Page 54 of Love.V2
A breath rushed out of Tess’s mouth. I felt it against my skin before she scrambled backwards. “Thank you,” she gasped, fumbling with her seatbelt.
I cleared my throat, adjusting my pants. “Yes. Thank you.” I pulled out my phone, already leaving the driver a hefty tip, when I heard a little squeak.
My hands shot out just in time, catching a slightly tipsy Theresa Lynn Livingston before she hit the asphalt. “Thank you!” She giggled again as the car slid away from the curb.
While I was slinging her around, I decided I should pull her up against my chest. She washed up like a wave to shore.
“I think that guy caught us making out,” she whispered, leaning her weight on me.
“I think so, too,” I whispered back, ducking my head down. She was easy to see in the flooded lights of New York, but I wanted to be closer. I wanted to be back in that cab. Or, better yet, back in our hotel room.
Her fingers twined around my hair, playing. “Good thing we… This isn’t our hotel.”
I shook my head, brushing a smudge of lipstick from the corner of her mouth. I wiped mine as well. No telling what they looked like. More than likely marked with light pink gloss and bite marks. I didn’t mind it. If I had my way, the whole world would know she was mine, and that we liked kissing in cabs.
But for this…we should probably both be presentable. Tess would die if she walked in there with lipstick all over her face.
I stepped back, scanning her body. A quick tug on her dress shifted it back from where it had twisted up in the car.
“Why are we in a strange neighborhood in a strange city after dark?”
I nearly snorted.After dark. She sounded pretty scandalized for someone who had been about to take my shirt off in a cab.
“You got me,” I admitted, grabbing her hand to stride toward the big brick building. “It’s been a long con. Twelve years of manipulation, and now I’m finally ready to murder you.”
“Dylan,” she scolded while I pressed the button.
“Tess,” I replied, swinging the door open when the lock buzzed. I towed her across the hall.
“I’m serious. What is this? And why aren’t we back at the hotel?”She caught up to me, her last words whispered and urgent in my ear as she stroked my arm. It was tempting, so very tempting, to turn around, march back to the street and hail the first cab I saw.
But I’d already screwed this up once. I wouldn’t do it again.
“For this.” I nodded behind Tess to where a large black door covered in bronze dragonflies swung open. A woman stood on the other side. Tall, draped in printed silk scarves, she looked like the Barefoot Contessa, but with graying hair that fell past her waist.
“Tess?” The woman looked at Tess expectantly. She received a blank stare in return. “Dylan has told me so much about you in our email exchanges. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”
Tess’s mouth opened and stayed there, like the words had only loaded halfway and were getting stuck on the way out. I eased forward to offer my hand.
“I’m the Dylan who’s told you so much about her. Thank you for inviting us here tonight.”
Her handshake was delicate. I had to be careful not to grip too hard.
“Fiona Winston?” Tess croaked, finally coming out of her stupor. Fiona smiled, offering her hand to Tess, who took it automatically. When she realized who she was touching, Tess wrapped her other hand around Fiona’s, like she was scared the woman would vanish.
“One and the same. Your man here told me you missed my show when it came through Nashville last year. What do you say to a private tour?”
Fiona cracked the door, revealing a long hallway filled with watercolor paintings, from massive, six-foot creations to tiny, postage-stamp-sized portraits. They were pinned to the wall like butterflies, fluttering with the air conditioning unit. Beyond the hall, we could see a large room filled with light. More paintings.
“A private…?” Tess’s eyes were wide, ready to capture every color she saw. “Do you have an exhibit going on right now?”
Fiona’s eyes crinkled. “Nothing like that, dear. This is my studio. Want to come have a look around?”
It shouldn’t have been possible, but Tess’s eyes grew even bigger. She looked at me, stunned, like she was asking for permission to go inside. Or, maybe, asking if I was seeing this, too?
“Go on, birthday girl,” I murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “We’ve got all night.”
Tears pooled in her eyes. “Dylan, I…” She looked back at Fiona. At me. Fiona, again. “I’m so sorry. I’m really overwhelmed. I am so inspired by your work. It’s been my dream to see your pieces in person.”
