Chapter 5 Mia #2
I drag my gaze away from Jensen to her. She’s flushed, her irritation palpable. I get it. There’re a lot of egos in this room tonight.
A lot of money too.
Her gaze darts between me and then Jensen, before she grins. “You’re making sex eyes at each other.”
I nearly choke on my tongue. “We are not.”
“I can leave and come back in a moment if you want to keep brooding across the room—”
“There’s no brooding. I was just admiring the artwork.”
Juno snorts. “Is that what we’re calling Jensen?
” Her eyebrows wiggle. “If you’re debating sneaking off for a quick you-know-what, I don’t mind holding the fort but just let me know before you vanish off the face of the earth, or I’ll have a room full of investors and buyers asking where you’ve gone. ”
I roll my eyes, even though I have no doubt Jensen has already contemplated taking me in the stockroom and fucking me senseless. A room of people on the other side of the door is not a deterrent.
“Believe it or not, we can behave.” What a lie. “We’re not always tearing each other’s clothes off every second of the day.”
Also a lie. I swear Jensen would keep me naked at home if he could, just so he could slide inside me any time he wanted.
Juno scoffs, and honestly, I don’t blame here. “There are ballads less in love than you two.”
I rub my stomach, which feels crampy and unsettled. It’s probably nerves. “Poetic,” I murmur.
A server walks past and Juno grabs one of the little hors d’oeuvres off the tray. She pops it straight into her mouth even as she grabs another. The smell of the cheese hits the back of my throat like a punch and my stomach rolls. I cover my mouth with my hand until he moves away.
“Oh, these things are so good!” Juno’s dramatics are lost on me, because the smell is still coating the inside of my nose.
She offers me one. I recoil.
“No, thanks. I’ll pass.”
Juno shakes her head at me like she’s disappointed. “You don’t know what you’re missing, Mia. The cream cheese ones are divine. We should use them for the exhibition next month.”
I wrinkle my nose, trying to breathe through my mouth. “I’m going to grab a drink. Do you want anything?”
“I’m good. I’m going to find in David Elroy. I reckon I can get another donation out of him for the ‘Kids in Art’ program. Try to behave.”
“No promises.”
I wander over to the drinks table, my hand on my stomach. It feels like my insides are doing gymnastics. I feel queasy.
Breathe. Don’t puke at your own event.
I grab a bottle of water from the ice bucket, the coldness waking me up a little.
I’m struggling to get the cap off when a figure suddenly invades my space. A hand is held out. Not the hands I know.
Not the hands that make me feel safe.
“Allow me,” a deep, gruff voice says.
Jacob Landry.
He’s a trust fund baby with more money than he could spend in ten lifetimes. He also thinks he’s an art critic, and I don’t challenge his views, because he spends a lot of money at my gallery. Particularly on my pieces. He’s bought at least ten of them in the last two years.
My smile is warm, despite the whirlwind swirling through my stomach.
I glance over at Theo, who has drifted closer, even though he knows Landry and that he’s not a threat.
“It’s good to see you again, Jacob.” He hands me back the bottle. I take a small sip and the coldness settles in my throat. “Are you in the market for anything in particular tonight?”
His eyes crinkle. “Mia, you know I’m always in the market for new art.
And you always have the most exquisite pieces.
It’s why I never pass up the opportunity to come to one of your events.
” He leans in a little closer than is appropriate and I hold myself still. “That and you put on the best food.”
I smile, and then I discreetly shift back just a fraction. “It’s Juno who organizes these things. I just turn up and look pretty.”
“And you do that very well,” he says.
I blink. The man is at least thirty years older than me, and he also knows I’m married.
Even if he didn’t, the enormous diamond ring on my finger paired with my wedding band definitely tells him I am.
“Thank you.” I laugh, trying to cover the awkwardness. “What did you think of the collection?”
He gets this look on his face, like he’s really contemplating the merits of the artwork hanging behind him. “I enjoyed it. It is very provocative. Tell me, what inspired your pieces?”
