Red. Okay, I can do red, and I have to admit it's a very sexy cocktail dress. And in my current situation, I can't exactly complain about anything.

“I thought you got rid of this thing,” I tell Katrina as she spreads it out on my bed. It's slinky, sexy, and the idea of wearing it sends a thrill up my spine that I can't deny. I can just imagine myself in this dress, and it's delicious. “It would have been too dangerous to keep, wouldn't it?” This dress is practically legendary at this point. Back when Katrina kicked off her plan to get revenge on Peter DeLaCoeur, she started by publicly humiliating Jackson... and she wore this dress, knowing she'd be guaranteed an invitation into Jackson's limo that night.

“Yes, but something kept stopping me,” Katrina says, looking down at the dress. “I'm glad I did. It's nice to know it's more than just a display piece now.”

“Oh come on, you'd still rock this like fire,” I tease her, looking over. “Fact is, oneechan, you're definitely in the hot mama category. Seriously, what's the difference for you, pre- and post-baby size?”

“I’ve definitely put some weight on. I’m not sure how much,” Katrina admits, not even bothering to say anything about my nickname for her. “Jackson doesn't seem to mind, though.”

“Why should he?” I joke, looking over. “What man wouldn't love being married to a hot hacker who's one hundred percent devoted to him?”

“Hmm, he does seem to like that,” Katrina admits, smiling.

“Anyway, are you sure I can wear it?” I ask. “I mean, you're what, six inches taller than me?”

“And I bought it to look like a borderline street slut,” she reminds me. She picks it up and holds it against my body, nodding. “It actually looks classy on you, we won't be able to see your panties in it. Come on, let's try it on.”

* * *

Melissa looks nervous as we get out of her car, but Nathan's a total pro in his dark suit, Katrina almost a copy of him, rocking a power suit that makes me jealous. Seriously, I've never looked that good in lightweight worsted wool, although I think the RayBans are a bit much. “You sure you need those?”

“I'm carrying a gun under this jacket,” Katrina says with a smirk, giving me a glance as she opens the back door for Melissa. She steps out, wearing her own dress although she looks decidedly more elegant than sexy, which is how I feel. Katrina's red dress hangs perfectly on me, the hastily purchased push-up bra and panties giving me just that extra little bit of support. I can feel men's eyes glancing at me while I stand in my also just purchased five inch heels, another gift from Katrina. “The sunglasses help with the image, and with staying anonymous, too.”

“And me?” I ask. “I'm not wearing anything to disguise myself.”

Katrina gives me a once-over, shaking her head and grinning. “Sweetie, I gave you that dress, and I barely recognize you. Trust me, you're turning heads right now. I gotta go work security. Enjoy.”

Our plan is simple. Nathan, after parking the car, is going to work the edges of the party with Katrina, the two of them acting as site security while I stay next to Melissa, who's going to enjoy being an artist for the night. Jackson's back at the farm with BA, enjoying a daddy-daughter night of playing and cartoons, while Carson's already here, working.

Katrina heads toward the edge of the gallery, which is huge. MCS French Quarter is big, not quite a converted warehouse, but certainly bigger than what you'd expect. Over five thousand square feet of paintings and sculptures are on display, with Melissa's being the central focus. There are four metal sculptures that dominate the center of the floor, and I have to do a double take when I see the tasteful, small display cards with prices near each display. “You can command a quarter million per piece?”

Melissa nods, her eyes are filled with wonder at the appreciation she sees from the crowd. “That's what Carson says, but I don't really worry about the money. I usually sell three sculptures or so a year, and about a dozen paintings. Then there's the commission work. But I like these more, because taking commissions means I have to follow someone else's ideas. These pieces, they come from inside me.”

I whistle, taking her hand. Like all of the pieces I've seen at the farm, there's a sense of growth, of life exceeding the limitations of the real world and becoming brighter, better than it was before. You want to live in this world she's created through these pieces. “You're an amazing woman, Melissa. Thank you for letting me into your life.”

We're interrupted when Carson's voice comes over a set of hidden speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your attendance at tonight's event. We have a very lucky bonus for you, as I've just been informed that MCS's featured artist of the evening, Melissa Sands, has joined us this evening. If you have the opportunity, we encourage you to say hello to Melissa, and we hope that she can share some of her unique insight to her creative processes. Thank you.”

There's a noticeable buzz in the crowd as Carson's announcement finishes, and I give Melissa a little glance. “Do you have unique insight?”

Melissa smiles and nods. “Yes. I just got done seeing a show on dolphins when I made that one, and that one reminded me of Carson working outside, so I wanted to make one about him.”

I look at the piece she's talking about, and I can see what she means. The figure, slim but not skinny, is still somehow heroic as he goes about his work, which you can't really see. He has a sense of quiet accomplishment, and in the eyes, I can see Carson for sure. “Looks more peaceful than Carson,” I remark.

“He doesn't have to worry about taking care of me,” Melissa says, still smiling. “I'm glad you can see the resemblance though. I wanted to talk to you about that.”

Before I can reply I see Carson approaching us. He looks devastating in a dark tan blazer and gray slacks I haven't seen before, and appears cultured and controlled as he speaks with a customer. But when he sees me for the first time, he trails off, his eyes going wide. “Excuse me a moment,” he says to his customer, coming over. “What are you wearing?”

