Grounded (Up in the Air #3)(55)
Tristan looked very raw as he studied the other man, his golden eyes holding a familiar sort of tarnish that spoke of pain, but that I found beautiful. “Is she seeing anyone?” he asked finally, the words sounding like they’d been torn out of him against his will.
James sighed. “I’m not sure. She was a few months back. I’m not sure how serious it was, or if he’s still around. She doesn’t go out of her way to mention her personal life, and I’m not asking. I just saw him stop by the gallery when I was visiting on business.”
“They’re meeting with her tomorrow. Bianca is having a gallery showing in L.A.,” Frankie spoke up suddenly. “They haven’t set a date for it yet, but I know I’ll be attending. You should come as my date, Tristan.”
He gave her a wry smile. “Your little Latin fireball of a sub would scratch my eyes out for that.”
“So we’ll make it a threesome. She won’t mind that. She might like it a little bit too much, in fact.”
Frankie addressed me, pointing at Tristan. “He’s my straight detector. If I’m lucky enough to turn one g*y, he flips her straight again. Bastard.”
That surprised a loud laugh out of me.
Tristan shrugged and flashed a dimple at her. “Just here to help.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Mr. Playful
We lingered over dinner with the strange pair. Tristan ordered food even though we’d all already finished eating. He made himself right at home without asking, joking and talking to Frankie and me. I liked him. A lot. I liked them both. They were fun.
James was quiet and a little tense at my back, but he made no move to leave.
When we did finally leave after hours of talking, Frankie gave me a big hug. Tristan tried to, as well, but James was there to block him, not even trying to be subtle about it.
Tristan was unfazed. He grinned that wicked grin at me, inclining his head. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Bianca. You are an absolute delight. I’ll be seeing you.”
James didn’t speak until we were in the back of his limo driving home. “You liked him,” he said, his tone bland, but I didn’t believe that tone for a second.
“I liked them both,” I said, rubbing his arm. “Your friends are very nice. It’s nice to see that you have some more good ones. They’re starting to outnumber all of the evil bitches I keep meeting that you felt the need to sleep with.”
He completely ignored the last part of my statement, still focused on Tristan.
“He’s a Dom, as I’m sure you picked up. Purely BD without the SM. You were attracted to him.”
Uh oh. “Well, I’m in love with you. I like him, just like I said. As a friend. He’s an attractive man, I can’t deny that, but that’s it, James. You can’t think that every Dom I meet is going to have some impossible pull on me, just because you did.”
And it was actually that easy. A few reassurances and he relaxed back into his smiling, amenable persona. I thought that boded well for us. The little things were already resolving themselves with ease.
We met Danika at the tourist gallery of the Cavendish Hotel & Casino the next morning. Danika managed both the L.A. and Vegas galleries, which was especially impressive since she looked to still be in her early to mid-twenties.
With all of the talk the night before, my mind started trying to pair Danika and the physically imposing Tristan up the moment I saw her, and it was almost disconcerting to picture the two of them together. He was so massive and muscular that he could have been an MMA fighter. She, on the other hand, was the epitome of delicate grace.
She was maybe five foot seven, with smooth, straight, pitch-black hair that fell to her mid-back. She was thin, but she definitely had curves in all of the right places. She had a pale complexion, but her heritage was very obviously mixed. Part of the mix was Asian, but the rest was anybody’s guess. At least part Caucasian, by her clear gray eyes.
Tristan had been right. No one could deny that she was exquisite.
She was dressed for business in a pencil skirt and a tidy dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. She wore flats, I realized as she stepped out from behind the podium as we approached. I would have pegged her as a stiletto girl just because she was so painfully poised. I saw in an instant why she didn’t, though.
She had just the slightest hitch to her step as she approached us with a lovely smile. Some old injury, I guessed. It was the most graceful limp I’d ever seen, as though she’d just absorbed the injury and made it a part of her, neither emphasizing or hiding it. That seemingly effortless gait told me a lot about the woman. She looked delicate, but there was steel in her.
“So nice to finally meet you, Bianca. I’ve been privileged to get the distinguished honor of being your first big fan. More will come, though, I can assure you.”
“Hey, now,” James said, shaking her hand with a smile. “Don’t discount my adoration of her work. Remember who discovered her.”
She inclined her head. “Touché, James. Please, follow me. We have a lot to discuss.”
We sat at a large conference room at the back of the swank gallery. Danika pulled out a huge leather binder, and I only realized that it was a portfolio of my work when she flipped it open.
“Let me start by saying that art is my life, and I simply adore your work. It is, however, a rather eclectic mix of paintings. This can be handled in a number of ways. My personal preference would be to divide all of the different themes by rooms, since we have so many paintings to work with, and we will be utilizing every room in the L.A space for the showing.”