Scarlett

As we stepped past the security guards and into the mansion, I pushed aside the butterflies in my stomach and lifted my chin. Showtime.

After giving the doorman my name, he showered me with compliments. As it turned out, he was a fan of my gallery and had bought a piece from me years ago when he was visiting his sister in New York. I thanked him for his patronage and slipped him my business card, a rose-colored rectangle that Violet and I had agonized over for this event. He blushed as he took it and waved his hand inside.

“Impressive,” Gabe said as he tightened his hold on my arm and steered me deeper into the mansion.

“Oh?”

“If he drooled on you any more, you’d be in a swimming pool.” He glanced sideways at me before continuing. “Do people always behave like that around you?”

“Only in the art world.” I waved my hand in the air in dismissal and hoped he didn’t see how much his words had pleased me. “It’s all part of the business.” Gabe didn’t need to know that most of the people here tonight would be putting on an act. We all pretended to like one another, but in reality, we couldn’t stand to be in each other’s presence. We were all competitors here, and everyone had an angle. Often it was hard not to feel like a guppy who got dropped in a shark tank.

When we got to the end of the long hall, Gabe stopped and wrinkled his nose.

“What is it?” I asked.

He motioned before us. “Is this also part of the business?”

I scanned the crowd. While there were several people in tuxes and evening gowns standing around the large, contemporary-styled living area, most of the attendees had spilled through the sliding glass doors and onto the pink-sanded beach out back. The hardwoods and stone-and-cream accents made it difficult to tell at first glance where the interior ended and the lavish open deck began. Large potted plants and decorative lighting surrounded the deck area, forming a wall between the buffet table canopy and the gentle waves. While some people stuck to the traditional black and white attire, many of the guests chose bright, eclectic colors that reflected their personalities. They all chatted in groups of three to five, blowing kisses with silicone-injected lips and laughing with not quite authentic voices. Smartly dressed waiters carried around trays of champagne flutes and savory appetizers one would find in high-end restaurants, and an orchestra played off to one side, filling the air with soothing classic tunes from a generation long deceased.

“I’m afraid so,” I said. “They don’t intimidate you, do they?”

“No, of course not. I’m just . . . a little surprised at how many people are here.”

“If you feel uncomfortable, then imagine them in their underwear. It helps.” I couldn’t help parroting what he had told me in high school just before I went on stage for my first play. Gabe had always been calm, cool, and collected, while I was a nervous wreck. It was nice to see him out of his element a little bit.

He slid his gaze slowly down my frame, causing a tingling sensation to ripple over my skin. “You’re right. It does help.”

I flashed him a nervous smile and tightened my grip on his arm. “Come on.”

I steered him down the steps and into the open living area. As we walked, I nodded to this acquaintance and that one, all the while scanning the crowd to see if Henri had made an appearance. Not seeing him, I relaxed my shoulders and stopped a passing waiter.

“Here.” I handed Gabe a glass of champagne and lowered my voice. “You don’t have to drink it. Just hold it. It makes you seem more confident.” I continued to chat as we moved through the crowd, reconnecting with potential buyers and congratulating familiar artists. After a few sips of champagne, I started to relax.

“These are quite good,” Gabe said as he took a mini quiche from a passing tray. “Would you like one?”

“No, thanks. I don’t normally eat at these events.” I placed my champagne glass on a passing tray and took another. “Too many nerves.”

He frowned at something over my shoulder. “You mentioned before that this cocktail party was exclusive to the art world.”

“That’s right. Only big-name art dealers, serious collectors, and high-end artists are allowed to attend.”

He nodded to something over my shoulder. “So why would the head of Cox Escort Services be here?”

“What?” I sipped my champagne and turned to see who he was talking about. A short distance away, Rocco Morales grinned up at his latest boyfriend, who looked several years older than the art collector’s usual companions. I had never seen him before. They were standing with another couple and speaking in hushed tones, suggesting a sort of intimacy between them. Suddenly Rocco took a step back and laughed, revealing the faces of the couple. The man was tall and thin, with salt-and-pepper hair and a bow tie that suggested he was from an older, more refined generation. The woman he was with looked like a pear that had been out too long on the vine. At first appearance sweet, but upon closer inspection her weathered skin and frown lines hinted at a more sour core.

