He evoked a fever within me and the only remedy was his touch.
I felt like Hero from the painting, hooked with breathless anticipation by her tower’s window as she waited for Leander. Counting down the minutes till she could take him into her arms and lose herself in the throes of their passion.
God, he looked so fucking good in that tux, with his black hair tousled and his mouth tainted just the barest hint of red from my lipstick. I branded him so everyone in our vicinity knew he was mine to kiss, mine to touch, and soon, mine to fuck all night long.
“Gabby?” Hunter hushed in my ear, the breath fanning across my cheek almost causing my knees to buckle with the weight of desire pressing onto me.
We’d barely touched in any sort of sexual manner, save for trading some sweet kisses throughout the night, and I was ticking like a bomb. Ready to explode at the mere scent of his delicious cologne ribboning around me, at the faintest rasp of his stubble against my skin, at the way he uttered my name like a filthy caress.
The fact that he bought me all the items I requested from the auction in that confident,I’ll-cater-to-all-your-demandstype of way was just the cherry on top of the cake. I appreciated that he went the extra mile for me, namely to procure that stunning painting.
What affected me most wasn’t that he fulfilled my materialistic wishes, but rather the thoughtfulness behind his gesture. It seemed that my happiness washishappiness too.
“Yes, Hunt?” I glanced up at him with a soft smile, loving the way his eyes flared and washed over my face in an awestruck manner. Like he couldn’t believe I was real. Like he could stare at me all day, all night, and still not have his fill.
How many women were recipients of such a look? I’d never been until Hunter, and I considered myself fortunate to experience this kind of veneration. It was lovely and heart-warming, but on a deeper level? It altered me in a cosmic way.
“You’ve been awfully quiet.” He curved an arm around my waist and dragged me closer to him. “What’s on your mind?”
I’d zoned out momentarily, withdrawing from the conversation circling in our group as I daydreamed about Hunter. “You.”
He grinned. “Yeah?”
“Mhm. I’m thinking about all the things you bought me, including where I’m going to hang the painting.”
“What’s the verdict?”
“Either the wall above my bed or in my spare room.” I tilted my head, thinking. “Except the latter is a bit of a mess. Maybeonce I clean it up and turn it into a proper home office, I could potentially place it there.”
My voice rose a fraction towards the end of my sentence and Dacia heard the last bit of our exchange.
Her head swivelled in our direction and determination crossed my friend’s face.
“Speaking of the painting,” Dacia started matter-of-factly, pushing her blond hair behind her shoulder. “How much do you want for it?”
The question was aimed at Hunter. “Pardon me?”
“A hundred thousand?” she spurred on, waving her hand flippantly in the air, the impressive carats on her diamond rings catching the light. “A quarter million? Name your price.”
My brows hiked up. Dacia was a lover of arts, a collector of sorts. But I didn’t realize she wanted the painting badly enough that she’d be willing to fork out such capital.
Did it also have a significant meaning to her?
I noticed she hadn’t bid on anything else during the auction. Yet the second the Hero and Leander painting was revealed, she picked up her paddle with a vengeance. I almost asked her if there was a particular reason why she gravitated towards that art piece. If it was truly important to her, I’d ask Hunter to relinquish our purchase and give it to Dacia for the same amount he bought it for.
I didn’t have a chance to say anything because Hunter chuckled and shook his head. “Absolutely nothing, Dacia. I’m not selling it to you.”
Something akin to resignation flashed over her features. “Is there no way I can change your mind?”
“No. The painting means something special to me—to us.” He glanced at me pointedly. “I can’t give it to you.”
She shrugged and sipped her drink to show her unaffectedness. “All right. That’s fair.”
Cade and Shaun called Hunter over, where they languidly leaned against the bar.
Franco was working the other side of the bar, but his attention kept jerking towards us as he prepared drinks. The unhealed version of me would have probably done something petty. Make out with Hunter in front of him so he’d have a direct view of the show. Insult him like he’d insulted me all those years ago. Or even ask him if he’d ever gotten all the pink glitter out of his Camry.
Yet the version that was slowly healing didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. I was ignoring him. Not because I wanted to pretend like our past never occurred, but because Franco Morelli simply wasn’t worth it.
