Chapter 4
Lena
The art mixer was the last place I wanted to be and my little black dress felt constricting and the pearls around my neck felt too delicate. But my boss had insisted and the only thing making it bearable was the white wine in the plastic cup that I was holding.
"You need to network, Lena. Make connections. This town's small and you never know who might commission a piece."
So here I was, nursing a glass of cheap wine in a gallery that smelled like fresh paint and pretension, surrounded by people who used words like "evocative" and "visceral" to describe paintings that looked like a toddler had sneezed on a canvas.
God, I wanna go home to the cabin, I thought as the music in the space turned to a weird and seductive pulsing sound.
With another sigh dancing from my lips I looked around the space and noted that it was packed. Bodies pressed close as people moved from piece to piece, wine glasses held to their lips like shields.
I kept to the edges, pretending to study a sculpture that looked like twisted metal having an existential crisis.
"Not a fan?" A voice that was deep and low came from behind me. It was as if someone had dropped warm honey all over my body.
Slowly, I turned to face the unfamiliar voice and found a man standing there. He was broad shouldered and tall with dark hair, slightly too long, like he'd missed a few haircuts.
The intensity of his eyes had me gripping my cup a little too tight.
Blue.
His eyes were so intensely blue and he was looking at me like I was possibly the last meal he’d ever have, if I let him.
"I…" Softly, I cleared my throat, trying to find my footing. "I think it's trying too hard."
The way his mouth curved, not quite a smile gave off dangerous vibes. "Trying too hard to be what?" "Art," I said.
My reply got a genuine reaction out him. He actually laughed. "Fair enough."
He stepped closer, hands in his pockets, casual in a way that felt anything but. "You're new."
It wasn't a question.
"How do you know?"
"Small town," he said, his gaze dropping to my dress, then back up. His eyes were eating me the fuck up and I couldn’t decide if I liked it or not.
"And you’re giving off a vibe."
Heat crept up my neck. I shouldn't have liked that. But I did.
"I've been here a few weeks," I said, taking a sip of wine to give my hands something to do. "Working at the gallery here in downtown."
"The one on Fifth?" I nodded.
"Good spot," he said. "Quiet."
Biting at my lip, I peered up at him. "You been there?"
"Once or twice, just casually looking for something I might like." The way he said it made my pulse skip. Like maybe he'd been there more than that. Like maybe he'd been watching.
Girl, get yourself together, I told myself. You're being paranoid.
"I'm Killian by the way," he said, extending a hand.
I stared at it for half a second too long before taking it.
His palm scraped against my own softly, and the heat from his body traveled up the length of my arm. "Lena," I murmured softly.
"Lena," he repeated, like he was tasting my name. "It suits you."
Suddenly, I became aware of how close he’d gotten in just a moment. It was as if he’d moved so quick I hadn’t even realized it.
"So what brings you to this circle of hell?" I asked, trying to lighten the mood.
Breathe, I thought.
"Same as you, I imagine," Killian offered with a smile. "I’m looking to add something special to my collection."
I grinned. "Art collector?"
"God, no." He glanced around the room, his expression unreadable. "I work in finance. Remote. Boring shit. But I thought my place could use a more…feminine energy."
"Oh,” I managed to murmur as his eyes came back to mine.
The way he’d said feminine dripped in seduction. His words hung between us. I should have walked away. Should have made an excuse, maybe find someone else to talk to, anything. But I didn't.
"So, did you find that sort of piece?” I asked.
The deep timbre of his voice had me clenching my legs together in an instant. “I think I did, Lena. You’re the most exquisite looking piece in this place…”
The way his lips curved into a smile after his words dropped felt almost predatory.
"You don't know me," I said, my voice quieter than I intended.
He licked at his bottom lip. “No. Not yet."
Fuck.
I took another sip of wine, buying time, trying to figure out what the hell was happening. This man was looking at me like I was something he'd been searching for. Like he'd found exactly what he needed. And I didn't know if I should run or lean in.
"That's a bold assumption," I said finally.
"Is it?"
"Yeah. I'm not really looking to…" I gestured vaguely. "Get involved with anyone. I just moved here. I'm focused on work."
"I didn't ask you to get involved," his words came out in a maddening tone.
I sucked in a breath, “You’re right. That was presumptuous of me.”
He smiled again, his eyes lighting up in a way that told me I was some sort of prey. "But…I am curious about you, Lena." He tilted his head, studying me. "What you draw. Why you came here. What you're running from."
My stomach did a flip flop. "I'm not running from anything."
"Everyone who moves to the middle of nowhere is running from something," he said. "Or looking for something."
Before I could stop myself, I was asking this man another question. "And what chased you to the area?"
His smile was slow as he leaned in just a little. Dangerous.
"I do the chasing…"
I didn't know what to say to that. The conversation felt like it was happening on two levels. The surface polite, flirty, harmless. And underneath there appeared to be something darker and heavier happening. Like he was peeling me apart without laying a finger on me.
"Anyone ever told you that you’re…intense?” I asked trying to sound casual.
"You have no idea."
My thighs clenched again and I knew his ass had noticed.
Jesus Christ, Lena. Get it together.
"I should…" I started, but he cut me off.
"Do you live up on the mountain?" I blinked at his question.
"How did you…" my brain was trying to process our conversation, because I wondered if I’d said it briefly and not even realized that I’d mentioned it.
"I live up there too," he said smoothly. "I thought I saw you in passing a few times. "
Relief flooded through me as he explained. For just a moment I thought it might have been something else.
"Yeah," I said, exhaling with a smile. "I'm staying in my aunt’s cabin. It's quiet."
"It is," Killian agreed. "Peaceful. Good place to think."
"Or draw," I countered.
"Or draw," he echoed.
Silence settled between us, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was heavy. Expectant. Like we were both waiting for the other to make the first move.
"I should probably mingle," I said, even though the last thing I wanted to do was talk to anyone else.
"Should you?"
"My boss will kill me if I don't."
Killian's gaze flicked past me, scanning the room. "The guy in the blue blazer?"
I glanced over my shoulder. My boss, Randall, was holding court near the bar, laughing too loud at his own jokes. "That's him."
"He's not paying attention," Killian said.
I turned back. "You trying to get me fired?"
"I'm trying to keep you here."
My pulse kicked up again. There was no mistaking it now. This wasn't just friendly conversation. This was something else. Something I absolutely should not be entertaining.
"Why?" I asked.
Killian stepped closer. Close enough that I could smell him wood smoke and something clean, like soap. Close enough that if I leaned forward even an inch, I'd be pressed against his chest.
"Because I don't want you to leave yet," he said, his voice dropping lower. "And I think you don't want to either."
He was right. I didn't, not really. Even though every instinct I had was screaming at me to put distance between us, I stayed rooted to the spot. "You're very sure of yourself," I said.
"Only when I'm right."
I took another sip from the glass. "And if you're wrong?"
His eyes darkened. "I'm not."
Fuck.
My mouth went dry. I really needed to leave now. Needed to walk away before this turned into something I couldn't take back. But then Killian reached out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair away from my face, and every coherent thought I had evaporated.
"I'll see you around, Lena," he said softly.
And then he was gone. Disappearing into the crowd like he'd never been there at all. I stood there, heart pounding, plastic wine cup, trembling in my hand. What the hell just happened?