Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Seymour
I can’t take it any longer.
The scent of lilacs and paint surrounds me, filling my lungs with each breath. Her presence soaks into every pore, awakening something I’ve tried to keep dormant. I need this. All the time.
I’ve wanted to kiss this woman since that night I brought her here the first time. My body thrums with the need to touch her, to pull her close. The moonlight catches the blue strands of her hair, making them shimmer like strands of starlight.
Yes, that’s why I force Harris to come with me to work. Being alone with Mandy strips away my control piece by piece until there’s nothing left but raw need. All my carefully constructed rules would shatter within twenty-four hours.
Rules are rules. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself as I watch her hesitate. I told her to kiss me, and now she stands before me, her teeth catching her bottom lip. The action sends a jolt through my system.
She wouldn’t have stepped closer or come to my boathouse if there wasn’t a part of her that wanted to kiss me too. The thought makes my heart pound harder.
Her impish smile catches me off guard, the flush in her cheeks visible even in the dim light. The clouds part, and moonlight streams down like a spotlight on this moment, illuminating the slight tremor in her hands.
“Patience,” she says, her voice breathy and low. “Artists know how to soak in the moment.” She takes another small step closer, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from her body. “And I don’t want to break any rules.”
I love it. She’s sexy and still challenging, refusing to make this easy. The realization hits me then. I’m falling for her. The more time I spend with her, the more wrapped up in her I become, the less I want this to end.
“I’ll break all the rules for you.” The words slip out before I can stop them, raw and honest. They surprise me, but I realize I mean every syllable. This isn’t just about tonight or tomorrow. It’s about all the tomorrows stretching endlessly ahead. “Now kiss me, dammit.”
She rises on her tiptoes, and I lean down to meet her, drawn by an irresistible force. Her mouth hovers millimeters from mine, her warm breath fanning across my lips, carrying the faint sweetness of her lip gloss.
The anticipation makes my heart pound harder.
Then she lightly skims her lips against mine, a feather-light touch that sends electricity coursing through my veins.
When she presses her lips fully against mine in a sweet kiss, time seems to stop.
The world shifts beneath my feet as warmth explodes through my body, starting from where our lips meet and spreading outward like wildfire.
“Oh, Sweetness,” I murmur against her mouth.
She responds by deepening the kiss, parting her lips slightly.
Her hands slide up my chest, fingers trailing a path of heat through my shirt until they rest over my thundering heart.
I cup her face gently, my thumb stroking her cheek as I savor the softness of her lips, the way she melts into me, the quiet sound of contentment she makes in the back of her throat.
Seconds later, we break apart, both breathing heavily. I can’t get enough of her. The taste of her lips, the softness of her skin under my fingers, the way her body fits perfectly against mine. I’ll never get enough.
“What is this?” she whispers, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt.
“I don’t know.” And I truly don’t, because for the first time in my life, I want to demolish every rule I’ve ever made.
I want to create new ones just for Mandy.
Texting becomes mandatory. Coffee dates transform into a daily necessity.
Smiles aren’t just allowed but required.
Being alone together becomes essential, not forbidden.
The thought both terrifies and exhilarates me.
I’ve never experienced anything like this before. Not even with Anna. What I feel for Mandy makes those past emotions seem pale and insignificant. My heart pounds against my ribs like it’s trying to break free.
“Maybe we should make some rules?” I suggest, my voice rough with emotion.
A laugh escapes her lips, and I can’t resist kissing her again. This time it’s soft and chaste, trying to convey everything I can’t put into words. I want to protect her, cherish her, learn every detail about her.
“This isn’t anything I planned,” I admit, running my thumb along her jawline.
“Me neither.” Her voice trembles slightly.
“I want to take it slow.” My hand cups her cheek, and she leans into the touch. “I want to cherish you every step of the way.”
She moves closer, pressing herself against me, and my arms encircle her automatically. I hold her like she’s precious, irreplaceable, because that’s exactly what she’s becoming to me.
