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 eyes 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