The woman caught my gaze and flashed me a smile so fake, it seemed to be carved out of plastic.

“Scarlett, darling,” she said in that high, birdlike voice I had come to dread.

I took a large sip of champagne and gave a halfhearted wave back.

“Shit.” I turned back to Gabe as the woman and her entourage started to close the distance between us.

“What is it?” Gabe asked as the other three men started to follow in the woman’s wake.

“Don’t look now, but Bridget Simpson is coming this way,” I whispered. “She used to be my mentor. Tonight she brought my ex-boyfriend, Henri, as her date.”

Gabe glanced in their direction. “Some mentor.”

“She’s more of a rival now than a mentor.” I pressed my lips together in frustration. This was going to be awkward. While I was prepared for Henri to make an appearance, I wasn’t prepared for Bridget to move in on him as quickly as she did. Then again, she was always jealous of our relationship. It wouldn’t surprise me if she had her talons in him long before we ever broke up.

Gabe considered the two couples, who were fast approaching. “I know Edgar. Who’s the other man she’s with?”

“Rocco Morales. He owns this mansion. Edgar is probably his latest boyfriend. I’ve never seen him before.” I plastered on a fake smile and turned toward my rival, who was quickly closing the distance between us. “Do me a favor and let me do the talking,” I whispered.

“Well, well. Look at who we have here.” Bridget dragged her lecherous gaze over Gabe, making me feel a little bit queasy. For a fifty-year-old woman, the art dealer sure knew how to charm people. When combined with her flawless features and million-dollar bank account, it was a wonder any man could withstand her advances.

“You must introduce us.” Bridget let go of Henri’s arm and extended it to Gabe.

I cleared my throat. “Bridget, this is Gabe Sargent. Gabe, Bridget Simpson.”

She wiggled her fingers with impatience. “Charmed.”

Instead of kissing her knuckles like he did with mine back in the hotel, Gabe shook her hand, something that obviously disappointed her.

“Likewise,” he said. “And your companions . . . ?”

“Oh, forgive me.” Bridget smiled and waved her hand at the men standing slightly behind her. “This is Edgar Cox, Rocco Morales, and, of course, Henri D’Lay.”

Edgar, as in the head of Cox Escort Services Gabe was talking about. Fear gripped my chest, making it hard to breathe. He could expose Gabe as an escort and in doing so reveal that I had hired someone to attend the party with me. My reputation could be ruined.

No. If he revealed Gabe, he’d be exposing himself, and something told me that Rocco didn’t want it known that he was dating the owner of an escort service. I forced myself to relax as I realized that I wasn’t the only one who had something to hide. Normally, Rocco found his boyfriends from inside the art world. This new relationship suggested a different side to the art dealer, one I was sure he didn’t want the rest of the art world to know about. I made a mental note to discuss this new revelation with Violet at the first opportunity.

“Ms. Bishop.” Rocco nodded his head in acknowledgment. “It is always a pleasure.”

“Likewise.” I raised my glass in silent salute. “I hope you attend my panel on Tuesday about the influence of contemporary art on today’s political landscape.”

“Alas, I am not a political person. I prefer more . . . personal pursuits.” He smiled up at Edgar, who stood a good four inches taller than him. “And if you will excuse me. I see that Señor Vega is requesting my presence.” He winked at his date. “And we all know how beneficial it is to keep him happy.”

Edgar sipped from his glass, then tipped it toward the crowd. “We do.”

“Are you coming?” Rocco beamed up at his date.

“I’ll catch up to you in a minute.”

Rocco’s smile faltered. “Very well. Don’t be long, though. You know how impatient I get.”

Edgar’s eyes sparkled. “Of course.”

