Page 9

"I'm glad. But I also mean the whole being thrust into the spotlight situation." His palm feels so good between my shoulder blades. "I know you see the cameras out of the corner of your eye. They’re hard to miss.”

I shrug, which makes my shoulder rub against him. I'm hit with that faint masculine scent again, which liquefies my insides and makes me stare at his mouth far too intently. "I'm okay. It's a lot, but it's fine." I look up to meet his warm eyes with an equally warm smile. "You've been amazing at keeping people from swarming us."

"Happy to. What say we check out some fancy art, then call it a night?"

"Perfect."

As soon as we walk into the gallery, Sam's arm around me, there's an audible gasp that runs through the room, almost like the wave going around a sports arena. I concentrate on smiling and nodding at strangers as we do a slow lap of the main room, studying each painting in turn. Instead of coming closer, everyone stays at least ten feet away from us. I appreciate that.

The main room has an impressive collection of large abstract paintings, all done in jewel tones on a vivid inky blue-black with bright pops of silver. The next room is filled with warm antique photographs that have been layered with bronze textured paint. People surreptitiously hold their phones low, hoping we won’t notice them taking our photo. As if.

We've almost completed our circle of the room when Sam stops suddenly, clutching my arm. "Angel face," he whispers, loud enough for people to hear. "That one. For the blank spot on your office wall."

I follow his gaze and gasp. For several seconds, I don't even realize that we're holding hands tightly.

The photo is of an antique alarm clock sitting on a dark mahogany desk in front of a bookshelf filled with dusty, leatherbound books. There are diagonal sweeps of thick bronze paint across the bottom right and top left corners, turning a still life into something with movement.

"It's beautiful," I whisper. "Do you think they would get mad if I took a photo of the artist's name so I can look them up later?"

It feels like my shoulders are melting straight down my back as Sam squeezes my fingers gently. "I'll get you a flyer and ask the owner how long this exhibition is staying up." He watches my eyes carefully. "Do you want to come with me, or are you okay checking out the rest of this room alone?"

It’s getting a bit busier, but I don't want to seem so clingy that I can't be alone for two minutes. “I’m fine.”

Sam gives me a quick hug, rubbing the center of my back again. "I'll be super quick."

Wow, those long legs are fast when he's not waiting for my slow steps. Sam disappears into the crowd and I continue circling the room, pausing in front of every piece of art. Just as I'm studying a stunning photo of a rusty antique car with vivid neon, green and copper splatters across one side, two women standing right at my elbow catch my eye.

"That was Sam Silverton," the short blonde says, staring at me intently.

I nod. "Yes, it was."

"Are you his girlfriend?" the taller brunette blurts eagerly. "We've seen a few posts online about you two."

"Tell me," says the blonde, "is his next album going to be more love songs? Are they all about you?"

"How long have you been together?" A new voice, louder and on my left, makes me jump. A woman with light brown curls in a black wool beanie is getting too close. "Was the last album about you? Has he actually had a girlfriend all this time?"

"When's the next album coming out?" the blonde asks, as if the curly-haired woman hadn't even spoken. "We've been waiting. We deserve to know."

I hold up my hands, trying to send the message that I need some space. "You can talk to Sam's manager. I'm not allowed to⁠—"

"Oh, come on." The curly-haired girl giggles, getting right in my face. "This is just girl talk. You can tell us."

Two more women appear behind her. I turn to the right, my heart rate spiking when I see the blonde is now surrounded by two more women, with still others coming closer.

I try to step back, then jump when I realize someone's directly behind me. I spin to face a pair of narrow, squinting eyes set in a face wearing bright blush like warpaint. "You have to tell us," the woman announces. "And what's so special about you, anyway? Out of all the women in the world, why would⁠—"

I don't hear another word, because just then a thick arm goes around me and I land in the center of Sam's chest. His scent, and the need to breathe him in, instantly stops the feeling of being attacked.

"Excuse us, ladies," he says politely but firmly. "We have another event to get to." He hustles me into the office, through a back room, and out the rear exit. Nobody follows.

"I'm so sorry," I sputter. "They wanted to know about the new album. I didn't tell them anything. I said to call your manager. I didn't know what to⁠—"

"Shh.” Sam holds me close, massaging my back gently, rocking me against his chest. "I'm sorry, Julia. I should have known better than to leave you for even a minute." He sighs, nuzzling my ear. "I'm an asshole."

"No, you're not."

I tremble as he places two fingers over my jugular vein. "Your heart is racing, angel. That's on me. Can you forgive me?"