Rebel didn’t leave Brit’s side. He craved her touch, couldn’t wait to get her home and show her how much she meant to him. He hadn’t been in a relationship since Angie’s death. But he had to lean in, take a chance.
Nice-n-slow.
As the event drew to an end, he stepped close. “I gotta kiss you,” he murmured.
Her eyebrow quirked up. “I dare you.”
He dropped a soft kiss on her lips, then another. Heat suffused him as he leaned close and pressed his mouth to her warm ear. “I can’t wait to bring you home with me.”
Her breath caught. She ran soft fingers down his arm while a hint of a smile tugged at her lips.
When the last guest left, Z asked a ThunderStrike security member to escort his employee to her car before he locked the door behind them.
The walls and easels were bare. Only the largest paintings remained, all but one tagged with a SOLD sign.
“You slayed it,” Rebel said.
“This doesn’t even seem real,” she murmured.
Hawk emerged from the back of the gallery with a bottle of champagne and six flutes on a tray.
“Z, where’s your gallery manager?” Hawk asked.
“She had to take off,” Z replied.
After popping the cork, Hawk filled the flutes. “Cheers. You kicked some major ass tonight.”
They clinked glasses, sipped the cold bubbly.
“How are we going to fill the walls?” Brit asked. “We got cleaned out.”
“I didn’t display everything,” Z said. “But you girls will have to paint regularly, if you aren’t already.”
Brit and Addison exchanged glances.
“Who needs sleep?” Brit murmured.
“Clearly, not us,” Addison said.
“Rebel, let’s talk,” Z said.
He saw me kiss her.
As Z moved away, Hawk said, “Z, you be nice. You want Joaquin onyourside.”
Everyone laughed. Z did not.
Rebel wasn’t fazed. No matter how this went down, Rebel would keep the vibe chill.
Out of earshot, Z’s eyes narrowed. “Stay away from my daughter.”
“We’re workin’ together.”
“I see the way she looks at you.”
“Goes both ways.”
“I don’t trust you, Joaquin,” Z said.
