Chapter 5

The air in the private gallery room was thick, heavy with the scent of turpentine, linseed oil, and something far more primal—the musk of our shared anticipation. We had escaped the low hum of the cocktail party just twenty minutes ago, slipping through the double doors of the artist’s studio like thieves, leaving the polite chatter of critics and collectors behind. Now, it was just us, surrounded by towering canvases that loomed like silent sentinels, their surfaces a chaotic blend of impasto textures and deep, brooding shadows. I stood in the center of the room, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I was sure it would echo off the exposed brick walls. My dress, a sleek slip of charcoal silk that had clung to my curves all evening, was now the only thing separating me from the heat radiating off him. He stood before me, that towering figure of authority I had admired from afar for weeks, now looking at me with a hunger that stripped me bare more effectively than any pair of hands. His eyes, dark and piercing, raked over my body, lingering on the swell of my breasts, the curve of my hips, before dragging