“Champagne?”
A young woman appeared suddenly by his side. She was dressed in a scrap of black lace that barely covered, well, anything. Balanced in her hand was a large, round tray topped with several filled-to-the-brim crystal flutes.
“Thank you.” Coulter selected the nearest flute, giving the youthful server a nod and a smile.
His chest tightened as she walked away, his eyes following her every move. Though it was impossible to know for sure, he prayed like hell she wasn’t one of the girls being auctioned off soon.
“She’s a little young for you, isn’t she, Colt?”
Every muscle beneath his designer suit froze. That voice. Heknewthat voice. Only…
No, no, no, no, no. It can’t be her. She isn’t supposed to be here.
He’d personally seen the names of those who’d been given invitations, and this woman wasnoton that list. But as he slid his gaze to the woman standing at his left, Coulter’s fears were brought to fruition.
Son of a…
“Alex?” He hurriedly glanced around before looking back at Falcon’s sister-in-law.
Alexandria Webb was the bane of his very existence. Mainly because the gorgeous brunette starred in the best of his dreams while in reality, well…
The stunning woman would barely give him the time of day.
“What are you doing here?” He demanded a bit more harshly than was his intent.
“Wow.” She blinked those big brown eyes of hers. “Good to see you, too. And I was about to ask you the same thing. Because, well, the thing is…I’man artist.”
“So?”
“So it makes sense for me to be here. You know, at an art gallery? But you?—”
“You have to leave,” he cut her off sharply. “Now.”
Alex blinked again, her dark brows dipping low with confusion. “Excuse me?”
“I’m serious, Alex. This place…” He looked around again. “You don’t want anything to do with these people. Trust me on this.”
“Okay, first of all, I’m not sure howyougot invited to tonight’s showing. ButIwas given a personal invitation by the gallery owner himself.”
The twisting Coulter felt in his gut the second he’d seen her gorgeous face worsened. “Gordon Crawford personally asked you to come here?”
“You don’t have to sound so surprised. I do own my own successful gallery, you know. Albeit on a much smaller scale. But yes, Mr. Crawford stumbled upon my place last week. Apparently, he liked what he saw and gave me an invitation on the spot.”
Liked what he saw. I just bet the bastard liked what he saw.
Long legs. Straight, dark hair that was cut in a sharp angle at her delicate jaw. Eyes Coulter could get lost in if she’d let him, and a set of full, ruby red lips he wished like hell he could taste.
In fact, when it came to this woman, there wasn’t a single thing he didn’t like. Even her feisty, stay-away-from-me attitude where he was concerned was a giant freaking turn-on.
I’m pathetic, I know. But hey, at least I own that shit.
As for Alex being here by way of Crawford’s personal invitation…this was bad. Like really, really bad.
“Alex, listen to me.” He pleaded with her. “I promise I’ll explain everything later. But right now, I really need you to?—”
“Mr. Morris!” A commanding voice boomed over the low humming of the well-dressed crowd.
Of. Fucking. Course.
