by Reese Ryan
* * *
Jordan stood on the second level of his art gallery and surveyed the space. Tried to see it as a first-time visitor or potential client would.
He loved everything about Sorella. From its name to the raw elements that comprised the site. Exposed brick walls. Restored original wood floors. An open loft and staircase constructed of black steel.
The spare feel of the showroom allowed the art to be the real star. The paintings of some of San Diego’s best upcoming artists adorned the walls of the gallery. Sculptures cast in bronze, copper, steel, marble and clay anchored the space. And today a variety of his pieces took center stage on both levels.
Jordan worked with found elements of metal and reclaimed wood to create works of art that were truly unique. Pieces each viewer interpreted differently.
It was an honor to have public art installations in San Diego and the UK. To share his art with an entire community. Yet, there was something truly intimate about a buyer falling in love with one of his sculptures and making it part of their home or office.
It was a tremendous feeling his parents would never understand. Not that they’d ever tried. Instead, they’d treated his art as if it were a teenage indulgence. Something he needed to work out of his system before he finally gave it up and took a “real” job in their family business.
“How does everything look?” Lydia shoved her glasses up the bridge of her nose as she stood beside him.
“Brilliant. You’ve done a bang-up job, Lydia.” Arms still folded, he glanced at the woman quickly, then returned to surveying the gallery for any missed details.
“Is there anything I’ve forgotten?” She stood ready with a notebook and pen.
“Is the bar completely stocked?”
Guests would be offered complimentary champagne and hors d’oeuvres. But they could order anything they desired from the bar anchoring the center of the room.
“Yes. They have all of the top-shelf spirits you requested.”
“Did we get that wine in from—”
“The wineries you visited in Baja last month during the Prescott George tour?” Lydia finished his thought. “Yes.”
“Very good. Has the caterer arrived yet?”
“She’s setting up now.”
“You’re remarkable, as always.” Jordan turned to face the woman. Lydia’s title was assistant, but truthfully, she did it all. She handled paperwork, managed the gallery, assisted with the curation of artwork and generally kept him on track. All without complaint. “And you look smashing tonight. As always,” he added with a broad smile that made her blue eyes twinkle.
Per his parents’ voice mails and text messages filled with excuses, neither of them would be in attendance tonight, though they were both in town. But an impressive list of wealthy and well-known residents of San Diego would be on hand. Along with a few out-of-towners who’d flown in just for the event.
Tonight would be memorable—regardless of whether his parents deemed the event worthy of their presence.
* * *
Jordan flashed his biggest smile for a wealthy patron who’d bought several of his sculptures for her homes in London and Los Angeles. Vivian Avery had been the first person to purchase a major piece from him who hadn’t been connected to or referred by a member of his family or Prescott George. Ten years later, she was still one of his most ardent supporters.
Tonight the older woman was in the market for a smaller scale piece right for her lavish New York apartment.
Jordan chatted with a few other patrons milling about the gallery. He talked with two other gallery owners who’d been pressing him to collaborate on a local arts festival. They hoped the project would bring a wider range of visitors to all three galleries. Jordan wasn’t willing to commit on the project just yet. But he was personable and showed just enough interest to keep the two other gallery owners’ hopes alive.
“Phenomenal event, Jordan.” His eldest brother, Marlon, exchanged his empty champagne glass for a filled one floating by on a server’s tray.
His brothers Michael and Joseph heartily agreed.
“Thank you for coming tonight. All of you, but you especially.” Jordan indicated his brother Marlon who’d arranged a business meeting in San Diego for the sole purpose of attending his event. “I know you have to be off soon to catch your red-eye flight back home.”
“Since he’s flying the private jet, Michael and I are tagging along.” Joseph nibbled on pâté on crostini. “We’ll be back here in a week or two.”
Jordan gave his brothers a quick hug. “I really do appreciate you being here.”
“Mum and Dad really did want to be here,” Marlon said quickly. “They’ve been trying to ring you all day to tell you as much themselves.”
“You shouldn’t brush them off that way. If for no other reason than they keep ringing the three of us all day. As if that will force you to answer your mobile.”
“I love them, but I’ve heard all of their excuses before.” Jordan winced, his lips pressed into a hard line. “Wasn’t much up for such utter tosh today. Had my fill of it for the day over at the Prescott George office.”
“What happened?” Michael crooked his brow.
“Nothing worth discussing,” Jordan said quickly. “And nothing for any of you to worry about.” He caught a glimpse of Lydia waving him over. “If I don’t see you before you leave, have a safe flight.”
Jordan answered a few questions Lydia asked on behalf of a client inquiring about a custom piece. He stopped to talk to the bartenders, then mingled with a few other guests. Then he noticed...her.
He watched the woman in a long, navy dress that hugged her lush curves. The dress was incredibly sexy without being too revealing. A line she trod remarkably well. Her movements were so smooth and fluid she seemed to float across the room.