Well, that was a disaster. I pressed my lips together in frustration as Rocco left to talk to his friend.

“Everyone knows Rocco hates politics,” Bridget said as she raised her glass. “Valiant effort though, my dear.”

Before I could speak, Gabe motioned to Edgar. “Work?”

“Pleasure.” Edgar raised his glass to his lips. “Pure pleasure.”

Bridget smiled and threaded her arm through Henri’s. “Tonight is all about pleasure, is it not?”

I ground my teeth and twisted my body so my back was facing her. Out of sight, out of mind.

“You two know each other?” I asked.

“We work together.” He held out his hand toward me. “I’m Edgar Cox.”

“How utterly delicious,” Bridget said as I shook Edgar’s hand. It was a firm grip, which seemed to fit his rather large frame and broad, muscular shoulders.

“I didn’t know you liked art,” Gabe said.

“It’s a passion I have developed recently.”

“Thanks to Rocco’s influence.” Bridget exchanged a knowing glance with Edgar. It was widely known that Rocco bought most of his pieces from Bridget’s gallery, so it stood to reason that Edgar would buy from there as well. I frowned and turned to Henri, who had been unusually quiet during this entire exchange. I sipped my champagne and considered how he normally liked to dominate a conversation. The fact that he hadn’t injected his narcissistic comments before now was quite odd.

And that wasn’t the only thing that was odd. This was the first time tonight I got a good look at my ex, and what I saw was troubling. Henri normally prided himself on his appearance, taking hours to make sure not one hair was out of place. Tonight he looked . . . off. I didn’t notice it at first, but now, up close, I could see the beads of sweat forming on his brow and a paleness to his complexion.

As soon as he caught me looking at him, he dropped his napkin and fumbled as he tried to retrieve it.

“What do you collect?” Gabe asked.

Edgar straightened and widened his smile. “Contemporary art, but I have to confess that my collection is rather small.” He smiled at his companions. “Bridget, Henri, and Rocco are trying to expand my horizons. They’ve been great teachers.”

I dragged my gaze to Bridget, whose smug expression was starting to get on my nerves. “Tonight is only for prominent collectors, not people just starting out,” I murmured.

“Oh, he’s not here as a collector,” she replied loud enough for the others to hear. “He’s here as Rocco’s date.” Bridget’s comment was meant to remind me that Rocco was her client, and as such both he and Edgar were off limits.

I decided to ignore her veiled threat. Turning to Edgar, I gave him my most encouraging smile.

“I have many pieces in my gallery. Do you prefer the nineteenth or twentieth century?”

Edgar flashed a nervous glance at Bridget. “Oh, I don’t specialize in any specific area. I just purchase whatever tickles my fancy.”

“I see.” I sipped my champagne. “Do you prefer paintings or sculptures?”

Edgar cast a panicked look at Bridget. “I, er . . .”

“Some artists work in digital videos,” I said helpfully. “It’s an emerging trend. Then there’s metalwork—”

“Paintings.” Edgar took another sip of champagne. “Just paintings.”

“I’d love to see them,” I said. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what Bridget and Henri saw in this guy. If Edgar was a serious art collector, I’d eat my right foot. He couldn’t seem to answer the most basic of questions.

“I’m afraid he is all booked up this week, aren’t you, darling?” Bridget grinned and slid her hand around Edgar’s arm. “Edgar and I have an agreement. He deals with me exclusively.”

“You would limit yourself to one dealer?” I asked.

“Bridget knows what I like.”

“That I do, dear.” She rubbed her hand over his arm and turned to Gabe. “So tell me, Mr. Sargent, what do you like?”

I bit back a gasp as every muscle in my body seized. The way she emphasized the sentence made her question seem lewd. How dare she try to hit on my date!

Then I remembered something important. If Edgar and Gabe worked together, that meant that Bridget knew that Gabe was a gigolo. Her question wasn’t so much out of personal interest, but a jibe at me for hiring someone to be my date at the party. She was telling me that she knew what I had done, and pretty soon the entire room would know as well. I tightened my grip on my glass and steeled my jaw to hold back a stinging retort.

