of food with obvious glee, seemingly recognizing him too. With a wave of my hand and a kind smile, I declined an appetizer.
“That’s awfully nice of you,” Nigel said.
“Mind if I join you?” Tobias showed off that dazzling smile. “What a fantastic venue. Love this place.”
The staff hurried away.
Dragging my teeth over my bottom lip, I tried to think of something to say, perhaps draw his attention to the Raphael directly behind him. In that painting the Italian artist had captured the beguiling image of a young lady with a unicorn on her lap.
“You like that one?” Tobias asked me with his back still to the painting.
“Yes.” I loved it and adored the crisp gold and burgundy of the subject’s dress, her delicate beauty, her eyes exuding innocence and the way she held that small animal on her lap so very carefully.
“Is that a unicorn?” asked Clara.
“A conventional symbol of chastity,” I told her.
“The allure of High Renaissance.” Tobias turned to take in the portrait and then spun round and fixed his gaze on mine—
Liquefying my insides and making my chest tighten.
Oh, bloody hell.
He was still staring at me.
At least when I’d met him briefly in the basement there had been some distance between us, but now, with that intense green stare locked on mine and that delicate waft of heady cologne reaching me he’d made my thoughts freeze.
“Mr. Wilder?” Nigel proffered his hand. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you.” Tobias turned toward Nigel and reached out to shake.
“I was in LA when The Wilder hosted the Samurai collection,” Nigel told him. “Japanese art is my specialty.”
“That was five years ago.” Tobias turned to us. “The Taka Ishii Gallery generously loaned us a few of their most treasured pieces. First time in the US.”
“I’d have loved to have seen that,” said Clara. “Will it come to London?”
“Afraid not,” said Tobias. “The collection is at home in Tokyo now and won’t tour again in our lifetime. Though we are hosting a collection by Sandro Botticelli.” His face lit up with happiness. “It’s quite something.”
Sighs of admiration rose from everyone circling him.
“You’re all invited of course—” his gaze fell on me “—if you’re ever in the neighborhood.”
My heart fluttered at the thought of seeing those early Renaissance pieces by an artist who’d captured the deepest emotions in his subjects’ eyes.
Who was I kidding? My heart was fluttering over this hottie.
Tobias smiled wistfully. “Seeing La Primavera up close is a privilege.”
I wanted to tell him how much I’d always wanted to visit The Wilder Museum, but held back, not sure if that would come over as a little forward.
Tobias slipped into a smile. “Nigel, may I call you Nigel?”
“Absolutely.”
“I enjoyed that piece you wrote about the Tate.”
“The one on Anna Lea Merritt?”
“That’s the one,” he said. “Very insightful. Love her work.”
“She married her tutor,” I muttered.
Tobias looked my way, his eyes narrowing in interest, and he made me blush.
Clara’s eyebrows popped up, and I hoped she was the only one who’d caught my visceral response to this man. For some reason my mouth had stopped working and this was unusual for me. I loved taking part in this kind of conversation and Clara knew it.
“So what brings you to London?” asked Nigel.
“Business,” he replied.
With Tobias conveniently distracted, I took a breath and admired him discreetly. He moved with such refinement, and yet his earthiness made him less threatening. I kicked myself that I’d had him all to myself down in the basement and not taken the time to talk with him and get to know this enigma better.
Tobias tucked his left hand into his trouser pocket casually and took a sip of bubbly.
That lick across his bottom lip, that tilt of his head, that intensity in his expression as he listened to Nigel.
God, he was gorgeous.
A rush of excitement flooded my chest as I realized he was still hanging out with us.
I let out a wistful sigh.
And earned a flicker of amusement in Tobias’s expression; his eyes crinkled into a subtle smile.
Oh no, he’d sensed me staring.
Reason kicked in as I recalled my first instinct had been to run when I’d met him. He’d no doubt have a slew of women chasing after him and all of them from his world of beautiful socialites. The European supermodel types who took perfection all too seriously.
And based on the passing glances from the other guests surrounding us, many of them seemed just as enamored and more than proved my glum musing that men like this could only be enjoyed from afar.
There was an evening of Googling Tobias Wilder ahead of me when I got back to my Notting Hill flat. See what he was up to now and perhaps find a clue to why he was in London. I’d dig up some dirt on him, no doubt, some article to confirm my gut feeling about him. Tobias Wilder was out of my league for all the right reasons.
He stepped forward to shake Liza’s hand and then Clara’s, his smile reaching his eyes. Their faces lit up in delight at meeting this charismatic man.
“Pleasure’s all mine.” He turned to me and took my hand firmly in his. “Tobias.”
“Zara.”
His smile faded and he blinked at me.
“Zara Leighton,” I said brightly.
His hand slid from mine and he looked away as though distracted.
“Tonight’s a celebration for Zara,” explained Nigel. “She’s given her painting to the gallery. It’s quite a find. Have you seen it?”
“She’s beautiful,” said Tobias. “The painting. Well, I should go. Thank you for the great company. It’s been...insightful.”
“But you only just got here?” said Clara.
“I have an appointment across town.”
“Where are you staying?” asked Nigel.
