Page 73 of The Prince Who Loved Me

Chapter 17

Tonight was the night. Sebastien’s art would be on display for everybody to critique and criticize. And His Majesty could see what art really means to him.

He glanced at his watch while he paced the common room of his suite in the upscale Atlanta hotel. Door to balcony. Balcony to door. He didn’t have to be at the gallery as Owen, but he wanted the experience as an unknown. It may be his only chance.

In fifteen minutes, they’d leave for d’Arte Pesca. He’d been ready for forty-five minutes, nerves and excitement fighting for dominance in his head. Brandi was in the suite’s bedroom, getting ready. She’d kicked him out before she put on the non-burlap sack dress.

He couldn’t wait to see her.

Wendy and Jordan and their partners were on another floor in the grand hotel. He paid for them to be nearby, partly as a thank you to Wendy for how he lived at Fountenoy Hall and partly because big events in his life deserved to be celebrated with friends. Any of them would gladly meet him at the bar and distract him until his men came to drive him to the gallery. He was half-tempted to call Rob, just to mess with the guy.

The door to the bedroom creaked open and he froze in anticipation.

Brandi emerged in the dress he had bought, her eyes seeking him out and smiling tightly, though trying to make it natural. Her hair had been piled on her head, but cascaded down her back in a fall of blonde waves.

“God you’re beautiful,” he murmured.

Her smile broadened.

He had been right about the color palette showcasingwhat was naturally her. The picture of the whole was captivating. It was almost too bad he had to leave to go to his own art show.

“Wow.” Brandi sized him up as she walked around him in a circle. “I’ve seen you in tuxedos before, but usually from the pages of a magazine. You’re gorgeous.”

He held out his hand and twirled her around when she took it. The full skirt of her knee-length dress swirled around her until he drew her into his arms, his voice low in her ear. “I wish I could sketch you right now. And then strip your clothing off you, piece by piece, drawing you each time, until you were naked. And then drawing you again.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing her body alongside his. “Maybe you wish can come true after you take the art world by storm.”

Slowly she pressed her lips against his, then gently sucked his lower lip. A frisson of heat shot straight through him, leaving him reeling. It wasn’t just about lust. His feelings for this woman overpowered any rational thought.

On a groan, he buried his fingers in her hair, taking charge. He pressed a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses from the sensitive spot under her ear to the hollow of her neck. Pleasure rippled straight to his groin when she melted into him. He’d never get tired of the simple thrill of kissing her.

A throat cleared. Sebastien was used to his men interrupting, but he took this last opportunity to fasten his mouth on hers, his tongue engaging hers in a dance before reluctantly parting.

“Our carriage awaits,” he said. Brandi picked through her hair to remove the decorative combs that were no longer doing their job, but he felt only slightly guilty. “You still look beautiful.”

“I wasn’t worried.” She cast him a quick grin, then took his arm and let him lead her outside.

They slid into the limousine, and Sebastien poured somechampagne. “Remember my name tonight is Owen Macvana. This is a show to see how good I really am, not how far my name will take me.”

This evening meant so much to him and he fought to keep his voice even. Debuting his art, the woman of his dreams on his arm, surrounded by friends who might as well be his family. The emotions bottled in his chest and he took a deep, cleansing breath.

Brandi caught his hand and threaded their fingers together. “You’re incredibly talented and everybody is going to praise your sketches tonight. And I’m not saying that because you’re mine.”

Sebastien took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I’m counting on you to be my good luck charm.”

The limo pulled up to the studio, where people already milled on the sidewalk, waiting to get in when the show opened in an hour. He clutched Brandi’s hand, afraid his own would be shaking if he let her go. Massimo opened the door, and flashes went off around them.

“Whew, that was bright,” Brandi said.

“Get inside.” Massimo ushered her and Sebastien into the gallery, muttering in Italian the entire time.

Sebastien murmured something in the same language, following it with, “Thomasina has a popular gallery. It’ll be fine. You worry too much.”

“What’s wrong?” Brandi asked.

“He didn’t like my picture being taken. But he’s paid to worry, so I keep him around.” Sebastien grinned. “Let me present you to Thomasina.”

The gallery boasted hardwood floors and movable white-paneled walls that divided the large room into sections. Sebastien gripped her hand hard when he saw his own sketches displayed against a deep purple backdrop.