The latter was not the behavior of a gold digger.
Or perhaps it’s the behavior of a very clever one?
Behind him, still determined to woo his way into Sienna’s bed, Thomas waxed poetic about the influence her painting had on his writing. James wanted to roll his eyes again. A skilled wordsmith, St. Clair wove a tale with every word uttered of how the raw, carnal passion in his latest work—a New York Times bestseller before its release, knowing Thomas—was due to the eroticism in her painting. Thankfully, he never once mentioned Mason Xavier. It was rare for Thomas to call James anything other than dude, but when he did use a name, it was Mason. Had been that way since they met during an international university debating challenge over a decade ago.
He’d told Thomas no more than three people in Australia knew he was also the mysterious venture capitalist, Mason Xavier—himself, his personal accountant, and Clarinda Simmonds—and requested it stay that way.
If there was one thing Thomas St. Clair liked more than seducing women, it was being involved in a secret.
James’s other identity was safe. Sienna would never know of it.
Until it was time to reveal it, right?
“…Mr. Grumpy-pants here?”
Thomas’s chuckled statement—along with his light slap on James’s shoulder—jerked James out of his dark deliberation. “Excuse me?”
Thomas smirked. “See, goddess, told you he wasn’t paying attention to us. Are you sure that’s the kind of man you want to give your body, heart, and soul to? Someone who woolgathers while driving? It’s not only incomprehensible, it’s dangerous as well.”
Beside James, Sienna laughed. “And you would never ever do something as incomprehensible and dangerous as tune me out, would you, Mr. St. Clair?”
“Never.” Thomas grinned at him in the rearview mirror. “For your heart and soul and body, I would hang off your every word.”
James couldn’t help himself. He snorted. “I’m pretty certain I heard you confess that very thing to Charlize Theron only last month.”
Thomas gave Sienna a wide-eyed look. “But I mean it with you, goddess.”
Her happy smile made James’s chest tight. Damn it, what did he do if she fell for Thomas’s charms after all?
“Hmmm.” She smiled at Thomas, eyes dancing. “I’m sure you do. Did I tell you I’m the primary caregiver of that wildly sardonic, wise-beyond-his-years fifteen-year-old you met back at my home? We’re a package deal, you know.”
Thomas waved a hand. “I’m awesome with kids. Awesome. And he loves me already. Won’t you take a chance with me, goddess? What’s Mr. Grumpy-pants got to offer you that I don’t?”
“I’m posing nude for her.”
Silence filled the Aston Martin.
James glared at the road. “What? I’m not allowed to be a funny guy, either?”
Thomas shook his head. “I was picturing you naked.”
“So was I,” Sienna said.
James’s heart exploded. He risked a look at her, finding her gaping at him with a stunned expression. Had the confession surprised her?
He dropped her a wink and then returned his attention to the road, glad the art gallery was but a corner away. He didn’t want to wait any longer to feel her body close to his, even if it was only as she walked beside him.
They pulled to a halt outside the grandiose building, Thomas chatting away about his new book the whole time. The valet took the keys from James with a reverent, “Thank you, Mr. Dyson.” Camera flashes popped and fired from the sidewalk.
Adjusting his tux’s sleeves, he walked around to the passenger door and hooked his fingers under the door release.
“Brother.”
Lindsey strode toward him from the gallery’s main entrance, dressed in blood-red leather and her customary designer stilettos.
Shit.
She drew on her cigarette, curiosity in her heavily mascaraed eyes. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
He regarded her, his hand still hooked on the door handle. “I can say the same for you.”
Lindsey blew out a thin blue stream of smoke, dropped her gaze to the darkly tinted passenger window of the Aston Martin before arching an eyebrow at him. “Is that a problem?”