Heartbreaker (Unbreakable #1)(28)
“Don’t sound so thrilled.” He glanced at me, brows raised. “Aren’t you in another gallery?”
I huffed out a held breath, wincing inwardly—I hoped. I felt as if my brave face was failing. “Yeah.”
When Kristen had told me the party was for a new gallery opening, I thought I could handle it. No biggie. Been to plenty of art exhibitions.
My opening in December had been the high point of my life. Hopes and dreams had been pinned to that one night. And it had been a wild success.
But in the months that followed, it had twisted into the worst mistake of my life. Well, second worst. Trusting business associates apparently equated to trusting men. Inadvisable.
“Aren’t you able to show in more than one?”
I gave a slow nod. “Sure.” Wasn’t the issue. Sticking my neck out again was.
He nudged me. “Go for it. They already have metalwork displayed.” He nodded to one of the handful of pedestals arranged throughout the room. Small industrial cogs from much larger machines had been welded into a modern-yet-rustic piece.
“I suppose I could ask.” Didn’t mean I had to commit. Or even seriously consider.
“Look at the sculpture on the other side of the bar.” He tugged on my arm, forcing me to push off from the safety of the wall. Both of his hands curved around my upper arms from behind. Then he tightened his grip ever so slightly and pulled me against him, holding me captive.
My body tensed, heart racing as his heat permeated through the threadbare cotton of my jeans. Warm gusts of his breath rustled the hair above my ear. The stubble of his jawline scratched along my cheek as he leaned forward.
Mouth gone bone dry, I swallowed hard.
Then I did my best to focus on what he’d pointed out.
Beyond an exquisite cake Hannah and her team from Sweet Dreams had designed that depicted a historic flour mill stood a polished steel replica of The Illinois, Frank Lloyd Wright’s mile-high cantilevered vision that had never come to pass.
Mind scrambled by how close Darren hovered, I stumbled on any intelligent words. “It’s…nice.”
“I’ve seen your mailbox.”
A soft laugh escaped my throat, body relaxing against him before I realized it had happened. “So you’re saying my random junkyard art will fit right in?
His hands released their hold on my arms. They moved forward, first landing on my hips, then sliding around until they locked together, pressed firmly against my belly.
I stopped breathing for a moment, closed my eyes, and basked in how good it felt to just let myself go and be held: warm, solid—sure. For the first time in longer than I could remember, I gave in, didn’t fight the impulse to pull away and put on my armor.
And for the briefest moment, as Darren literally supported me with his intoxicating embrace, I pretended he was one of the good guys, would protect me no matter what might happen, that whatever had begun slowly unfurling between us was real—that he was real.
When he took a deep breath, his chest expanding and shifting me a fraction away from him, he quickly compensated, tightening his hold, pulling me closer.
“What do you have to lose?”
I let out a shaky breath.
Everything.
Darren…
Three days. Sixty-nine hours and thirty-seven minutes, to be exact. Apparently, that was the amount of time it took for me to go nearly insane.
Just to be near Kiki again.
I’d never been so crazy about a girl before—never allowed myself to get that close.
Now, I could finally breathe easy again. Because she sat across from me laughing. Her hair was pulled up into a messy ponytail; pieces of her dark hair had escaped, framing her face. Pink brightened her cheeks. Long dark lashes blinked over bright blue eyes.
Beautiful. And she didn’t try to be—seemed to have no clue she was.
We’d shifted our Tuesday run to late afternoon—at my request. Then we ran a new longer trail that skirted the other side of town. On our way back, we hit up my favorite dive burger joint on the corner of 6th and Elm.
Her laughter at my weak joke died down, and she took a long pull of her near-empty beer. “So why the time shift?”
My attention had gotten stuck on her bra strap. It peeked out from under the collar of the worn gray T-shirt she’d changed into after the run. An inch-long band of white lace crossed her delicate collarbone before it vanished under the cotton. My focus lowered. And before I could stop the thought, I imagined the rest of the bra as I watched the tempting curves of her chest rise and fall with each breath.
“Heeellooo…” She waved a hand over the table between us, in my line of sight.
I cleared my throat. And my head. Not a damn thing I could do to clear the blood from where it had rushed. I shifted uncomfortably on the booth. “Had to sign an employment contract this morning.”
Blinking, she clanked her empty bottle on the table. “You got a job?”
“Not just any job. The job. Dino Mathis, huge in the jazz world, hired me as his studio drummer.”
“That’s awesome, Darren. Congratulations!” She grabbed her already waiting refresher bottle and angled it toward the one I held.
“Thanks.” We clinked bottle necks. “To new beginnings.” As I stared into her eyes, hers widened a fraction at the toast, then softened as her smile grew.