She laughs loudly. “Not with that look on his face, he doesn’t.”
I don’t have time to snap at her before he reaches us.
“Kane,” he says, his voice stroking over my name. I barely stop myself from shivering. “Congratulations. This was a bigger success than I planned.”
“Thanks to you,” I reply, pulling myself together enough to hold out my hand for him to shake. “You were right about everything. I was right to put myself in your hands.”Fuck!What a stupidly suggestive thing to say.
His hand tightens around mine, making me realize that he hasn’t let go yet. “Hmm,” he murmurs, looking me in the eye. “You really were.”
The moment stretches between us, so heavy with intention and unspoken words that I can barely breathe, and then Tami says, “Well, you don’t need me for this. I’m going to circulate.”
I’m pretty sure she leaves then, but I can’t take my gaze from Damian’s face long enough to check.
“Am I misreading things?” he asks, low enough not to be overheard. Though he’s still holding my hand, so I don’t think anyone looking this way would need to hear us to know what’s going on.
I swallow hard as I realize I don’t care what people might think. I want Damianso badlyright now. “No. Not misreading. Want to”—fuck, it’ll take forever to get back to my place, and there’s likely still people outside hoping for autographs anyway—“find somewhere quiet?” It’s an art gallery. If we can’t find a dark corner here, humanity might as well be lost.
His mouth tips up in a smile. “Hell, yeah.”
CHAPTER TEN
The second theagreement drops from my lips, Kane takes over, twisting his hand to hold mine properly and pulling me along as he weaves through the crowd. It’s no hardship to keep up with him—I like take-charge Kane, and I especially like what we’re going to do next.
I’ve never fucked around with a client before, and if anyone had told me I would, I’d have laughed them off. I’d never be so unprofessional. But then, Kane’s been different from the beginning. Since that first meeting, I’ve pushed boundaries with him—crossed lines. Never before have I personally spoken to a client every day; that’s why we all pay assistants. I have one, and Kane has one. Yet I’ve been calling him with every tiny detail, and he’s been calling me with every passing question. We’ve been leading toward this for a while.
I’m not mad about it.
The gallery is too crowded for us to just find a corner, though.
Kane’s got us covered, leading me through a door into a hallway. Two members of the staff are coming down it, carrying trays, and one of them stops when he sees us.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen, this area is?—”
“He’s had bad news and needs to make a call,” Kane interrupts. “Is there somewhere quiet he can go?”
The server looks at me, and I try to seem devastated. It would help if I knew what the supposed bad news was… and if I had any acting skills. I must pull it off, though, because he half turns and points farther down the hall.
“That door at the end is storage. Not fancy, but private.”
I’m kind of surprised he?—
“Thank you,” Kane says, and yep, that looks like a hefty tip the server is sliding into his pocket. “We won’t be too long.”
We part ways, and I lean closer to Kane. “Guess that means it’s gotta be quick and dirty.”
He shudders. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Has this hallway always been a mile long?
Finally we reach the right door and get inside, groping for the light switch. The storage room is stacked with chairs, the florescent light bouncing off cold white walls, but none of that matters because I’ve got Kane behind a closed door at last.
He backs me against it, and as his hands go to the fastening of my pants, I bend my head and steal a kiss. He abandons his task and cups my cheeks in his palms instead, kissing me back, dominating both our mouths until I’m not sure where mine ends and his begins. At some point our cocks rub together through the layers of our clothes, and it feels so good that I chase the contact, wanting more. Kane presses his body against mine, shoulder to knee, so I’m sandwiched between the sexy, pliant heat of him and the hard wood of the door, teaching me that solid doors are seriously underrated and whoever came up with the idea of open-plan living had never experienced a moment like this.
Then he starts to move, his hips thrusting in slow, deliberate circles against mine, building friction in thebestway. The difference in our heights is just enough that we don’t line upperfectly, and somehow, that makes it better, makes me crave full contact, drives me to the edge of desperation?—
I break the kiss, banging my head against the door as I yank it back. “Wait,” I gasp, then stop to suck in air. That kiss made me forget I need to breathe.
“What?” he asks, his voice throatier than usual, deepened by need… for me. His lips are puffy and wet from our kisses, pupils dilated, and with the harsh lighting picking out the gold in his hair and the nap of his velvet jacket, he looks like a depraved fairy-tale character. Like a Disney prince with the soul of an incubus.