I look down at my dress, then up at him. “What? I see three other women wearing cocktail dresses, and it's perfectly appropriate for this event.”

“Doesn't she look beautiful?” Melissa asks, and Carson looks at his sister, for the first time I think, with at least a little bit of frustration.

“She does,” Carson finally admits, turning away. “Excuse me.”

He storms off, leaving a confused Melissa behind, and a very pissed-off me. “What's wrong?” she asks, concerned she's the source of Carson's attitude. “What did I do?”

“Nothing you did, 'Lissa,” I reassure her. “I'll talk with him later.”

Someone comes up, a nice woman who recognizes Melissa from her picture near the entrance, and I keep watch as Melissa talks about art with her. The event continues, a waiter bringing around drinks, and I snatch one, downing half before I realize the orange juice is actually a mimosa. The next waiter that comes around, I take by the elbow and pull aside for a moment. “You guys have anything non-alcoholic?”

“I can bring you some regular orange juice, if you like, miss,” the waiter says, openly checking me out. Okay, at least some men appreciate what I'm wearing. He gives me a smile, and I return it just a little bit. Flirting can be fun, after all. “I don't think you'll be easy to forget.”

“You never know, I could disappear in a puff of smoke. But thanks.”

The waiter moves off, and I back off a little, watching Melissa talk with the patrons. She's relaxing more and more, and while she gives me little glances to reassure herself, she's in her element talking about her art. I decide to give her a little more space and look around, seeing Nathan and Katrina positioned near the doors, their eyes scanning the crowd constantly. I go back over to Melissa, who's talking with another woman about her painting style. “'Lissa, I'm going to go check in with Mercy,” I tell her, using Katrina's public name. “You okay?”

“I'm fine for now, thanks,” Melissa says sincerely. “I'm having a lot of fun.”

“Good. See you in a bit.” I head off toward Katrina, but before I get halfway there, Carson emerges from the crowd and takes my elbow. “Nice to see you again, too.”

“We need to talk,” he hisses, steering me toward the back of the gallery. He opens a door and we're alone in what is obviously the business office area of MCS. He half-guides, half-shoves me in the door and closes it behind him, his eyes blazing. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What?” I ask, rubbing my arm. It doesn't hurt, in fact it was hot to feel his strength, but it's even hotter seeing the fire in his eyes. “You got a problem?”

“Yeah, I got a problem,” he replies, his cultured voice trembling on the edge of control. “I tell you that I'm attracted to you just a few days ago, but that we can't do anything. Fine. Melissa tells me she wants to come here, and that you're coming with her. Fine, I can see that. But then you show up looking like you do...”

“What's wrong with the dress, huh? You pointed it out before, so you might as well just spit it out, you're giving yourself a coronary otherwise,” I shoot back, stepping closer. “What's got a stick up your ass?”

“That dress... for fuck's sake, Andrea! You know how sexy you look in it! I know it, I can see it in your face. You wore it for a reason!” Carson fumes, taking a step toward me. We're just a foot apart, his eyes shining with frustration and anger... but most of all, desire. “Then, when you flirted with that waiter...”

“I'd have flirted with you if you weren't being insufferable,” I growl, and Carson grabs my arms, his grip like iron on my upper arms. He pulls me to him, his lips finding mine, and they're hot, burning, and better than any other kiss I've had in my life.

I push him away, my heart thudding in my chest, staring at him, but before he can say anything I grab his jacket and kiss him again, our lips and tongues battling for supremacy. It's hot, and I feel that underneath the cultured exterior, behind the control of the sniper I saw in the back field, there's a passionate, strong man who wants me. My fingers dig into his shoulders as he pushes me against the wall, his mouth sucking hard at my neck and his hands kneading my ass through my dress. I'm liquid, molten heat filling my body thinking about the hard cock I feel pressed against my thigh, he wasn't lying about being a solid eight or more. I reach down to cup his cock, but before I can, a knock comes at the door, and we step apart, our eyes blazing.

“So you do like me,” I say smugly.

“No fucking shit,” he hisses before turning to the door. “What the fuck do you want?”

A waitress opens the door and sticks her head in, obviously freaked out at seeing the gallery owner and a guest so heated and disheveled. I'm sure she knows exactly what we were up to before she knocked, but to her credit she recovers quickly, asking him a question in a brisk, professional manner. “Mr. Sands, we need more drinks out there. Is there any champagne left?”

“Check in the storage room, ask Robert to help you,” he growls, pointing. The door closes, and he struggles as he tugs at the hem of his blazer. “We'll talk about this later.”

“I'm done talking,” I reply, fixing my dress. I want to do much more, I want to pull it off my shoulders and give him everything I have, but I can't. Not yet. “I want you, you want me. We got that. Everyone in the fucking house knows it, I think even Melissa maybe suspects it. The only talking that needs to happen is that we need to make sure 'Lissa's cool with it. Other than that, I'm not going to dance around the issue anymore. So the question you need to ask yourself is, are you ready to stop this bullshit dance?”

Carson considers me for a moment, and adjusts his pants. “Give me a minute to get myself under control. It'd be better if you left first.”

I head out, trying not to be pissed, and at the same time fighting the hormones flooding my body. I need a drink, and maybe orange juice won't be enough this time.