Disgusted with himself, he motioned to the pair of chairs facing his desk. “Would you like to sit?”
Say no. He couldn’t stand being alone with her like this. The odd blend of anger and yearning consuming him would make him certifiable before too long.
Apparently, mind reader was not among Sophie’s many talents. She gingerly took a seat. Gritting his teeth, Trevor skirted his desk and lowered himself into his chair. Once they were seated face-to-face, he waited for Sophie to begin.
She just sat there, looking at him as if she’d forgotten the entire English language. Her teeth worried her luscious lower lip in a nervous gesture that had become too familiar to him. She likely didn’t mean for it to be erotic either, but Christ it was.
“I don’t know where to start,” she said at last.
She shifted her hands in her lap and a beam of sunlight glinted off a ring. His gaze slipped down to her fidgeting fingers and he noticed a smudge of blue paint beneath her thumbnail she had missed. But it wasn’t the paint that most caught his attention, it was the ring on her finger. It was nothing extraordinary, a pretty pink stone faceted to catch the light to its advantage. Trevor wasn’t so much shocked at the ring as he was that it was the only one she wore.
Her wedding rings, once ever conspicuous on her hand, were gone.
“I owe you an apology,” she said. “I didn’t know what to do about you. You made me feel things I never expected, want things I never thought I would. So I did the only thing I knew how to do. I ran.”
Trevor pressed his fingers to his temples. What did this mean? Why now? Just being with her was making his senses run amok. He was excruciatingly aware of her in every way. The whisper-soft sound of her breathing, the sweet vanilla scent of her, the rustle of her dress as she crossed then uncrossed her legs.
“I’m sorry, Trevor.” There was sincerity in her voice.
He didn’t doubt for an instant she was contrite. She was a sensitive, compassionate woman. But that didn’t change how much she remained desperately in love with her dead husband.
“I understand,” he forced himself to say, the words coming out stiff and formal. “It’s over now, so there’s no need to dwell on it.”
“Trevor?”
Dread sinking its claws into him, Trevor looked past Sophie. Dominique hovered in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically timid. Until she laid her eyes on Sophie, of course. Like a dog marking its territory, she swooped down on him, pressing herself against his arm.
Myriad emotions flitted over Sophie’s face, none of which he could define. Her gaze swung from him, to Dominique, then back again, as though she didn’t quite believe her eyes.
Trevor cursed his own stupidity in deciding to begin seeing Dominique again. There was no comparison between the two women. Oh, Dominique was stunning enough, with her blonde hair and her big, brown eyes and turned-up nose, not to mention a great body. But Sophie was so much more than a woman like Dominique could ever be. Sophie was beautiful in her own right and she was sweet, giving, and incredibly talented.
She was Sophie and that was that.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” Dominique asked with forced brightness.
Her eyes betrayed her, homing in on Sophie with cool calculation. A protective instinct rose within him.
“This is Sophie Olsen,” he said, against his better judgment, “one of our premiere artists. Sophie, this is Dominique Jardins.”
“So pleased to meet one of Trevor’s little artists.” Dominique was patently insincere.
Sophie stood from her chair, refusing to meet Trevor’s gaze.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she told Dominique. “But if you’ll both excuse me, I was just leaving.”
Turning, she beat a hasty path out of Trevor’s office.
Trevor didn’t know what to do. What to say.
In silence, he watched her go.
“That,” Marcus informed Sophie, “is Adele Pierson-Hill. Be nice to her. She’s a hyphenated person and here in New York, hyphenated people are very important.”
She laughed. “Is there anything else I should know about her?”
“Hmm. Let me see. Divorced, money to burn, the poster child for collagen injections, constantly trying to grab my ass, then pretend like it was an accident.” He ticked off the items on his fingers. “Oh yes, and huge fan of yours, so unfortunately for you, there’s no way you can avoid meeting her. But don’t worry. Your ass, at least, will be safe.”
