then I’d say you’re good to go.”
He met my eyes once more, trapping me in his gaze just a little too long for comfort. Whatever humor had been in his face before had vanished. Instead, I saw only a vibrant, sensual intensity. “But like I said, you owe me.”
I swallowed, and despite the dryness in my mouth, I managed to form words. “Whatever you want,” I said, and I could only hope that he understood the full meaning of my words.
His gaze lingered a moment longer. Then he inclined his head as if in dismissal. “I’ll see you back in the main gallery.”
Once again he turned and walked away from me.
This time, he didn’t look back.
two
It took me a few minutes to gather myself before I returned to the party, and the moment I slipped around the rope barrier and felt the press of gaiety and chatter all around me, I knew that I should have taken a few minutes more.
You owe me, he’d said.
Whatever you want, I’d promised.
Did he understand how completely I meant those words? Had it really been desire I’d seen when he’d looked at me? And, if so, what was he going to do about it?
For that matter, what was I going to do about it?
Apparently I’d just come full circle. I’d started the evening with the intention of seducing Cole August. And despite the electricity that had crackled between us, I don’t think I’d come even the slightest bit closer to that goal.
How’s that for a complete failure to meet a mission objective?
Once again, I was not doing my father proud. Maybe if I thought of Cole as a mark rather than as a man . . .
I started to run my fingers through my hair, then caught myself before I accidentally pulled it out of the clip. Since I desperately wanted something to do with my hands, I waved down a svelte, dark-haired waitress. I spent a moment debating between a spring roll and sushi. I ended up taking one of each, then cursed myself. Food, Cole, my whole damn life. Apparently I was doomed to shoulder the curse of indecisiveness.
Great.
I moved toward a wall to get some breathing space away from the throng and tried to find Cole. It wasn’t hard. He’d moved away from the crush of bodies and now stood in an alcove beside a portly man with a ruddy, unattractive baby face. The man was talking animatedly, his skin becoming more splotchy by the moment and his hands fluttering as if in punctuation of his words.
Cole showed no reaction at all—which told me right there that he was pissed as hell and doing a damn fine job of holding it in. Cole’s temper was famous, and whoever this man was, he wasn’t scoring points by threatening to incite an explosion during the gala.
I considered going over and interrupting—if nothing else I figured that should distract Cole’s current nemesis. But fortunately, the gallery’s business manager, Liz, slipped up, offered the man a drink, and artfully led him away.
Cole watched them go, and I saw his fist clench at his side. I started to count, and when I got to ten, Cole pushed away from the wall. Anger management tricks, I knew, and he was putting them all to use.
I wondered what he was angry about. I didn’t, however, wonder enough to go ask him. No, I was much more selfish than that. I was still focused on my own problem with Cole—and it wasn’t his temper that I wanted to see explode.
I considered calling Flynn, my friend and roommate of the last few months. At best, he’d have a useful guy perspective on the whole mess. At worst, he’d offer a few soothing words. But I knew he was working tonight—if he wasn’t, he’d be at the gala. Flynn wasn’t one to miss a party. Especially not one that serves free alcohol.