Chapter 147
Serena
The gallery emptied slowly, guests departing in clusters of excited conversation, no doubt already composing the texts and calls that would spread this morning's drama across Manhattan by noon. Dr. Harrison squeezed my shoulder on his way out, pride evident in every line of his face.
Within fifteen minutes, the space was nearly empty.
Nearly.
Lance stood by the painting, hands in his pockets, studying the crimson water lilies with an expression I couldn't quite read. The morning light streaming through the gallery windows cast shadows across his face, emphasizing the sharp line of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes.
God, he was beautiful. Even now, even exhausted and wrung out from the emotional gauntlet of the morning, my body responded to his presence like a compass finding true north.
Focus, Serena. Business first.
"So," I said, breaking the silence. "You going to tell me how you pulled that off? Or do I have to guess?"
He turned, and the look he gave me was equal parts amused and exasperated. "Can't let me enjoy the victory for five minutes before you start interrogating me?"
"I left you alone with your grandfather so I could get answers now." I crossed my arms. "How did you know Raymond would try something? How did Vincent get to Beatrice in time?"
Lance's mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Your instincts are sharp. Felix's assistant has been under surveillance since yesterday—the second I caught that calculating look in Felix's eyes. The one that means he's already three moves ahead and enjoying it. When his assistant reached out to Raymond last night, Vincent was ready."
"Felix." Just saying his name made my blood pressure spike. "Of course it was fucking Felix. He's getting bolder."
"That's because you're getting more dangerous." Lance moved closer, each step deliberate and predatory. "A woman who was on the verge of bankruptcy two days ago just sold a fifty-million-dollar painting to New York's most powerful family—and earned their public endorsement while doing it. If that's not a threat, I don't know what is."
The way he said it—low and rough, with something that sounded almost like pride—made heat pool low in my belly.
I forced myself to stay focused. "Well, with Arthur's backing, my next deals should be—"
"Is business all you think about?" Lance cut me off, and suddenly he was right there, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his body. "Deals? Profit margins? Your company's resurrection?"
"I—" The word came out automatically, defensive.
"Do you have any idea how worried I've been these past few days?" His voice dropped lower, rougher. "Watching you walk into traps, knowing Felix had something planned, not knowing if I could get to you in time?"
Something warm unfurled in my chest. Something I didn't want to examine too closely.
"Well," I managed, trying to sound unaffected, "I didn't exactly ask you to worry about me."
His hand came up to cup my jaw, thumb brushing across my lower lip in a touch that was both possessive and questioning.
"Maybe that's the problem," he murmured, eyes dark and intense on mine. "I spend days worried sick about you, and you barely notice. Which makes me wonder—do I still have any effect on you at all? Any pull? Any... distraction?"
My breath caught. Every nerve ending in my body lit up like a live wire.
"Well," I managed, voice shakier than I wanted, "until my company is stable, I need to find a way to... manage my attraction to you."
His expression went from heated to dangerous in a heartbeat. "Manage your attraction?"
"It's nothing personal—"
"Bullshit." His other hand landed on my hip, fingers flexing possessively against the silk of my dress. "Then let me make sure you can't manage it at all."
He kissed me.
Not the careful, controlled kisses we'd shared before. This was claiming, consuming, the kind of kiss that erased every thought except more and yes and now.
His hand slid from my hip to my ass, gripping hard enough to make me gasp against his mouth. The sound seemed to ignite something in him—he backed me against the wall beside the painting, his body a wall of heat and muscle pinning me in place.
I should have protested. Should have remembered we were in a public gallery, that Vincent could walk in any second, that this was reckless and—
His fingers found the edge of my panties through the thin fabric of my dress.
Fuck it.
I grabbed his tie and pulled him closer, kissing him back with all the pent-up frustration and want I'd been suppressing for weeks. My hands found their way into his hair, destroying whatever product he'd used to keep it perfectly styled. He groaned into my mouth, and the sound went straight to my core.
His fingers traced the lace edge of my underwear, teasing, promising, driving me absolutely insane. I arched against him, wordless and desperate, and felt his answering hardness press against my hip.
"Lance—" His name came out broken, pleading.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, and the heat in his eyes nearly undid me completely. My lips were swollen, my dress askew, and I was quite possibly the most turned on I'd ever been in my life.
"Well," he said, voice rough with barely controlled desire, "I'd say your kiss just confirmed you're nowhere near immune to me."
I blinked, struggling to form coherent thoughts. "What?"
His thumb brushed across my lower lip again, and his smile was pure male satisfaction. "You want me just as much as I want you. Probably more, given how fast you pulled me in just now."
He stepped back, and the sudden absence of his body heat felt like a physical loss.
"Now." He straightened his tie, looking infuriatingly composed except for his slightly mussed hair and the obvious bulge in his pants. "Let's finalize that transaction, shall we? Arthur's waiting for his painting."
I stared at him, breath still coming in short gasps, body screaming at me to drag him back and finish what we'd started.
"You're a fucking asshole," I managed.
"And you're beautiful when you're frustrated." He held out his hand, all business now. "Come on. We have work to do."