Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
D ylan positioned himself with his tuxedo-clad back to the crowd. “You look lovely.” He drew in a breath and took a drink from his glass. “Have you been waiting for me?”
“Longingly.”
He smirked. “Like?”
Her heart pattered. The smirk suited him. “Like a heroine following the red tie of fate to her lover’s arms. But the red string has wrapped around the Medusa statue in the town square, creating a risk.” She twisted her lips. “Hmm. Not a very French image. I’ll work on it.”
His smirk turned to a grin.
He was so intriguing. She wanted to know more about him; real stuff, personal likes, business goals, truths she couldn’t find on the internet. That was a bit much to form into one question though. She started with the expected. “Are you having a nice evening?”
“The party is spectacular. I’ll give Oliver that.” Dylan took a sip of his drink. “As you can imagine, I’m not understanding a lot of the French.” His eyes glinted. “I guess that will change now that I’ve located my interpreter.”
“I’m here purely as a guest.” Mallory fluttered her lashes. “I’m an admirer of the art only. The background babble is lost to me.”
Dylan narrowed his eyes.
“I’m teasing.” Mallory smiled. “Do you want to network? Go forth. I will accompany you and be your voice.”
“Nah. Let’s hang out here until an exec finds me.”
“Which one is the famous CEO who drew you here tonight?”
“Why? Have a thing for men in suits?” Dylan sulked as if jealous. “ I’m wearing a suit, you know.”
Dylan’s tux was classic black with an edge. The edge came from the pointed collar and a pocket handkerchief folded into a triangle. His broad shoulders, lean hips, and long legs carried off the look to perfection. If he didn’t have a tuxedo endorsement by the end of the night, either the partygoers didn’t know fashion or his company had failed to make the deal.
She’d love a picture while they were both dressed up but didn’t dare ask. Pictures were proof. Pictures were permanent. Mallory didn’t need the promise of permanence. A memory was enough. Dylan would be a beautiful memory.
Mallory pulled her head back into the present but ignored his questions. “What do you think of the gallery itself? Does the art and architecture flood you with profound thoughts?”
Their hosts laughed loudly from the center of the room. Mallory hadn’t met them, but the attendant had pointed out the elegant forty-something couple in matching suits. The crowd ebbed and flowed in front of the pair as if they were the rulers of a fiefdom.
Behind them, a glass cube floated above a triangular base the size of a dining table. The floating effect was an illusion maintained by clear cables.
Her fantasy world would have cube-shaped light fixtures powered by steam energy.
Dylan followed her gaze. “Don’t let the hosts fool you. They pulled strings to get a rock star to attend. They’re not that profound. I don’t think their only concern is their guests’ aesthetic interests.”
“Au contraire. You are aesthetically beautiful.” Mallory pumped her fist at her side. “I cannot believe I worked au contraire into a sentence while in France. How cool am I?”
Dylan tapped his index finger against the rim of her glass while looking at her lips. “Very cool.”
Her knees got shaky at his seductive look, and her lips parted. “Honestly, I don’t think they invited you for your wallet or to convince you to sing. Beauty is their weakness.” She wouldn’t have said it was hers, but here she was, her heart tripping over the sight of Dylan in a tux.
In a room of well-dressed, debonaire men, why did he stand out? The glint in his eye, the heart-shaped curve of his lips? Yes and yes. His lean, graceful body? Of course. The rich voice? Definitely.
“Thank you for the compliment.” Dylan lowered his eyelids. “I like how you look at me.”
“How do I look at you?”
“Like I rank somewhere between nachos and dragons.”
Mallory puffed out a protest. She arched her eyebrows. “That’s god-tier ranking. You’ll have to work harder to reach that level.”
Dylan lowered his already deep voice. “I can do that. I’m intrigued by…” He made a zigzag in the air with his finger near the ribbons holding together the cutouts of her top. “I’m good with strings.”
Her gaze followed his finger as if he were hypnotizing her, and the melodic promise of his words made her shiver. Her skin heated under the silk of her dress, and she looked at him helplessly.
“There’s a soft rattle and clatter to your skirt. I appreciate sound.” He put his lips to her ear. “How will it sound when I undo the zip?”
Sexy. Her knees weakened, and she needed him to be less appealing. Otherwise, she’d make a public display of affection by grabbing his hand and rushing him away into the Paris night.
“Mallory. Dylan.” Oliver’s interruption and jovial tone brought her to her senses.
Mallory angled herself toward the room and less toward Dylan, doing her best to bring her breathing under control.
“Good to see you.” Oliver wore a somber, wine-colored jacket over a matching vest and white shirt with dark trousers. The color suited his dark coloring. “I hate to steal Mallory away, but I must.”
“She was just translating for me,” Dylan said. “I need her here.”
“I appreciate that,” Oliver agreed in that lawyer way that meant he didn’t actually agree and was setting up his argument to lay out why not. “Francois can assist you. I’ve arranged for Mallory to meet the artist behind the painting she purchased. He’s with our hosts now. She’ll never get an opportunity like this again.”
That was a lovely offer, but not as delightful as remaining here with Dylan, chatting over champagne.
