“Oh, I’m definitely interested in acquiring something special from this gallery,” Tristan says, his eyes fixed on me in a way that makes my skin prickle with heat.
Helen follows his gaze, her eyebrows rising. “I’m sure Zoe would be happy to show you our catalog of available pieces.”
“I’m not interested in what’s for sale,” Tristan says, his voice dropping to a register that sends a shiver down my spine. “I’m more interested in what’s... priceless.”
Oh God. This is mortifying. Helen is going to think I’ve been trying to sleep my way into a major donor’s good graces, and Tristan is being so obvious that even the sculptures probably know he’s talking about me.
“Mr. Sterling,” Helen purrs, and I realize she’s misinterpreting completely, “you flatter us. But I assure you, everything in our gallery is potentially available to the right collector.”
Tristan’s smile widens. “Everything?”
“Helen,” I cut in, “I think Mr. Harrison is waving you over.” I point to an elderly patron who is, in fact, looking somewhat lost near the contemporary glass exhibition.
“Oh! Excuse me, I should—” Helen looks torn between the potential sale and the potential donor.
“Go,” I urge. “I can handle Mr. Sterling.”
Helen nods, giving Tristan a bright, professional smile that doesn’t quite hide the calculating glint in her eyes. “Take all the time you need, Zoe,” she adds, patting my arm in a way that feels less like encouragement and more like a warning.
As she walks away, I turn to Tristan with murder in my eyes. “What the hell was that?”
“What?” he asks, all innocence. “I was being charming.”
“You were beingobvious,” I hiss. “Now my boss thinks I’m trying to seduce you into a donation.”
“Technically,I’mtrying to seduceyou,” he points out. “Into a conversation, at least.”
“This isn’t funny, Tristan. This is myjob, mycareer. If people think I’m sleeping with patrons for donations?—”
“But youaresleeping with me,” he says, then quickly amends, “Or you did. Once.”
“That’s not the point!” My voice rises enough that a nearby patron turns to look. I lower it again. “The point is, this is unprofessional, and you’re making a scene.”
The omega who had been hovering nearby has now drifted even closer, her eyes slightly glazed. She’s not alone. All of the other omegas are now within a ten-foot radius, all pretending to look at art while actually looking at Tristan.
“I think your pheromones are getting stronger,” I mutter.
Tristan glances around, finally noticing the attention. “Huh. That’s weird.”
“What’s weird? That you’re attracting every omega in a fifty-foot radius? That seems like pretty standard alpha behavior.”
“No, what’s weird is...” He leans closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. “This only happens when I’m... worked up.”
The implication hangs between us. I take an involuntary step back, bumping into a display pedestal.
“Well, get un-worked up,” I whisper fiercely. “This is a place of business, not a nightclub.”
“I’m trying,” he says, and a wave of heat rolls off him, his spicy ginger scent thickening in the air between us. “But being near you is making it... difficult.”
Oh.
The claiming marks on my neck suddenly feel warm, pulsing in time with my quickening heartbeat. A flash of memory takesthis moment to assault me. Tristan’s mouth on my inner thigh, his eyes looking up at me with hunger as his tongue...
No. Stop it. Not here.
“You’re warm,” he says suddenly, his expression shifting to concern. “Like, really warm.”
I tug at my collar again. “It’s this stupid turtleneck. It’s suffocating.”
