Alice sat next to him, maintaining the same semi-distant facade she had in place since the damn kiss. Shit. If she continued like this, the other guests would become suspicious, and then what? What if they found out their relationship was a sham? That the nanny blackmailed him to get money for God knew what? How could Viola trust him enough to do business with him? “No. I’d like to keep them.”
“Interesting. Why?” Viola set her glass of port wine on the coffee table.
“I believe some things should be kept and not sold.”
“If Viola followed this train of thought, she wouldn’t sell you the art,” Paul said, with a light chuckle at the end. His wife, Joan, gave him a pat on his knee, obviously egging him on. Lorenzo balled his fingers into a fist. Maybe he had underrated his opponent. Whatever. Paul was good, but he was better.
“That’s different. I fell in love with the art, and I’m interested in paying for it. She wants to get rid of the memories of who it came from.”
“Fell in love with it? Never took you for a romantic, Baldi.” Paul winked at him.
“You would be surprised,” Alice said, her amused tone slicing through the tension.
Lorenzo fought the hot wave claiming his cheeks. This couldn’t be happening. When was the last time he blushed? Never. The memory of the kiss, his tongue melding with hers, the erotic sensation surging in him, flashed across his memory again, and he caught himself tapping his foot on the floor, restless. He needed to distance himself from that image, and worse, from her.
She assessed him, her eyes twinkling. What the hell am I doing? Did she remember it, too? The black dress she had on was a tad more discreet compared to the other colorful outfits he had seen her wearing. Discreet maybe, but not less sexy.
“We are discovering all kinds of little secrets tonight, aren’t we?” Viola said.
Alice leaned toward the coffee table to reach for her wine, and his eyes followed her movement. When she sat back and squared her shoulders, she darted him a glance, and he swallowed. Hard.
Viola turned to him. “So tell me, Lorenzo, do you live in Austin full-time? I would imagine Chicago or New York would be more appealing to an art dealer such as yourself.”
“True. After my wife died, I decided to stay in Austin because I didn’t want to add more stress to my daughter, Cara,” he said truthfully. “I travel to New York City often, and have bought a duplex there recently. In a matter of weeks we should be moving permanently.”
The crash of a glass hitting the ground distracted him. Alice cleared her throat, bending down to pick up the pieces of glass. “Crap. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, my dear. These things happen,” Viola said in the type of voice one used to soothe babies. “Rogerio. Per favore .” With a swirl of her fingers, she called the butler, who dashed to the area and gestured for Alice to stand back.
Lorenzo strolled to her side and squeezed her shoulder. “Yes.” The contact of his fingers with her soft skin was too good, and his hand loitered, making tiny abstract patterns under her hair. The flush on her face got redder, and she widened her eyes.
Viola changed the subject, delving into politics, and the guests followed her cue. Lorenzo watched Alice’s profile. Yeah, he hadn’t talked to her about his plans, but she’d agree, wouldn’t she? After all, it’s not like she was married and had small kids in Austin. She would probably love the idea of living in the big city for a while, and she would be the perfect solution for his problem. Besides, what single, unattached woman in her twenties wouldn’t want to live in New York City and discover all that the Big Apple had to offer?
W hen the others started retreating to their rooms an hour later, he decided it was time to talk to Alice. Ever since the kiss, she had been fidgety, and that wouldn’t do him any good. Before she reached the curved stairs, he nudged her elbow and
“Interesting. Why?” Viola set her glass of port wine on the coffee table.
“I believe some things should be kept and not sold.”
“If Viola followed this train of thought, she wouldn’t sell you the art,” Paul said, with a light chuckle at the end. His wife, Joan, gave him a pat on his knee, obviously egging him on. Lorenzo balled his fingers into a fist. Maybe he had underrated his opponent. Whatever. Paul was good, but he was better.
“That’s different. I fell in love with the art, and I’m interested in paying for it. She wants to get rid of the memories of who it came from.”
“Fell in love with it? Never took you for a romantic, Baldi.” Paul winked at him.
“You would be surprised,” Alice said, her amused tone slicing through the tension.
Lorenzo fought the hot wave claiming his cheeks. This couldn’t be happening. When was the last time he blushed? Never. The memory of the kiss, his tongue melding with hers, the erotic sensation surging in him, flashed across his memory again, and he caught himself tapping his foot on the floor, restless. He needed to distance himself from that image, and worse, from her.
She assessed him, her eyes twinkling. What the hell am I doing? Did she remember it, too? The black dress she had on was a tad more discreet compared to the other colorful outfits he had seen her wearing. Discreet maybe, but not less sexy.
“We are discovering all kinds of little secrets tonight, aren’t we?” Viola said.
Alice leaned toward the coffee table to reach for her wine, and his eyes followed her movement. When she sat back and squared her shoulders, she darted him a glance, and he swallowed. Hard.
Viola turned to him. “So tell me, Lorenzo, do you live in Austin full-time? I would imagine Chicago or New York would be more appealing to an art dealer such as yourself.”
“True. After my wife died, I decided to stay in Austin because I didn’t want to add more stress to my daughter, Cara,” he said truthfully. “I travel to New York City often, and have bought a duplex there recently. In a matter of weeks we should be moving permanently.”
The crash of a glass hitting the ground distracted him. Alice cleared her throat, bending down to pick up the pieces of glass. “Crap. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, my dear. These things happen,” Viola said in the type of voice one used to soothe babies. “Rogerio. Per favore .” With a swirl of her fingers, she called the butler, who dashed to the area and gestured for Alice to stand back.
Lorenzo strolled to her side and squeezed her shoulder. “Yes.” The contact of his fingers with her soft skin was too good, and his hand loitered, making tiny abstract patterns under her hair. The flush on her face got redder, and she widened her eyes.
Viola changed the subject, delving into politics, and the guests followed her cue. Lorenzo watched Alice’s profile. Yeah, he hadn’t talked to her about his plans, but she’d agree, wouldn’t she? After all, it’s not like she was married and had small kids in Austin. She would probably love the idea of living in the big city for a while, and she would be the perfect solution for his problem. Besides, what single, unattached woman in her twenties wouldn’t want to live in New York City and discover all that the Big Apple had to offer?
W hen the others started retreating to their rooms an hour later, he decided it was time to talk to Alice. Ever since the kiss, she had been fidgety, and that wouldn’t do him any good. Before she reached the curved stairs, he nudged her elbow and
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