Page 44 of Modern Romance January 2025 1-4

Lex paused to shake hands with Piers Jameson who ran the place. ‘I found myself in the vicinity and thought I’d stop by. And I might follow up an old acquaintance while I’m here. Portia Oakhurst.’

‘Of course, I remember.’ He saw the other man’s glint of speculation. ‘I’ll ask her to come out now.’

‘I’d prefer to surprise her when she finishes for the day. Meanwhile I’ll check out the pieces on display.’

‘Excellent, excellent.’ Jameson led him towards a large gallery room where items for the next sale were on display. ‘I’ll make sure she finishes up in...half an hour?’

Lex thanked him and entered the gallery.

Who do you think you’re fooling? Even Jameson guessed your priority was to see her.

Only because then he could wash his hands of her. Once past the initial surprise, it would be like seeing a casual acquaintance. Nothing more. No...feelings.

Lex took a catalogue from an eager staff member and strolled into the gallery space, artfully lit to display the sculptures to best effect.

There were a few pieces he might be interested in, including a small Cycladic figure, primitive yet powerful. He could imagine it in his home.

Or thought he could. Once more Portia interfered with his decision-making, distracting him so he found himself paying more attention to the view of the reception area, waiting for her to emerge, than to the display.

He checked the time. It had been half an hour and more by the time he saw a slim figure in blue-grey walking towards the exit.

His pulse kicked. Not with excitement but satisfaction that this was almost over.

One more short meeting and he could cut her adrift. Portia Oakhurst would be no more than a distant memory, a salutary lesson in the dangers of excess emotion and trusting the wrong person.

Lex sauntered out into the reception area and followed his target.

He mightn’t have any interest in Portia anymore but that didn’t stop him appreciating the way she moved. She’d always had an athletic grace, particularly in the saddle, and that translated now into a wholly feminine poise. The fitted jacket and straight skirt outlined slender curves that he might have found alluring in another woman. The sway of her hips was enticing but not exaggerated. Her blonde hair was pulled up in some neat arrangement that accentuated the slimness of her neck.

Yes, if she were anyone but Portia Oakhurst, he might have been tempted.

Towards the end of the corridor she shrugged into a dark coat.

He lengthened his stride, catching her up on the pavement. ‘What a coincidence,’ he murmured and watched her start. Satisfaction was a tiny but discernible glow in his belly. He’d hated the way she’d made him feel last time they met. Struggling to get control of himself. ‘Years go by and suddenly I see you twice in a month.’

Slowly she turned, revealing first her profile—that almost straight nose with just the tiniest bump near the bridge, neatly angled chin and soft, slightly pouting lips. Lex focused quickly on long dark lashes and the elegant arch of one eyebrow.

Then she was facing him, eyes wide, lips parted in surprise and face pale against her red lipstick.

There goes that theory.

You were supposed to meet her and feel nothing.

Lex dragged his attention away from those pillow-soft lips and back to her eyes. In this light and against that blue suit they seemed to shimmer between amethyst and deep brown.

He cleared his throat. Then surprised himself by saying, ‘I wasn’t really going to destroy the painting.’

He stiffened. He wasn’t given to blurting out information. If anything he tended to be reticent, keeping his thoughts to himself. He’d grown up a loner and he’d found that trait an asset in business. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken without thinking.

Emotion rippled across her face. Shock? Relief? Whatever it was, her features no longer looked frozen.

Lex tried not to notice how the wash of colour across her cheeks became her. But that was impossible because despite what he’d told himself, he wasn’t immune to Portia after all.

He looked down into those velvety eyes and discovered a yearning so deep no amount of logical argument could eradicate it. He felt it in his chest where his lungs grew tight and heavy. It was a tingle in hands that wanted to reach out and reacquaint themselves with her soft skin. Above all it was a weighted fullness in his groin, a physical hunger that banished any thought of walking away.

‘I’m glad,’ she said and for one delicious instant he thought she meant she was glad to see him. Until his brain clicked into gear and he realised she was talking about the picture being safe from harm.

How the mighty have fallen.The voice in his head was smugly mocking.You’ve grown used to women hanging on your every word and trying to get your attention.

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