Jordan’s attention was drawn to the smooth skin of her back and shoulders. Trailed up her long, elegant neck. He usually fancied women with long hair. Enamored with the thought of winding it round his fist. But the woman’s hair was cut into a short, pixie style that perfectly suited her impish smile.
A smile that indicated she knew something the rest of the world didn’t. A secret he suddenly needed to know.
As the woman sipped her champagne, her head tipped back slightly. Jordan found himself studying her throat. Her jawline. Her delicate cheekbones.
She walked around the sculpture she’d been assessing for the past few minutes, giving him an excellent view of her face.
Even better.
The woman was beyond fit. Even beyond stunning. Gorgeous, delicate facial features. Warm brown skin that practically glowed. Long, lean limbs.
Just cataloging her many fine attributes sent a shiver down his spine.
And she appeared to be without a companion for the evening. A dilemma he would most happily remedy.
Jordan wandered beside the woman and stared at the sculpture in silence for a moment. He sipped his champagne, then turned to her. “What do you think of it?”
“Me?” She gave him only a cursory glance, then returned her attention to the piece.
“You seemed to be making quite a study of it.” He shifted his gaze back to the piece. “Surely you’ve come to some conclusion.”
They stood silently in front of the sculpture. Two long, curved sheets of weathered steel shielded shiny steel cylinders. Hammered ribbons of steel circled the outside of the structure and appeared to float around it.
“The cylinders inside represent the status quo. The curved sheets of steel represent the artist.” She stepped forward, pointing to each section. “He desperately wants to break away from the status quo. To turn it on its ear. The floating ribbons of steel represent the possibilities that are out there, if only he can break free of limiting, status quo expectations.”
The woman turned to him. Her eye
s locked with his. Slowly, her impish grin turned into a full-blown smirk. She broke into melodic laughter, her eyes twinkling.
“I’m kidding.” She drank more of her champagne as she turned back to study the piece again. “I have no idea what it means. All I know is that I really like it.”
A wide smile tightened Jordan’s cheeks.
Beautiful. A sense of humor. And she doesn’t take herself too seriously.
Jordan would be well on his way to falling in love with this woman, if he weren’t completely opposed to the notion of love at first sight. Or love in general. At least at this stage of his life.
Didn’t mean they couldn’t have a bit of fun together, if she was up for it.
“Well, it can be yours for the bargain price of one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars.” He extended a hand to her. “I’m Jordan Jace, the artist. And I desperately do want to break out of the limiting status quo.”
“Sasha Charles.” She placed her warm hand in his much larger one. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jace.”
“No, Ms. Charles, the pleasure is all mine, I assure you.” He held her hand in his a beat or two longer than was customary. His smile widened when she didn’t pull her hand away. He reluctantly released her hand. “And call me Jordan. I insist.”
“Only if you call me Sasha.” Her smile lit her eyes. She finished her champagne, then placed the empty glass on a passing tray.
“One moment, please.” He halted the server, then turned to her. “Shall I grab another for you?”
“Why, are you one of those artists whose work is better interpreted the more you’ve had to drink?”
A deep, belly laugh erupted from him that turned the heads of several people in attendance. She joined in on the laughter.
“Not particularly,” he managed finally. “But according to my family, they find me far less puzzling once they’ve had a drink or two.”
“Then maybe I should have another.” Sasha took a glass of champagne from the server’s tray and thanked him. “Just in case.”
Jordan definitely liked this woman.
“So, Miss... Sasha, do you often attend gallery openings?” He fell in line beside her as she moved to another piece.
“Sadly, no. I appreciate art, but I’m not much of an aficionado. I simply know what I like when I see it.” She took another sip, her gaze meeting his.
“Then to what do I owe the honor of your attendance here tonight?”
“I was invited to attend tonight’s event.” She walked around the smaller sculpture, her eyes meeting his again, briefly, before returning to the piece. “By a member of Prescott George.”
“I see.”
If he had to be a member of the club, it might as well pay dividends. And if he had his membership in the Millionaire Moguls to thank for bringing this stunning woman into his gallery, well, then maybe membership in the club was worthwhile, after all.
“Which member should I thank for extending the invitation to you? And what prompted you to accept it?” He watched her reaction as she assessed the piece.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Jordan.” Lydia approached hurriedly, pushing her eyeglasses up the bridge of her nose. She clutched her ever-present notepad. “But Mrs. Avery wants to buy three of your pieces—including Opposing Forces.” She nodded toward the sculpture they’d just left. The centerpiece of the exhibition. “But she has a couple of questions she’d like to ask you first.”
“Last chance.” He winked at Sasha, who laughed, before he turned back to Lydia. “Please tell Mrs. Avery that I’ll be with her in just a moment.”
Jordan returned his attention to Sasha. “Seems you’re my good luck charm. I didn’t expect that Opposing Forces would move tonight.”
“Does that mean I’m entitled to a cut of the sale?” Sasha pursed her pouty, pink lips, a smile teasing the edges of her mouth.
“We’ll see.” He smiled. “I have to go, but I won’t be very long. I hope you’re still around when I’m done. There are a few more pieces I’d love to hear your opinion of.”