“Oh, I’m just getting my feet wet as a collector,” Gabe said as he raised his glass and slipped his arm around my shoulders. “Scarlett is helping me build my collection. It’s amazing how much she knows, isn’t it? She’s incredibly talented.”

“Yes, she is.” Bridget twisted her lips into a half smile, one which suggested that she didn’t believe a word he said.

“I’m such a lucky guy.” Gabe tightened his grip on my shoulders. “She’s beautiful and incredibly smart as well. She has tried to explain the art world to me dozens of times, but I still can’t seem to make heads or tails of it.” He rubbed my arm and glanced at each of the other guests in turn. “She just tells me what to add to my collection and I buy it.”

“You don’t even look at it first?” Bridget raised her brows.

“Why should I? Scarlett has incredible taste. I trust her exclusively.”

Everyone turned toward me as I shrugged and drained the last of the champagne from my glass.

“She’s so cute when she’s bashful.” He pressed his lips against my temple. “I swear this woman could have any man she wanted. I still have a hard time believing she agreed to date me.”

“Yes, date . . .” Bridget pulled a card from her small clutch. “Well, if you ever change your mind, I’m holding an exclusive, private showing at the end of Mystique.” She glanced at Edgar before continuing. “It’s only for serious collectors.”

“A private showing?” I asked as I leaned over Gabe’s arm to look at the card.

Henri coughed into his hand. “Bridget has been holding them every quarter for the past two years.”

I frowned at my ex. “Two years? That’s funny, we’ve been together for two years, and I’ve never heard of these showings before.”

“Because it’s by invitation only,” Bridget said as she smiled at Gabe. “I take every step I can to help my clients maintain their anonymity.” She inched closer and winked. “Privacy is my first priority, as I’m sure it is yours, Mr. Sargent.”

Gabe inched away from her and raised his brows. “I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Rage bubbled through me as I realized that Bridget was trying to call my bluff. She didn’t think Gabe was a collector, but an escort I had hired to save my image. She was right, of course, but the fact that she saw through my ruse so quickly left me feeling a little adrift.

Tired of playing Bridget’s little games, I turned to my ex. “What is for sale at these auctions?”

Henri took out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. Before he could speak, Bridget interrupted him.

“Oh, this and that. Just things I have picked up over the past several months.” She waved her hand in the air in dismissal.

“I really can’t show up without Scarlett,” Gabe said. “She knows my tastes better than anyone.” The way he lingered on the word “tastes” suggested that he was talking about more than just artwork.

“I could teach you how to pick the right pieces for your collection,” Bridget said as she inched closer to Gabe. “I’m sure that, with enough time, I could make you one of the most sought-after collectors in the western hemisphere.”

Uh, hello. Was Bridget trying to steal Gabe away while I was standing right next to him? I couldn’t believe the balls on this woman. At one point in my life, this woman was my whole world. I had looked up to and depended on her to help me find my place in New York City. I had been so naïve, so desperate to be a part of the art world. Now I saw her for the manipulative, cold woman she really was.

Grabbing Gabe’s arm, I stared down my former mentor. “I’m sorry, but Gabe and I have an agreement,” I said, echoing her former statement. “He only deals directly with me.”

“Very well,” Bridget said, rolling her eyes. “You can come, if you must.”

Henri coughed and dotted his temple with his handkerchief. “Is it hot in here?”

“Are you okay?” Gabe asked Henri.

“It’s nothing, I’m sure.” He cleared his throat and patted his forehead with his napkin. “I don’t think those mini quiches quite agree with me.”

“You always did have a delicate stomach, didn’t you?” Bridget asked.

I frowned. In our two years of dating, I didn’t ever remember Henri having a “delicate stomach.” It seemed as if Bridget knew more about my former boyfriend than I did.

“Pardon me. I think Rocco wants me to meet his new friends,” Edgar said.

