Page 35 of Beautiful Exile

“So?” I ground out.

“So…I’m going to need art for that house. Thought it would be nice to have some of it be local.Someonetold me this was the place to find it.” Linc’s gaze flicked behind me, hardening a fraction as he pushed to his feet.

“Billionaires,” I muttered.

Then I felt it. Heat at my back. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Denver standing far too close. He extended a hand to Linc, hisarm brushing mine in the process. “Hello. I’m Denver Wick, manager of The Collective. I’d be happy to show you around and suggest some pieces.”

“Lincoln Pierce. Thanks for the offer, but I’d just like to wander and see what grabs hold.” His gaze flicked to me and held for just a beat too long.

And in that beat, my skin heated, and my nipples pebbled, lips parting just slightly with my sharp intake of breath. It was official. My body was an idiot.

Linc’s gaze zeroed in on my mouth, registering my quick inhale, and his hazel eyes flashed a bit more gold. “Maybe you can tell me about the artists, Vicious.”

“If you don’t, I will,” Farah called from our meeting spot.

Heat flashed somewhere deep and felt alarmingly like jealousy. I knew Farah was joking; she was happily coupled up with a local mechanic. But I still didn’t like the idea of her being the one to show Linc around—to be close enough to smell his cedar and bourbon scent.

“We’re in the middle of switching over displays, so we only have a few pieces up at the moment,” I said, hoping Linc would simply go. That would be easier. Less complicated. But even just thinking that was a lie.

Linc’s gaze didn’t move from my face as if reading every thought that passed through my head. “It’ll still give me a chance to get a feel for the artists, don’t you think?”

“Sure,” I grumbled.

“We need to finish our meeting,” Denver said, his voice tight.

I glanced at my manager, taking in the tightness around his eyes. He’d normally be jumping at the chance to gain a rich patron.

“Why don’t you just piss a circle around her?” Farah called. “Might save us some time.”

Denver’s eyes flared, the brown color lightening to almost amber. “I’m just pointing out that we weren’t finished. We still need to figure out who’s handling the music for the fundraiser.”

Isaiah pushed to his feet, saving me yet again. “That’s all me, bossman.” His gaze flicked to me, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “Lord knows we can’t put Ardy in charge of that.”

A chuckle sounded behind me. “As someone planning on attending that fundraiser, my ears thank you,” Linc said.

Isaiah barked out a laugh, then crossed to us and extended a hand. “I’m Isaiah. That wildflower queen with the red hair is Hannah, our resident watercolorist. That coffee-black-just-like-her-heart dream is Farah. She does the mixed media pieces you’ll see around here.”

Linc took Isaiah’s hand, his expression warm. “You must do the clay work.” His head inclined to a sculpture in the corner. “Bold. And damn captivating.”

“Appreciate it,” Isaiah said, releasing his grip.

Surprise lit through me. “How did you know it wasn’t one of mine?”

Linc’s gaze moved back to me. The focus made me want to squirm. “I know your art. Know its style. What it makes me feel.”

Farah reached for a few flyers from a stack and began fanning herself. “Good God, I need a cigarette.”

My mouth went dry, and the urge to reach for something to drink was so strong I only managed one word. “Oh.”

Isaiah chuckled. “This is going to be so much fun.”

I turned in his direction, pinning him with a glare that should’ve had him rethinking his words.

He held up both hands but only laughed harder. “What’d I say?”

“I’m leaving,” I muttered, pulling my keys from my pocket. “You guys have fun.”

Annoyance flickered through me, but I knew the emotion was a lie. It hid something else. Something that felt a lot like a mix of shame and hurt.

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