Page 3 of Nico
It thrilled Sadie to play hostess as well as be a fount of information whenever a patron approached to ask about a piece. Her feet were killing her, and she cursed the decision to wear thenew and horribly expensive Jimmy Choos instead of something more practical.
She had noticed Nico as soon as he entered the room and smiled at his lost and baffled look. The man never ceased to amaze and amuse her. For someone with such a brilliant mind, he often appeared to be awkward and ill at ease in a crowd. She had glided over to tuck her arm through his and felt a thrill at the pleasure blooming on his face.
"You managed to get dressed." She observed.
"I could not find a suit." He looked self-consciously at the wrinkled shirt. He had refused to surrender his jacket at the door.
"That's fine." She assured him. "You also managed to look quite dashing without one."
"And you, darling, happen to be the most beautiful woman in the room. How on earth do you pull it off?"
"That's my secret." She beamed at the compliment and patted his arm. She had gotten involved with him despite her reservations. Her history with men was not stellar. She had made a few mistakes along the way and had become involved with a glass blower a year ago. He had used her to get his work displayed and then slept with as many rich women patrons as he could. Her pride had been badly dented, and she had sworn, never again.
Besides, Nico Coulter was not some random artist starving for his craft. He was the sole heir of a multi-billion-dollar company. And though he dressed as if he had bought his clothes at the thrift store, he was seriously loaded. She had met his family, and they treated her well, but she knew they wanted more for him. And she had told him so.
He blew her away with the first kiss and when they made love, he had shocked her with his expertise. For the first time in her life, she had experienced real orgasms that had almost shattered her.
Under all that scholarly and vague look, the man was a serious stud. She was going to have to be careful not to have him slip past her guard. And she ignored the voice that wondered if he already had.
She left him alone to answer questions about his work as she circled the room. Andre was in his element, handing out glasses of champagne from a passing wait staff and discussing several paintings with some art lovers.
She paused by a sculpture bathed in blue light, slowing her breath so it matched the sculpture's poised serenity. As she observed the reflections of crystal and silver in the glass, a buzz of conversation drifted her way. Talk of international buyers, hints of record sales, and a rumor that a renowned critic was somewhere in the crowd. Sadie's heart ticked a little faster. This opening was more than a glittering showcase. It could change lives.
A petite patron approached, fingers fluttering nervously over her beaded clutch. "Ms. Greene, is this the piece inspired by the old Venetian tradition?" she asked, voice breathless.
Sadie leaned in, her practiced warmth at the ready. "Exactly so. The artist spent a summer in Murano, absorbing every glimmer and curve of the glassmakers' genius. If you look closely, you'll see hints of those ancient techniques. Layered color, intricate cane work, woven right into the modern form."
The woman's eyes widened in delight, and she nodded appreciatively before moving on. Sadie allowed herself a quiet, satisfied exhale. The art had spoken for itself and so had she.
She drifted nearer to the long windows, champagne flute in hand, and caught a glimpse of Nico deep in conversation, gesturing. Animated and alive. She smiled to herself, feeling the evening's possibilities unfold, luminous like the chandeliers above.
And she felt a little flutter in her belly as she looked over and saw him watching her. Taking a deep breath, she sent him a smile before turning to the client who demanded her attention.
*****
"I asked Nico to wait for you inside the office." Andre informed her as they made a last-minute sweep of the gallery. The caterers had cleaned up and the paintings and other pieces had been arranged in their proper order. Both she and Andre insisted on doing everything before morning, no matter how late the show ended.
"I told him to go on home." Stepping out of her heels, she closed her eyes and felt her feet weeping.
"The man clearly wants to make certain you go home with him." He looked around with a pleased smile. "You've outdone yourself. Lady Margaret ordered several pieces of Nico's sculpture and a few paintings. Her check has so many zeros, I think I'm having an orgasm."
"Then she did you two favors." She smirked at him. "Since the last time you had one was too long to count."
"Bitch," he murmured wryly. "Go on and see to your man. He's patiently waiting."
She lingered a few more minutes, checking inventory and adjusting a few more paintings, before heading to her office. Leaning on the jamb, she watched in amusement as he sat behind her desk sketching. His head was bent, and he was completely absorbed in his work. Locks of disheveled sable brown hair tinted with gold were hanging over his forehead. He had discarded the jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his wrinkled shirt to reveal long forearms dusted with hairs a little darker than the ones on his head.
He had long lashes as she had often teased him about, much to his acute embarrassment. The sight of him did things to her heart rate and her pulse.
As if aware of her presence, he looked up, eyes lighting up with pleasure.
"I suggested you go home."
"I did not mind waiting." His bottle green eyes wandered over her face and he felt the familiar stirring of lust. "And I wanted to make certain you did not have an excuse for not coming home with me."
Her spectacular mahogany eyes twinkled. "You have a difficult time taking no for an answer." She wandered in and sat on the edge of her desk.
"Where you're concerned, at least. I hope you don't mind me invading your space." He nodded to the desk.