Not that Oliver would realize her reluctance. As far as Oliver and the world knew, Mallory and Dylan weren’t together. She couldn’t blame Oliver for pulling her away. He might not even be offering for her sake; he might be attempting to help out Dylan.
Dylan no doubt needed constant rescuing from people hogging his attention. Mallory needed to clear her head and stiffen her knees anyway. A moment away from Dylan’s powerful presence would return her composure. She nodded. “I’d like to meet the artist. Thank you.” She stepped toward Oliver.
Oliver took her arm and looked back at Dylan. “The CEO has suggested coffee with a select group after the event ends.” With one simple sentence, he’d demanded another chunk of Dylan’s evening.
Dylan’s expression, which had lightened while he spoke with her, shifted into a scowl.
Mallory’s mood sank with an equal disappointment. Would she be meeting up with Dylan back at the hotel tonight? There was no way to ask at the moment, and these weren’t words she wanted to convey over text. Her literary strengths would fail her. Dearest Dylan, why, how, when … Nope, she had nothing.
After meeting the artist, who was very French and extremely quiet, Mallory circulated amongst the guests with Oliver at her side, introducing her as a client of Texk.
Oliver stayed with her until his phone buzzed with an incoming message. He frowned at the screen. “Work. Sorry, I have to take this.”
Calls from work while he was at work. Oliver needed boundaries. He seemed to be one of those corporate gems who thrived at work and greeted Fridays with reluctant depression.
Not a minute after Oliver left, Dylan found her again.
He took her elbow and maneuvered her toward a doorway leading outside to an inner courtyard filled with more statues.
The statues placed along both sides of a twisting walkway offered a touch more privacy. “I want to get you alone,” Dylan murmured in her ear. “I want to hear about the painting you bought.” He lowered his voice to a deep whisper. “Even more importantly, I want you to tell me what you want in bed. And how you want it.”
Mallory flushed. Her knees went shaky again. She tipped her head back to stare at Dylan, not knowing how to respond without throwing herself into his arms and whispering sexy suggestions in his ear in this very public setting.
She couldn’t even put her arm around his waist or hook her arm through his. She wouldn’t expose him like that.
Suddenly, the lights went out, turning the courtyard and outer chambers pitch black.
Dylan immediately leaned forward and kissed her. The shock of darkness followed by the vivid heat of his kiss and the touch of his tongue made her wobble.
The cube on a nearby sculpture illuminated.
Dylan smoothly stepped away.
Mallory blinked against the brightness and licked her tingling lips.
One by one, the cube statues illuminated, adding a golden glow to the evening.
The guests clapped.
“Shouldn’t have done that. Had to.” Dylan reached for her, then with a quick glance at the crowd, dropped his hand. “Distract me.”
Distract him? Distract her . Mallory steadied herself, but her heart rate didn’t listen. If she didn’t get ahold of herself, she’d do all the things he’d warned her about. There would be longing looks and public displays of affection galore. “Okay.” Her voice came out high.
She focused on the lighting. After a moment, she could breathe easier and shake off the restless urge to snuggle into him. “The dragon in my book will light the glass cubes in his cave a warm, orange color. Does that work as a distraction?”
Dylan nodded. “Yes. Thanks. Which painting did you buy?”
Mallory refused to look at his lips. “You may have seen it when you walked in. The one with a park setting.” She gestured toward the interior of the gallery. “For my cousin Chelsea. It’s a play on our last name.”
“Will you show it to me?”
“It’s being wrapped and shipped off to Texas. Not unlike me in a few weeks.” She had to remember that. She kept feeling like they were starting something meaningful, but they were temporary.
Leaving was a future certainty. She wanted to focus on the now, let him know she was still in the moment. That she accepted that he’d had to bail earlier for work. Writers needed alone time, after all. “My muse is loving Paris. Oliver might get my next series sooner than he anticipates.”
“You should focus on me, not Oliver.”
Okay. He was a rock star for a reason, wanting the spotlight. Back to their earlier topic. “Erm, what’s the lighting like at your place?” His hotel room was probably the same as hers, lamp lit with semi-bright canned lighting overhead. “Did your interior designer put in spotlights? A faux catwalk? Neon tubes shaped to spell out your name?”
“All of those. Plus, sunny in Montecito. Wintery vibes in Aspen.”
“Sounds inspiring.” And far from Texas. Neither place was in the same time zone. “Any of your lyrics come from there?”
“Don’t expect poetry from me.” His tone was wry. “I’m the sound guy.”
Mallory chuckled. “What do your homes sound like?”
He smiled in appreciation. “Waves. Snowfall. Unless the guys are there, then music, laughter, and chaos.” His affection for his homes and bandmates was evident in his voice.
She felt the same about her cousins. Home was where they were, demanding her time and affection, offering the same. “That’s lovely.”
They shared a look that said they both valued their loved ones.
Pop. Whir.
A cable snapped, causing the center display, a glass cube, to tilt as if the earth was coming off its axis.
Performance art? That didn’t seem right. Mallory stepped back. The hairs on her arms rose.
Pop. Whir.
No, not just the center cube, but all the interconnected sculptures around the room were angling down. The cord holding them was unraveling, releasing the art. She processed what was happening in seconds.
Boom!