She slapped him playfully on the arm. “Thanks for ruining my chances of ever looking at her with a straight face. She does have duck lips, now that you mention the collagen.”
He shrugged, doing his best to look innocent. “I do what I can.”
Sophie’s smile grew wider. She liked Marcus. He was witty and charming. In fact, if the sight of Trevor with that awful blonde yesterday had not already spoiled her trip to New York, she’d be having a good time. As it was, Marcus was doing a valiant job of distracting her.
She sighed. “I wish I could be better company, Marcus.”
“Ah.” He flagged down a passing waiter and took two glasses of champagne from the tray the man carried. “But I am a man who loves a challenge. Tonight, the challenge is to get that lost-puppy-dog expression off your face.”
“I’m not a lost puppy dog.”
He winked at her. “I didn’t say you were. I said you look like one, the way you keep making eyes at Trevor when you think I’m not looking. Really, I should be insulted, not you.”
Sophie bit her lower lip. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was being so—”
“Obvious?” He grinned. “You were, but I’m prepared to forgive you.” He offered her one of the champagne glasses. “Here. Have some bubbly. I was never partial to the stuff myself, but I understand it’s a good year.”
Sophie accepted the glass. She wasn’t about to drink it, of course, but neither did she want to appear rude by refusing it. Especially since she had decided to keep the baby a secret, at least for now. Nothing like the appearance of a woman who had the body of an underwear model on Trevor’s arm to make her want to run and hide. How could she compete?
Marcus’ gaze scanned the gallery. “You do realize I can’t keep you to myself forever, don’t you? I’m afraid you’ll have to mingle. Where would you like to start?”
“Hmm.” Sophie thought for a moment. “Maybe the hyphenated person? I like to get the worst out of the way first, as a general rule of thumb.”
“Adele Pierson-Hill it is.” He took a healthy gulp of his champagne, then made a face. “Where’s the whiskey when you need it?”
Sophie followed him as he wound his way through the crowd, making a beeline for Adele. As though sensing their presence, Adele turned just as Sophie and Marcus approached. Sophie was nearly blinded by all the diamonds winking from the woman’s neck, ears, and fingers. Upon closer inspection, Sophie realized Adele was actually older than she appeared from a distance.
“Markie!” Adele smiled, or Sophie thought, but the effect was more of a grimace since her face had been pulled so tightly by facelifts.
“Adele.” Marcus leaned down and bussed her cheeks. “I’m so glad you could make it to our little gathering.”
“You know I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She turned to Sophie then, noticing her for the first time. “And who is your friend?” Her tone was cautious.
“Adele, meet Sophie Olsen. Sophie, this is Adele Pierson-Hill, one of our most loyal clients, not to mention one of my personal favorites.”
Sophie bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud. Marcus was really laying it on thick. Adele didn’t seem to notice, however. She merely beamed.
“Markie, you’re too sweet to me.” She linked her arm through Marcus’. “But Sophie, darling, your paintings are divine. You must tell me all about them!”
Three hours later, Sophie’s feet were aching and her face felt as if it would crack if she smiled one more time. She was also ama
zed by the reaction of the clientele. She hadn’t expected so much enthusiasm. Her style was eclectic, a romantic mish-mash of past artistic styles and her own unique tastes. She didn’t bother with form or structure. She painted what struck her at a given moment when she took up brush and paint. Sometimes the product was modern, sometimes a throwback to the past, sometimes a landscape, at times a still life or a portrait. It seemed both incredible and overwhelming to her that anyone would share her tastes and vision.
The accolades she’d received were still ringing in her ears. It was good to finally see her lifelong dream come to fruition before her eyes. It felt, well, surreal. For so long, she had yearned to devote herself to her art, but had never really believed she’d ever find herself in a position to pursue such a goal.
“A penny for your thoughts.”
Sophie turned to see Marcus back at her side. He’d been virtually attached to her all evening, taking on his role of host with aplomb and flair. His presence had been a reassuring one for her.
