Page 153 of Boss of Me
Gianna clings to him as he takes her around the room, introducing her to the prominent art critics and collectors in attendance. He’s a patron of the arts with the power and prestige to make or break careers. Watching everyone suck up to him is both amusing and fascinating.
I’m considerably less entertained by the look of adoration on Gianna’s face. It’s her big night, and I certainly don’t begrudge her her moment in the spotlight. But every time she laughs and lays her head against Gunner’s shoulder, I shrivel up inside. Things are still shaky between him and me, so I’m feeling especially vulnerable tonight.
When I’ve had enough of trailing behind them like a third wheel, I swipe a flute of champagne from a passing server and wander off on my own.
I end up chatting with a fashionable silver-haired woman with a posh English accent. While drinking champagne and nibbling caviar canapés, we discuss the art world and debate surrealism versus expressionism. It’s a riveting conversation, and she’s visibly impressed with my ability to hold my own. I attribute my knowledge to my father, who fostered my love of the arts by taking me to museums and art shows from the time I could walk.
“I like you, Marlowe Somerset,” the woman declares with a twinkle in her eye. “You’re a credit to Mr. Ransom. A delightful asset. I certainly hope he realizes that.”
Before I can respond, we’re interrupted by an older gentleman soliciting the woman’s input on a painting. Before she departs with him, she hands me her business card, which identifies her as Lilith Halifax, Founder and Executive Director of Halifax Music Society.
“Please call if there’s ever anything I can do for you,” she says with a wink and genuine affection in her voice. “Perhaps we can grab lunch sometime and continue our fascinating tête-à-tête.”
“I’d like that,” I say, smiling warmly.
As I tuck her card into my teensy clutch, a sugary peal of laughter draws my attention to a large crowd gathered around Gianna and Gunner. She’s holding court, laughing and gesturing with her hands, happy to have a captive audience. When she looks to Gunner for some type of affirmation, he rewards her with an approving smile.
A twinge of jealousy clogs my throat. It’s pretty obvious, and not at all surprising, that Gianna is infatuated with Gunner. But is he attracted to her? Would he sleep with her if the opportunity arose?
He has a ravenous appetite that craves variety, Laurene’s taunt scrapes across my brain like barbed wire.
I feel physically sick at the thought of Gunner being with Gianna during one of the late nights he’s supposed to be working. Would he betray me like that? Could he?
Chugging down an anxious mouthful of champagne, I roam around the corner and stop to study a huge abstract titledFeeding the Soul. It has fields of orange, yellow and blue overlaid with random circles and squares. Gianna says the painting was inspired by messy dining tables at a trattoria she frequented this summer. That might explain why it looks like blobs of cheap food coloring haphazardly hurled at a blank canvas.
The unkind thought brings a stab of guilt, and for a moment I question whether I’m judging Gianna’s painting too harshly because she’s after my boyfriend. But no, that’s not it. The truth is I’m just not a fan of her work, and that’s perfectly okay. With a roomful of admirers, she certainly doesn’t need my support.
Just as I’m about to move on, firm arms wrap around me from behind.
My heart jolts with surprise before a smile overtakes my face. I gladly melt into Gunner’s embrace, his warmth seeping into my body like a welcome summer breeze, soaking every part of me.
He pushes aside the heavy curtain of my hair and rests his cheek over my ear, and together we stare at the painting in front of us.
“She’s talented,” I feel obligated to say.
There’s a long beat of silence.
“The potential is . . . there.”
I look over my shoulder at Gunner, surprised by his tepid endorsement.
“Her father has been a loyal investor for years,” he explains, lips faintly twitching. “Considering the fortune he spent on her art school education, he has a vested interest in promoting her artistic endeavors.”
“Ah,” I say delicately, reading between the lines. He’s helping Gianna as a personal favor to her father, not out of some overwhelming belief in her untapped talent. The relief I feel is admittedly pathetic.
Nuzzling my nape, he slides his hand down the front of my body, broad fingers splaying across my stomach. My pussy quivers at the feel of him, thick and hard against my lower back. It’s been a week since we made love. The longest, most excruciating week of my life.
“You didn’t eat much of your dinner.” His breath dances along my neck as he speaks close to my ear. “Are you sure you didn’t hate the restaurant?”
“Of course I didn’t hate it.” The exclusive restaurant with Hill Country views was one of the finest restaurants I’d ever been inside. “It was perfect, Gunner, and so was the meal. I just wasn’t very hungry.”
“Are you feeling okay?”
I nod, touched by his concern. “Just feeling a little bloated. It’s almost that time of the month.”
His big hand flexes against my belly, gently pulling me closer as he rumbles against my skin, “I’ve missed making love to you.”
Heat pours through me, and a heavy ache settles between my thighs. “I haven’t gone anywhere,” I murmur pointedly.