“It seems he does,” Bridget said as she smirked at Rocco, who was waving wildly in their direction. “Perhaps I should go with you. I’d love to meet—”

“There’s no need.”

Before Bridget could reply, Edgar had left our group and started toward his date. Henri coughed once more and seemed to pale before my eyes.

I glanced at Gabe, who had eaten his fair share of the appetizer. He looked perfectly fine to me.

“Maybe you should sit down for a while,” Gabe suggested.

“No, no, I’ll be fine,” he said as he pocketed his handkerchief. “In fact, I’m feeling a little better already.”

“Good.” Bridget smiled and slid her arm into his. “Come, Henri, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

“Of course.”

Bridget dragged him in the opposite direction of Edgar and Rocco and they were quickly swallowed up by the crowd. As soon as they were out of earshot, Gabe let out a long breath.

“That was rather uncomfortable.”

I looked down at the card. Professionally made, the invitation was for a meeting back at this mansion at the end of the art convention. I wondered who else had gotten the card, and what kind of business dealings went on behind closed doors. I had lost a handful of clients in the past year, all of them claiming to have their collection complete. Part of me wondered if their excuses were true, or if Bridget had been manipulating them behind the scenes. I guess there was only one way to find out.

“You look like you could use some air,” Gabe said.

“Yeah, I think you’re right.” Seeing Henri arrive with Bridget tonight cast our entire relationship in a new light. How long had he been working with Bridget? Had the entire thing been a ploy to destroy me after I broke away from Bridget and set out on my own?

Bridget was known for holding grudges. Her temper was just as legendary in the art world as her business dealings. I wondered what lengths she’d go to just to hurt me. Telling the art world about Gabe’s job would be too easy for her. It wasn’t her style. No, Bridget would find another, more subtle way to humiliate me. While Gabe didn’t seem to return her affections, he was an escort. Whoever paid the fee could have him at their mercy for one night. Bridget knew this, and I wouldn’t put it past her to hire him as her date just to see me squirm.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Gabe steered me through the sliding glass doors and out onto the deck. As we left the noise and congestion, he tugged me closer, as if he was protecting me from the rest of the party. In the safety of his arm, we talked to other members of the art community, and I even received a few requests for private showings. As time went on, I started to recover from Bridget’s assault. As he left to get me something from the buffet table, I replayed the encounter with Bridget in my mind and realized that Gabe had lied for me, claiming that we were not only a couple but that I personally oversaw the building of his art collection. He had single-handedly saved my reputation in front of my rival, and I was too preoccupied to appreciate what he had done.

“You didn’t have to do all of that for me,” I said when he returned.

Gabe smiled and handed me a small plate of food. “Do what?”

“Lie in front of Bridget.”

He winked and popped another mini quiche in his mouth. “I know, but it looked as if that woman needed to be taken down a peg or two.”

That wink could melt the panties off a nun. No girl was immune to it in high school, and I certainly wasn’t immune to it now. I thought back to my conversation with Violet, and how she had urged me to have a little fun.

It’s just one night, Scarlett. All throughout the night, Gabe had made me feel desirable and confident again. It had been a long time since anyone had made me feel that way. Even now, I could feel the jealousy of the women around us. Gabe was so attentive, so caring. Not once tonight had anyone asked me about my breakup with Henri. Thanks to Gabe, my ex was yesterday’s news, and I was becoming more popular by the minute.

“Aren’t you going to eat anything?”

“I’m not hungry.” Not for food, anyway. Throughout the evening, he had been considerate, attentive, and humorous. As promised, he had hung on my every word and seemed to know just what to say to make me look like a superstar in the art world. Listening to him, I couldn’t help but think about high school, and how good we were together. He was just as smart as he was back then, and just as thoughtful. It was hard to reconcile the escort bio on the Web site with the man standing before me.

“I find that hard to believe. You used to eat twice as much as I did in high school.”

“I told you, I never eat at these things. I’m too nervous.”