“Take your time.” Sasha’s gaze held his. “I wouldn’t think of going anywhere.”
Chapter 3
Jordan Jace’s photos hadn’t done him justice. The man was absolutely gorgeous. His brilliant smile demanded attention from halfway across the room. And there was something truly magical about his laugh and the touch of his hand.
His penetrating gaze had sent shivers down her spine. And his mouth. There was something about his full lips that made hers burn with the desire to taste them.
It was official. The slight crush she’d developed on Jordan Jace as she’d studied him was now full-blown infatuation.
Her hand curled into a fist at her side, remembering how his large hand had engulfed hers. The tingling in her palm when her skin had touched his. And the trail of electricity that had skittered down her spine and into places she’d rather not admit.
No wonder Jordan had developed a reputation as a playboy during his short time in San Diego. She’d watched as the art groupies and wealthy patrons—like Vivian Avery, a beauty product heiress—had fawned all over him.
Sasha wouldn’t have been surprised if the wealthy heiress had purchased that piece just to bring Jordan back to her side and away from Sasha.
It was just as well. She could use a moment of distance. An opportunity to get her head back on straight. She hadn’t come here to let Jordan Jace sweep her off her feet. Her job was to ensure that he understood exactly why he needed her.
Having had a taste of the challenge ahead, she had no intention of leaving the gallery without doing just that.
* * *
Sasha checked her watch. Jordan had been gone for more than an hour. His business with Vivian Avery hadn’t seemed to take very long. However, he’d been pulled into a conversation every time he’d headed in her direction again.
Jordan Jace was quickly becoming a star in the San Diego art world. He was doing exactly as he should. Courting patrons and potential buyers.
So why did she feel a desperate sense of longing as Jordan moved from one person to the next? And the tug of the green-eyed monster as he flashed that big smile and focused his penetrating gaze on the other women there?
This is business, not The Dating Game. Stay focused and stop acting like a jealous girlfriend.
Sasha heaved a sigh and passed on another glass of champagne. She checked her watch one last time.
She’d come here tonight to observe Jordan. She hadn’t intended to engage him in conversation. Not yet, anyway. He was busy tonight. It would be better if she made an appointment to meet with him in his office. In a situation that felt a lot less...flirtatious.
Sasha grabbed a brochure and headed toward the exit.
“You’re not leaving.” Jordan caught her elbow before she reached the door. “I know I’ve been away a lot longer than I expected, but I’d love it if you’d stay a bit longer.”
“You’re obviously quite busy tonight. Which is exactly what you want.” She forced a smile to hide the disappointment she felt at leaving his company.
“If you stay, I’ll make it worth your while.” His eyes lit up as a smile slid across his handsome face. The kind of smile it was hard to say no to.
She leaned in closer, her voice low. “And exactly how do you plan to make it worth my while?”
“With a private tour.” His intense gaze felt like a laser peering into her soul. Dissolving her will like copper in a hot, smelting furnace.
“The gallery is quite lovely, but I do believe I’ve seen just about all of it during the course of the evening. Except, of course, the men’s room.”
Jordan’s laughter rang through the gallery and her cheeks heated in response.
“I think it’s better if that particular space remains a mystery. However, I’d love to give you a behind
-the-scenes tour of the gallery, including my studio next door.”
Sasha’s pulse sped up, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his.
What is it about this man that is so...mesmerizing?
Jordan Jace certainly wasn’t the first handsome man with a great smile she’d encountered. So why was he so damn intriguing?
Perhaps too intriguing for someone she hoped to work with.
Saying yes to his flirtatious overture was a bad idea. And yet...she couldn’t say no.
“I don’t suppose I could turn down an opportunity like that.” She stepped away to create some space. He released her arm with a knowing smile. “How exactly did I merit such a high honor?”
His eyes twinkled. “Because, Sasha Charles, there is something about you that I find inspiring. And I can’t rest until I know exactly what that is.”
Jordan was gone before she could respond.
Sasha exhaled, her eyes pressed closed momentarily. She’d hoped that Jordan’s attraction to her would make her job easier. But her attraction to him would surely make the situation more challenging.
Still, this was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up. So she’d have to put on her big-girl panties, keep Jordan Jace out of them and pull herself together.
* * *
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but the gallery is closed now.” Jordan’s assistant, a pretty woman with mousy brown hair, sparkling blue eyes and oversize glasses, approached Sasha.
She stood from the red sofa where she’d been seated. The glittery heels she’d chosen to wear were gorgeous, but her feet were killing her.
“I’m waiting. For Jordan.” Sasha suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious. How many art groupies had sat in the same seat spouting the same line?
The woman frowned. “Did Jordan ask you to wait for him?” The question felt accusatory.
“Yes, I did.” Jordan walked over to the woman and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Sasha Charles is my guest this evening.” He turned to Sasha. “Sasha, meet Lydia Dyson, my right hand here at the gallery. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her.”