Petra's smile falters slightly. "Suit yourself." She walks away and Roxy's fingers dig into my side hard enough to bruise.
"We're leaving," she says.
"Roxy, you need to relax."
"Now."
She pulls me toward the exit, her grip iron-tight. We're halfway to the door when a man steps into our path. Mid-thirties, expensive suit, the kind of collector who treats art like investment. He's looking at Roxy with obvious interest.
"Excuse me," he says in accented English. "I couldn't help but notice you studying the work very intently. Are you familiar with RB’s other pieces?"
Roxy opens her mouth to respond but I'm already moving. I step between them, my body blocking his view of her completely.
"She's not interested," I say, my voice low and flat.
The man blinks, surprised. "I was just asking about the art."
"And I said she's not interested."
There's something in my tone that makes him take a step back. Good instinct, because right now, with Petra's perfume still lingering in my nose and this asshole looking at Roxy like she's available, I'm about two seconds from doing something that will get us noticed.
"Dom," Roxy says quietly, her hand on my back. "It's fine. Let's just go."
The collector raises his hands in surrender. "My apologies. I didn't mean to intrude."
He disappears into the crowd and I turn to find Roxy staring at me, her eyes eating me up like dessert.
"Outside," she says. "Now."
We make it three blocks before she pulls me into an alley. Her mouth is on mine before I can speak, her hands fisting in myshirt with desperate intensity. I push her against the brick wall and she gasps, her legs wrapping around my waist.
"I think this jealousy may get us caught," she growls against my mouth. "That bitch was touching you."
"And that guy wanted you."
"I wanted to break her fucking hand."
“I wanted to snap his neck.”
"That can't happen again," she says, her forehead pressed against mine. "I can't watch other women keep touching you. I'll lose it."
"Then don't watch. Just remember who I belong to."
"Me."
"Exactly. But it’s something we both need to work on. We’re not used to being around other people."
"I guess we should go back and see how many pieces have been sold."
"Fuck the pieces. Let's go back to the hotel."
"Dom…"
"I need fuck you properly. Don’t deny me, baby.”
“Whatever you want.”
By the time we check the gallery website the next morning, six pieces have sold, which is a wonderful forty-eight thousand euros.