I’m in trouble. A lot of trouble.
The rest of the night, I sleep with thoughts of Mandy running through my mind, replaying that kiss, the entire exchange.
It was the sexiest first kiss I’ve ever experienced, and I’ve had my share.
But none that made it past that initial stage.
None that made me want more. Not just physically, but emotionally.
I wake thinking of her, her name the first conscious thought in my mind.
This feels different. Everything about Mandy feels different.
While completing the final preparations for tonight’s event, thoughts of her intrude constantly. During my private meeting with Diana, I catch myself smiling at nothing. When I swim across the lake in the afternoon, then shower and dress for the event, I replay our kiss in my mind.
You get the point.
I dress with particular care in my tuxedo, adjusting my bow tie in the mirror until it sits perfectly.
I arrive early at the gallery. The event starts at six.
Yes, I paid out of pocket for the best caterers I know.
I’ve used them before with great success.
There’s something about staff circulating with trays of champagne and appetizers versus having food available on tables.
It’s about serving the patrons, anticipating their needs.
It’s buyer psychology at its finest. When people feel like they’re part of an elite crowd, dressed in their finest, they feel wealthy.
Some of them are wealthy, of course, but it’s about creating that atmosphere for everyone. It puts them in the mood to buy.
That’s the plan. I should make back any money I invested and consider it a donation to the gallery. That’s what I do. Invest in what matters.
I walk the perimeter of the gallery, noting how the lighting highlights each piece perfectly.
I mingle with early arrivals, using charm honed over years of practice to make them smile and feel at ease.
Of course, I notice the moment Mandy arrives.
My body seems attuned to her presence now.
The sight of her stirs something deep inside me.
It’s not just the shimmery blue dress that catches the light with every movement.
It’s her smile, the way she holds herself with quiet confidence.
The lingering memory of her lips pressed against mine makes my pulse quicken.
We’re like magnets throughout the evening, circling the room separately but always aware of each other. The attraction draws us closer until we’re finally face to face.
“Hi,” she whispers.
“Hi,” I whisper back, fighting the urge to reach for her hand. “Why are we whispering?”
“I don’t know.” She smooths her dress despite its perfect fall.
“You look stunning.”
She gives me a look of disbelief, then whispers, “I borrowed a dress from Barrie. Do I look weird?”
Weird? The word doesn’t even belong in the same sentence as how she looks tonight. “You could move mountains in that dress, Sweetness.”
I love watching surprise flash across her face at the endearment, followed by a slow, sweet acceptance.
It’s like no one has shown her this kind of tenderness in far too long.
I want to stay here with her for hours, just talking, whispering, laughing.
“If I stay away from you, it’s because all I want to do is pull you into a corner and find out more about you.
I want to hold your hand. Touch your cheek.
Kiss you. Learn everything about the real Mandy Farnsworth. ”
Her voice wavers slightly when she admits, “Me, too.” A sweet giggle escapes. “Except, substitute that for Seymour Black.”
We steal another moment, no words needed. Just her eyes meeting mine in a connection that feels more intimate than any kiss. It’s the most moving moment I’ve shared with anyone. Finally, I tear myself away. She does the same. We both have jobs to do tonight.
After speaking with several patrons, I observe with approval as the entire board gives their best effort.
Diana, Stephen, and Lily work the room with practiced ease.
I try not to, but my gaze keeps finding Mandy.
She’s in her element whether she realizes it or not.
Maybe it’s her passion for art that shines through, eclipsing any insecurities.
I want to know why those insecurities exist. What happened to make her doubt herself?
I want to know every detail, every story that made her who she is.
“Hey.”
Scott’s voice pulls me from my thoughts.
He’s giving me that look. The protective older brother stare that says he’s ready to defend his sister’s honor.
I choose to ignore it. “Great job on the security.” The undercover guards blend seamlessly with the crowd, only detectable if you know exactly what to look for.