“I was just thinking of how much of a whirlwind this has been for me.” She sent him a small smile. “I had no idea.”
He nodded. “It’s indisputable. They love you.”
Sophie placed a hand on his upper arm, not surprised at how firm and toned it was beneath his sleeve. “You’re exaggerating, Marcus, but I do need to thank you for all you’ve done for me.”
He looked embarrassed at her words. “You forget that all this benefits me too. We’re no saints, Trev and I.”
Didn’t she know it? Almost unconsciously, her gaze sought out Trevor in the crowd. He was standing before the wall that featured her paintings, facing Sophie as he charmed Adele Pierson-Hill. His willowy French girlfriend was glued to his side as she had been all evening. Sophie had to acknowledge the woman was uncommonly beautiful. Marcus had told Sophie that Dominique was a model actively seeking to become an actress. She and Trevor made a striking couple, really, and Sophie was forced to admit she’d probably never stood a chance against someone like Dominique.
She became aware of his eyes on her. Flicking her gaze back to him, she was skewered by his intense stare. Her breath faltered and goose bumps rose on her skin. She was aware of him in every way. Even though she knew it was hopeless, Trevor would always shake her.
Her hand crept across the subtle roundness of her stomach. If she had come here deliberating over whether or not to tell him about the baby, she more than had her answer. Clearly he had moved on and she had no wish to chain him to her with a responsibility he didn’t want. Resentment was the last thing she wanted Trevor to feel for her.
No, she would not tell him now. Her decision was made. With the income she earned from her paintings, she could provide for herself and the baby more than adequately. Maybe some day, with some time and some healing between them, she could tell Trevor about his child. But for now, her mind was made up.
Marcus slid his arm around her waist. “Smile,” he whispered in her ear. “Pretend like I’m charming your socks off. He’s looking.”
Sophie obliged, tearing her gaze from Trevor and turning back to Marcus. Her smile felt unnatural and overly bright. “You have been charming my socks off.” She held out one strappy-sandal-shod foot and wiggled her toes for his inspection. “See? No socks.”
“Good try.” His smile deepened to reveal brackets on either side of his mouth. “I’ve had my eye on those pretty toes of yours all night and there never were any socks.”
Sophie laughed. “So you’ve been admiring my feet, have you?”
He pressed a hand to his heart. “I happen to be a sucker for any woman with pink toenails.”
“I’ll file that away for future reference, Marcus,” a cool voice said from behind Sophie.
Stiffening, she turned to find that Trevor had worked his way across the room with remarkable speed. Even more remarkable, however, was that he was alone. A quick scan of the room revealed that the indefatigable Dominique was engrossed in a conversation with Adele Pierson-Hill. Probably swapping the numbers of their plastic surgeons, Sophie thought unkindly. She returned her gaze to Trevor.
His mouth was compressed into a thin line and his jaw was clenched. Tonight, he was dressed completely in black, from his pants to his crisp looking button-down shirt.
“I need to speak with Sophie,” he bit out, refusing to look at her.
“Be my guest,” Marcus invited, looking more than just a tad smug.
“Alone.” Trevor all but growled the word.
Marcus looked at Sophie askance and she nodded. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, somehow managing to whisper a “good luck” in her ear in the process. With that, he withdrew his arm and slipped into the throng.
Trevor clamped a hand on Sophie’s arm. “My office. Now.”
Sophie was uneasy. The last time she’d seen Trevor this infuriated, it had been on the drive back from Winstead Island. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
His gaze narrowed on her. “Indulge me.”
Trevor didn’t bother to wait for her response. He led her across the gallery floor to the elegant staircase that wound up to the loft. Several of the guests cast questioning glances their way, but Sophie pasted a reassuring smile on her face while she struggled to keep up with his long strides.
In moments, Trevor was slamming his office door. He turned to face her, running a hand through his hair.
