The editor nodded agreement and asked her what she thought of the exhibition. Ten minutes later—after debating the state of art in Australia with her and dissecting various art movements throughout history—he asked if he could call her later in the week.
She wanted to say the warm joy blooming in her stomach had something to do with the request, but it wasn’t. It was all James.
How often had he made her laugh during the evening? How special did she feel at his side? If only she could stop thinking about it. It was too dangerous. Thinking about how he made her feel, amongst a crowd of people who once would have been her social peers if she hadn’t turned her back on her family’s fame and wealth only served to highlight how easy it would be to fall under his spell. That he brushed off every sultry, stunning woman who tried to engage him in a suggestive conversation with polite disinterest didn’t help. Nor did the fact he drew her closer to his side, lowering his lips to whisper something inconsequential against her temple, her cheek, every time a man cast an appreciative look over her.
A message sent loud and clear—she’s unavailable.
Once again, she should be furious, and when she got home tonight, she was going to give herself a damn good talking to. When she got home. For now, she would just go with the flow. As long as she guarded her heart, what harm was there?
“Monday sound okay, Sienna?”
Crap, she’d zoned out. She gave the magazine’s editor a sheepish frown, heat filling her cheeks. “I’m sorry, can you say that again?”
He smiled. “How about I get my assistant to call you Monday about the interview. Will that be okay?”
Pulse pounding a little faster, she nodded. “Definitely. I look forward to it.”
“Excellent.” He shook James’s hand. “Dyson. Next time, you won’t have copulating pelicans to save you.”
James chuckled. “Perhaps I can arrange for an amorous kookaburra next time.”
“Why do I believe you would?”
“Because I don’t ever play to lose?”
The editor tapped his nose. “That would be it.” He smiled once again at Sienna. “Ms. Roberts. It was a pleasure meeting you.”
He left, weaving through the crowded gallery.
“Are you having a good time?”
She turned at James’s murmured question. She looked up at him, more aware than ever how short she was next to him. Or maybe it was because he just dominated the space.
And my every waking thought?
“I am.”
The edges of his lips curled. Mirth danced in his dark eyes. “And you are surprised by this?”
His scent—spice, sandalwood soap, and pure male—threaded through her breath. She let out a shaky laugh. “Yes.”
He smoothed his hand up her back, gently tugging her body to face his. He lowered his head closer to hers. “Can I tell you the truth?”
She swallowed. “Please.”
“So am I.”
He kissed her, a soft, lingering touch.
Her heart exploded.
And then it was over. Lifting his head, he stroked his fingers up the back of her neck, his expression unreadable as he gazed down at her.
Please God, let him kiss me again.
He didn’t. Instead, he straightened and scanned the crowd behind her. “I think we’ve spoken to everyone worth our time.”
The hoarse rasp to his voice made her swallow. Her body ached. She wanted nothing more than to snake her arms around his neck and kiss him senseless.
She wanted him. So goddamn much.
He smiled at her, hooking her hand over the crook of his elbow. “I feel like coffee. Good coffee. What do you say?”
She studied him, trying to pinpoint his state of mind. “Coffee would be fine.”
“Good coffee,” he repeated, his stare roaming the exhibition’s guests once again. “Let’s go.”
“What about Thomas?”
A dark scowl fell over his face and his jaw bunched. “Do you want him to join us?”
“No, I just…” She shrugged, unsettled by his abrupt shift in mood. “He just came here with us, is all.”
“He can find his own way back to his hotel.” He looked at her, his expression enigmatic. “I’m sure my sister will be more than happy to help him.”