“Thanks.” He shifts his weight, then says, “I’m not sure you realize how much this means to my sister.”
I raise an eyebrow, studying him. “I have an inkling.”
“Well, it’s her world,” he continues, and I can see the protective speech building in his expression.
But I realize I don’t mind. Mandy is lucky to have someone looking out for her interests.
“This can’t just be a toy project for you.
Something to play with until you’re bored.
Or something to experiment with, because to her, it’s everything. ”
Usually, in this situation, I would respond with icy charm or a defensive comment.
Instead, I meet his gaze directly. “You have your doubts about me, because of everything that happened with Grace. That’s okay.
I don’t blame you. I was, at best, a jerk.
But this is different.” So different that I’m falling for your sister.
“Okay, then.” He nods and continues his rounds.
As the organizer of this event, I need to maintain perspective on the big picture rather than getting lost in individual conversations.
I study Eugene, noting how he hovers near his covered painting that will soon be revealed and sold at auction.
He’s acting like a nervous parent, afraid to let their child out of sight.
When he catches my eyes, he motions me over with quick, almost frantic gestures. He’s dressed like a typical artist in a funky out-of-date tuxedo that somehow works for him. I make my way to his side. “Is something wrong?”
His gaze darts around the surrounding crowd as if searching for a specific face. “Yes and no.”
“Explain.” I draw him slightly away from the nearest group of patrons.
He starts to speak, stops, then tries again. “I don’t feel safe.”
“Why not?”
His hand plunges into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper. He unfolds it, then immediately crumples it again and shoves it back into his pocket. “I... someone left this at my house. It’s a warning.”
“Can I see it?” My mind immediately goes to the letter left at my home. You have something that doesn’t belong to you.
Eugene hesitates, his hand moving toward his pocket just as Diana’s voice rings out, calling everyone’s attention.
It’s time for the reveal of Eugene’s painting, the piece he chose to donate to the gallery for auction.
My attention remains divided between Eugene’s last words and the unfolding ceremony. I might have dismissed his worries if I hadn’t received a warning letter myself. I make a mental note to speak with him more about it after the reveal.
The dust cover is pulled away with a flourish, revealing a painting in Eugene’s signature style.
Diana calls him to the front where he receives the applause with nervous energy, his eyes still scanning the crowd.
Diana announces the donation with practiced skill, building anticipation and desire in the audience.
I raise my hand. “Twenty k.”
Gasps ripple through the crowd. Someone needs to set the bar high, and the opening bid matters. I’m prepared to pay it if no one else goes higher. But they do. The price climbs by thousands until it’s finally sold for seventy-five thousand.
The atmosphere shifts to celebration. Diana calls for champagne, congratulating the winner. More of Eugene’s paintings sell as the evening progresses. His work now a hot commodity.
The evening slowly winds down. I’m eager to find Mandy, to share in her excitement. I can’t wait to see her smile, watch her eyes light up, see the flush of success in her cheeks.
Near the end of the night, Eugene leans heavily against a wall, says his goodbyes, and heads for the exit. Is he stumbling? The security detail follows discreetly, and I do too.
I need to ask about the letter. I need to see if it matches mine.
In the parking lot, by his car, he suddenly lurches forward. His hand clutches his chest as he falls to the ground, gasping and crying out in pain.
I immediately call 911, reporting a possible heart attack. My voice remains steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me.
It happens fast. Too fast. His body shakes violently. Within minutes, he’s gone. Dead before the paramedics can arrive.
Patrons are leaving the gallery, and this scene will draw unwanted attention. I take control of the situation, stepping forward with authority. “Okay, everyone, give him space. The paramedics are on their way.”
Then, when all eyes are turned away, I reach into Eugene’s pocket and extract the crumpled letter. Whatever it contains, I have a feeling it’s connected to more than just tonight’s tragedy.