What I don’t look like is a piece in someone’s collection. And I intend to keep it that way.
CHAPTER NINE
Tristan
Ipractically float through the gallery’s main entrance, past a confused security guard, and onto the sidewalk. My brain feels like it’s wrapped in cotton candy. Sweet, sticky, and completely disconnected from reality.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
I stand on the sidewalk for a solid minute, staring at nothing, replaying what just happened in that bathroom. The way Zoe gasped when I touched her. The heat of her skin. The slick wetness between her thighs. The way she came apart around my fingers, her eyes locked on mine like I was her anchor in a storm.
A car horn blares, snapping me back to reality. I’m standing in the middle of the sidewalk like an idiot, grinning at nothing.
I need to get back to the penthouse. I need to tell the others.
I slide my phone from my pocket, dialing and speaking into it as I stare at the street before me. “Front entrance. Now.”
By the time I slide it back into my pocket, a black Mercedes sedan is already gliding to a silent stop at the curb, my driver’s face impassive behind the wheel. I slide into the cool leather of the backseat, the door closing with a solid, satisfying thud.
“Sterling Tower,” I tell the driver, then lean back, closing my eyes.
The moment the gallery door closed behind me, the static started creeping back in. A low hum at first, then steadily increasing in volume. But it’s different now. Less sharp. Less painful. Like the memory of Zoe is somehow buffering the worst of it.
I press my fingers to my temples, trying to hold on to that lingering peace. The cab driver glances at me in the rearview mirror.
“You okay, sir?” he asks, his voice gruff but not unkind.
“Yeah,” I say, opening my eyes. “Just a headache.”
“Hmm.” He sniffs the air, and his eyebrows rise slightly. “Omega troubles?”
I almost laugh. If only it were that simple.
“Something like that,” I mutter, turning to look out the window.
The city slides by in a blur of glass and steel, but all I can see is Zoe’s face, flushed with pleasure. All I can feel is the phantom heat of her around my fingers. All I can smell is her crispy clean scent, still clinging to my skin despite the overwhelming smell of the cab’s air freshener.
By the time we reach Sterling Tower, the static has built to its usual maddening volume, but I have something else to focus on now. My mind is too full of Zoe.
I ride the elevator up to the penthouse, bouncing on the balls of my feet with barely contained energy. The doors slide open, and I step into the foyer, calling out, “Honey, I’m home!”
Diego is in the kitchen, a dish towel over his shoulder and flour dusting his dark hair. “¿Cómo te fue? How did it go?”
Before I can answer, Rett emerges from his office, his expression a mixture of hope and wariness. “Did you see her?”
Dane is nowhere to be seen, but I can hear the faint sounds of a punching bag from the direction of our home gym. Of course. When in doubt, Dane hits things.
“Oh, I saw her alright,” I say, unable to keep the smug grin from spreading across my face.
Rett’s eyes narrow. “What did you do?”
“Why do you assume I did something?” I counter, dropping my jacket on the back of a chair. “Maybe we just had a nice, civilized conversation about art and the weather.”
Diego snorts. “Because we know you, pendejo.”
I flop onto the couch, stretching my arms across the back, deliberately drawing out the moment. “Well, I delivered the chocolate as planned. She seemed... surprised.”
“And?” Rett prompts, his patience clearly wearing thin.