He frowned and placed both his plate and mine on a side table. “Don’t tell me you’re still nervous. You really rocked it with the old couple.”

I snorted at his reference to the O’Rileys as an “old couple.” They were wonderful artists and dear friends. They also seemed to be very taken with Gabe.

“You might have helped a little.”

“Me? Nah. That was all you.”

“I saw how Ms. O’Riley looked at you.”

He shook his head. “She was just being polite.”

I smirked and hooked my arm with his. “Hardly.” Things were going better than expected. Gabe was naturally charismatic, and people responded to his upbeat and positive personality. It had been the same way while we were dating, and as the evening wore on, it became more and more difficult to remember that this was all an act. We were different people now. Whatever we had shared all of those years ago had died when he left for the police academy and I left for New York.

Yet, despite knowing all of this, I couldn’t help but miss the person I had been in high school. In one night, Gabe had reminded me of how confident and adventurous I had been in back then. Somewhere along the way, that side of me had become buried in deadlines and art deals. It was nice to experience her once more. Now, as we stood in front of the food table, I realized that I was reluctant to let that side of me go. Have some fun, no strings attached.

“I was wondering if you could do me a favor.” I steered him away from the front door and down one of the long halls of the mansion.

“What?”

“You’ll see.” We walked away from the crowd, away from the prying eyes of the gossip mongers and socialites.

“Where are we going?” he asked as we stopped in front of a door.

Flicking my wrist, I turned the knob and stepped into Rocco Morales’s extensive library. Large bookshelves framed heavily draped windows and sat on top of oriental rugs that were no doubt outrageously expensive. I kicked the door shut and dragged him to one of the oversized armchairs.

“Scarlett—”

Turning, I pushed on his shoulders until he fell back onto the chair.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” I dropped to my knees and reached for his zipper.

“There’s a crowd right outside.” He covered my hands, but not before I could feel the large bulge in his pants.

I looked up at him and smiled. “So?”

“So?” He eased my hand away from his cock and laced our fingers together. “Look, I know who I am, what I’ve become. It doesn’t mean that you have to—”

“Oh.” I pulled my hand from his and stood. “You don’t want to have sex with me. I get it. I just thought . . .” Embarrassed, I curled my arms around my middle and turned my back to him so he couldn’t see the pained expression on my face. God, how could I be so stupid? “We should just go.”

“Wait.” He grabbed my arm, stopping me from leaving. “Scarlett, look at me.”

I blinked back the tears forming in my eyes and looked up at him.

“Shit.” He dropped my arm and pushed his hair back from his face. “Things weren’t supposed to happen like this.” He steeled his jaw for a moment as he searched my face. “Believe me, I want to. I’m just not supposed to get physical with anyone. It’s a company policy.”

“It’s okay. I get it.” My voice didn’t sound too convincing. Probably because I didn’t really believe him. I mean, he was an escort for crying out loud. Was he really going to stand there and tell me that he never got physical with any of his clients? Ever?

It was probably just some stupid line he gave all the girls he didn’t want to fuck. I was such an idiot.

“Scarlett . . .”

“No.” I held up my hand and stepped away from his touch. “I just want to go home, Gabe, okay? It’s been a long night.”

“It has nothing to do with you, I swear.”

“I know.” Turning my back to him, I started toward the door.

“No.” He grabbed my arm and turned me around to face him. “I don’t think you do know.”

Before I could react, he leaned forward and captured my lips with his own.

This kiss was different from the one before. Back in the limo, Gabe was gentle, almost caring. Now his testosterone-filled movements overwhelmed my senses.

Sliding my arms up, I wrapped them around his shoulders and threaded them through his hair. With a growl, he tilted his head and invaded my mouth, kissing me like a man possessed. I rubbed my hips up against his, groaning as I felt his hard erection press up against my lower abdomen. Seconds later, he broke the kiss on a gasp and snaked his arms around my waist.

“I will always want you, Scarlett, don’t ever forget that.” He kissed me once more, and I groaned as my desire surged up and threatened to swallow me whole.