“I knew you’d be as enthusiastic about it as I am,” he said as he drew away. While his tone was innocuous enough, his bright blue eyes gleamed with what might have been amusement.
Tara struggled to remember how to breathe again. She certainly didn’t want Blake to know that his brief, impulsive kiss had set her pulse racing.
A short, portly man in a bad toupee approached them with a beaming smile. “Spectacular, isn’t it?” he asked, nodding toward the canvas.
“Incredible,” Blake replied.
The man looked at Tara expectantly.
“I...er...I’ve never seen anything like it,” she answered candidly.
Blake slipped an arm around her waist. “We were just talking about the power of it. All that barely suppressed emotion.”
The little man nodded with such enthusiasm that Tara couldn’t help watching to see if his toupee would remain in place. It did.
“This painting would be a valuable addition to any private collection,” he hinted broadly.
Blake nodded gravely. “I’m sure it would. But, of course, my wife and I would like to look at everything before we make our selection.”
Tara tried not to react to the news of her matrimonial status, but she was afraid she wasn’t nearly as good at this kind of thing as Blake was. It would help, she thought irritably, if she knew what the hell they were doing here.
“Of course,” the man said. “Please, enjoy yourselves. If there’s anything I can do to help you, my name is Botkin.”
And then he started to walk away—probably looking for another sucker, Tara decided. She turned to Blake, hoping for some explanation. But before she could ask, she blinked in astonishment. The little man had given her a familiar pat on the butt as he brushed past her! There was no way to believe it had just been an accidental touch—Botkin’s hand had slid around her side and lingered long enough to leave her in no doubt that she’d just been felt up.
Of all the nerve! she thought, turning to glare at him as he hurried away. And she’d expected this would be a classy function.
“Blake,” she began, turning purposefully toward him again.
Her “husband” tightened his hold on her waist and urged her toward the next painting, dodging people along the way, effectively preventing Tara from asking any questions.
They spent the next half hour moving from one painting to another, sipping champagne and pretending to study them all. Tara found only one among the group that she didn’t actually hate, and her comments to Blake, murmured for his ears only, grew increasingly acerbic.
“Doesn’t this place carry anything by Norman Rockwell?” she finally asked in exasperation, glaring at another example of muddy colors run amok.
Blake laughed. “Darling, I’m glad you talked me into coming tonight· I’m having such a good time.”
“I’m so happy to hear that,” she returned sweetly.
The funny thing was that she was actually having a good time, too, she thought in bemusement.
She must really have been hard up for entertainment lately.
She was hardly even surprised when Blake glanced at his watch, then turned to her and said, “Of course, dear. The ladies’ room is in the back of the gallery, I believe.”
Obviously, Blake wanted her to go to the ladies’ room. She didn’t know why, but what the heck. She hadn’t known what he wanted from her all evening. So, she would go to the ladies’ room.
Blake gallantly escorted her to the back of the gallery, through a rabbit warren of hallways and showrooms. Either he spent a lot of time here, or he’d memorized a floor plan, because he never hesitated. He nodded toward a door bearing a discreet brass plaque that said Ladies.
“Take your time, sweetheart,” he urged her. “I’ll make a quick trip into the men’s room and then meet you back here, all right?”
Thinking that this was all very strange, Tara nodded and pushed open the door to the ladies’ room.
There was no one in the elegantly appointed lounge area. Tara drifted to the large mirror that dominated one wall, set her purse on the counter and checked her reflection. She looked more like herself than she had in the past two weeks, she thought with faint satisfaction. There was actually a bit of color in her face again...left there, she had no doubt, by that brief yet memorable kiss.
After refreshing her lipstick, she picked up her purse, pushed open the door and peered out into the hallway. It was empty.
Stepping t