He ended the embrace and rested his forehead against mine, and that was even better than the kiss he’d just given me. I loved having a piece of him that no one else ever could. I loved sharing my life with him, being the recipient of his adoration and his lust. Andrew Lexington had put an incredible offer on the table, and while I struggled to say no, I was glad I did. You couldn’t put a price on what I had with Conway. He said he didn’t want anything more than what we had, but he’d made so many sacrifices for me already.
Maybe he would make those sacrifices too…when he was ready.
He turned away and faced the stage again, his hand giving mine a good squeeze.
The lights turned down low, and the show started.
Conway received a standing ovation when the show was over. The models lined the stage with their hands held together, fake performance smiles plastered across their faces. Everyone clapped and cheered.
Conway and I were the only ones who remained seated.
He stared at the stage with his same intense expression, not giving a single thought away. Whether he was the center of attention or not, he kept the same cool composure. Nothing rattled this man.
Then the models pivoted to him and beckoned him to stand.
The sound of applause intensified.
Conway wore a slight smirk then rose to his feet.
The cheering grew louder, and the models clapped for him. Then together, they gave a swift bow in his direction.
The sound was so loud I couldn’t hear my own breathing. Everyone in the auditorium was standing and clapping for him, admiring a man for his commitment to creative genius. He said he didn’t need me on the stage to prove he was a master at his craft.
And he was right.
He proved everyone wrong.
The applause finally died away, and people began to exit the auditorium.
His arm moved around my waist, and he pulled me into his side. “Now here comes the worst part.”
“What’s the worst part?”
“Talking.”
My face was pressed close to his as we waited for our turn to step in the aisle. “Well, when we get back to the room, there won’t be talking there…” My hand pressed against his chest, the same affection I showed him whenever we were in bed together. It conveyed my thoughts, conveyed the things I wanted to do but couldn’t.
His gaze intensified, turning to a gentle smolder.
I tugged on the front of his jacket and directed his lips to mine, giving him a soft kiss while my eyes remained locked with his.
He kissed me back, watching my eyes with the same intensity. His hand tightened at my lower back, bunching the fabric of my dress together. I could feel his desire in his simple movements, feel the arousal between his legs without actually pressing against him.
He abruptly turned away and guided me down the aisle, like he was turning off his feelings on purpose. He kept his arm securely wrapped around my waist and guided me into the lobby. As he predicted, he was swarmed with questions.
Just as I would on stage, I presented myself with a smile. I watched Conway answer all the questions thrown his way with refined patience, and I pressed against him as he held me close. His eloquent answers were interesting to me, and not once did he give the impression that he didn’t want to be there.
He was a good liar.
The talking continued for the next few hours. My heels were killing me, and my dress was so tight against my stomach. My bladder was full of the wine we’d drunk earlier, and I needed a moment to relieve myself. “I need to powder my nose, Conway.”
He eyed me with disappointment before he let me go.
I walked across the lobby toward the stairs when a man with a microphone pointed straight at my mouth intercepted me. Another man holding a camera was right behind him as he blocked my way to the restroom.
I wouldn’t be annoyed if I didn’t have to pee so badly.
“Sapphire, what did you think of the show?”
“It was beautiful,” I answered. “Conway is a genius. He proves it time and time again. Excuse me.” I tried to step away.
But he blocked my path once again. “Is it true that you’re the inspiration for all his designs? That you’re no longer on the runway because you’re working with him more privately?”
I had no idea where he got that information, and I had no idea if I should confirm it or deny it. No wonder Conway hated this part of his job. “An artist draws his inspiration from everything. There’s no way to tell exactly where it comes from.”
As if he anticipated my movements, the man moved in front of me again, continuing to hold the microphone in front of me. “Conway Barsetti has never taken a date to any of his shows before, and he’s never been photographed showing affection with any woman. Is it safe to say that he’s found love in you?”