“My series was—” Hands slide around my waist, possessive and familiar. I feel him at my back as he kisses my temple. It’s not affection. It’s a warning to Landry wrapped in intimacy. She’s mine. Back off.
I lean into him, instantly comforted when he squeezes my hip. I’m here. You’re safe.
My brain stutters for just a second before I find the words again. “It was, um… The understanding that hands can heal but also hurt, but with the right person they’re everything.”
“That’s an interesting concept,” Landry say slowly, his posture stiff. And not because of my words.
It’s the six foot wall at my back that has him on edge.
Jensen ignores Landry completely until his hand comes to rest on my neck. Then he turns to him, as if he only just realized he was here, in a space that is his.
“Jacob.” The name slices out of Jensen’s mouth like a knife.
“Mr. Rivers. It’s good to see you again.” What a little liar. Landry gives me a tight smile. “I hope you’ll allow me to put a reservation on at least one of your pieces, Mia. I couldn’t leave without at least taking one home.”
“Of course,” I say. “Juno can arrange everything once you know which portrait you want.”
He laughs, a hint of nervousness in his tone. “At this rate, my entire house is going to be filled with Mia Rivers.”
Jensen’s hand tightens on my waist. I feel the storm gathering from my husband and before he can unleash on the man, I step in, quick and light.
“You’re too kind, Jacob,” I say smoothly, slipping a hand over Jensen’s chest like I’m calming a predator. “Enjoy the art and the canapés. If you’ll excuse us, we need to go and be sociable.”
I don’t wait for a response. I steer my husband across the room, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
Jensen plucks the bottle from me and grabs a fresh one as we pass the refreshment table.
“You’re not allowed to murder that man,” I say as soon as we’re out of earshot. Jensen uncaps the new bottle and hands it to me. “That was wasteful,” I mutter. “The water was fine.”
“He touched it.” The words are sharp. Angry even.
“Only the cap.” I shake my head. “I’d barely taken a sip.”
Jensen ignores my protest. Of course he does. He’s pissed—not at me, never at me—but at the man who thought he had a right to give me water, and more importantly, to fill his house with things my hands have touched.
“He’s a dick,” Jensen seethes.
That we both agree on, but the world is full of dicks. A proportion of them are wandering around my gallery, spending money that I can funnel into places it’s needed.
“Obviously,” I say, “but he’s one of my biggest collectors, Jensen. He brings in real money.”
His shoulders stiffen. “I’ll buy your pieces. Every single one.”
Of course he’d say that. “That’s… that’s deranged. You can’t buy my art.”
He leans in, his hand tightening on my hip. “It’s either that or I stop him filling his house with ‘Mia Rivers’ permanently.”
I groan at how dramatic he’s being. “He was talking about my paintings. It’s not like he’s planning on locking me in his penthouse.”
Wrong thing to say. Jensen’s eyes flash. “He was looking at you like he had a right to.” His jaw clenches. “No one looks at you like that. Not ever, Mia. You’re not an object for him to drool over. You’re brilliant, and funny, and smart as hell, and—”
I roll onto my toes and kiss him, cutting off the spiral before it consumes him. It’s part desperation, part strategy to douse the fire scorching through him.
When I pull back, he’s a little softer. “I don’t like him,” he still grumbles out.
“You don’t have to,” I say, brushing my lips over his cheek. “I’m not inviting him over for dinner.”
“You’d better not.”
Oh, my poor jealous husband. “Let him keep my paintings, Jensen. You get the real thing.”
He leans his forehead against mine. “I don’t like men trying to stake their claim on my wife.”
That shouldn’t be as hot as it is. My pussy gives a traitorous clench.
“As soon as we’re finished here,” I whisper, “you can spend the whole night proving you own me. It’s been at least ten hours since you last came inside me. My pussy’s feeling lonely.”
His lips twitch, and then he takes my chin between his fingers. “You’re my world, Mia, and I’ll destroy anyone who tries to come between us.”
I don’t doubt that for a second.
“He’s not coming between us.”
“Good. Because no one gets to have you but me.”