“Sophie—”
“Trevor—”
She eyed him warily. “You go first.”
“What the hell are you doing with Marcus?”
Sophie was at a complete loss. “What do you mean?”
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Jesus Christ, Sophie, he’s been at your side all night, whispering in your ear, kissing your cheek, putting his goddamn arm around your waist.”
“What business is it of yours?”
He crossed the length of his office, stopping before his window. “It’s my business when you’re being so irresponsible in front of two hundred of our best clients. What the hell are you thinking?”
“Irresponsible?” Sophie was furious now too. “You’re being ridiculous. Marcus was just doing his job as host, nothing more.”
“You forget that I know Marcus Wesley. His one goal in life is to get into bed with as many women as humanly possible and you’re next on the list.”
Sophie felt like crossing the room and giving Trevor a good, sound shake. But she didn’t trust herself to get that close to him.
“I’m not interested in Marcus as anything more than a friend.” She kept her voice quiet, neutral. “Besides, he thinks of me in the same way.”
“Ah.” Trevor inclined his head, stepping away from the window. “How could I forget? No man will do but the Great Peter Olsen. Isn’t that right?”
“Now is not the time for this discussion.” Sophie took a step in the direction of the door.
Trevor, meanwhile, continued forward in a slow, predatory way. His eyes were a deep shade of angry, burnished gold. “I think now is the perfect time for this, Sophie.”
His steps brought him increasingly closer to her. Her steps in retreat gave her a small measure of comfort in return. Until her back touched the smooth surface of the door and there was nowhere left to run. She watched him, uncertain of this new Trevor. He was cool and bitter, not at all like the gentle, considerate man who had saved her life and taught her to love again.
He pressed forward until the tips of his shoes touched the toes of her sandals. He was so close she could discern each bristle of stubble on his jawline. She wanted to reach out, brush her fingers over his face.
Before she could stop herself, she blurted, “You need to shave.”
He seemed taken aback by her comment. He eyed her for a moment.
“I’ve been busy.” He shrugged.
The scruff made him look potently male and more savage. She liked it.
“I think we should get back to the party.” Her left hand reached for the handle of the door in a
desperate bid for sanity.
Trevor caught her hand, his touch sending a fresh onslaught of heat sluicing over her. His fingers toyed with hers. “I noticed you don’t have on your wedding ring. Since I know you’d never take it off of your own free will, what happened? Were you robbed?”
“Trevor—”
Words failed her when he leaned nearer to her still. He dropped a kiss on the side of her neck. She couldn’t stop herself from pressing her cheek to the side of his face and inhaling deeply of his heavenly scent. His scruff abraded the sensitive skin of her cheek but she didn’t care. She was too busy savoring him.
“What happened, sweetheart?” He spoke the words against her skin. “Were you robbed?”
His lips grazed her earlobe this time. Oh, she shouldn’t be feeling this way when Trevor was being so snide. She knew that. But she couldn’t help herself where he was concerned.
Another kiss on her neck. “Were you?”
“No.” She sighed, wanting much more from him than teasing little kisses. “I took them off myself.”
His hand tightened over hers and he stiffened. She hadn’t realized their fingers were still tangled together. He straightened until his gaze met hers.
“Damn you, Sophie,” he muttered. “Damn you.”
Then his lips came crashing down on hers.
She wanted to cry, his kiss was so bittersweet. Her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him against her. She parted her lips and Trevor’s tongue swept into her mouth. He angled his lips over hers, melding them together. He tasted sweet, like the champagne she’d seen him drinking throughout the evening. Sophie wanted more. Her hands crept around his neck.
His hands went beneath the hemline of her dress, his hot palms gliding up over her thighs. Nothing compared to the sensation of his skin on hers.
He trailed kisses down her neck, then lower still to the vee of her bodice. His tongue flicked out against her skin. Her hands sank into his thick hair.
Reprieve (Love's Second Chance Book 1) Page 16