"But--"
"Here," he says, sliding an arm around my waist as he pulls me closer. And then, before I have time to breathe or think or do anything at all, his body is pressed against mine, and his fingers are twined in my hair. But it's his mouth that is truly making my head spin. The way his lips close over mine, demanding and yet gentle. The way his tongue teases, then takes advantage when I moan with pleasure, sweeping inside my mouth, taking the kiss deeper. Hotter.
I melt against him, letting myself get lost in the pleasure of this moment. Letting everything else fall away, so that I'm nothing more than the sensation of his mouth claiming mine, of his hands clinging to me, of the sparks that rip through my body, firing a deep, hot need that we can't do anything about because we're standing here in the middle of a gallery, and--
With a gasp, I pull away, completely embarrassed and certain that my blush is the brightest thing in the room right now.
Lyle, however, looks perfectly calm. He holds my gaze for a second, then reaches for me, and I shiver from the contact when he sweeps a lock of hair off my face. "You see?" he murmurs. "Method acting. Can you do that?"
I swallow and nod. And all I can think as we continue to walk is that if that's how deep I have to get into this role, I may not survive the night.
We fall in step with the rest of the crowd, moving slowly along the walls of the exhibit, taking in the stunning images, including one of Cass that is so well executed it's impossible to decide if it's dangerously edgy or stunningly beautiful.
When we've seen every erotic image in the main gallery--when I can't deny that my body is tingling from more than just Lyle's kiss--Lyle leads me toward the center of the room where a cluster of cocktail height tables form a small gathering area.
"Wine?" he asks, then snags two glasses from a passing waiter before I can reply. I take it gratefully and sip it as we continue toward a nearby table.
He waves at several people as we walk, all of whom seem genuinely pleased to see him. "That's Bird," he says about one. "He's a director. And the guy beside him is Griffin Blaize," he adds, pointing to an extremely attractive guy whose face is marred on one side with some vicious scars.
"He's an amazing actor. Voice right now, but I wish he'd go ahead and do screen." He shrugs. "I've tried to convince him, but I don't think he'll ever make the jump. Too self-conscious."
We continue like that for a few minutes, him pointing and saying, "That's Anika Segal, one of Hollywood's legends." And, "That's Jackson Steele, the architect. I've gotten to know him pretty well over the last few years. Great guy."
And on and on and on, until I feel like my escort is a walking Who's Who of the rich and famous.
When we finally reach the cocktail table, I notice a small placard on it that tells a bit about the show and the artist. "The Stark Center for the Visual Arts presents W. Royce's stunning new show, A Woman In Mind," I read. "Featuring a provocative view of sensuality--"
I glance up at Lyle. "Well, that's for sure," I say, then continue reading, "the show combines photographic elements with a compelling live performance that will begin at eight. Guests are asked to follow docent instructions when the introductory music begins."
I put the card down and return my attention to Lyle. "I didn't realize part of the show was live. The whole thing is pretty amazing."
"Wyatt's seriously talented."
"You know him?" I've picked up the card again and am tracing the edge, just to give me something to do with my hands other than holding and sipping my wine. Best not to get too tipsy tonight, I think.
"He's a good friend," Lyle says, at the same time I see the photograph on the back of the placard and squeal, "Oh! I know this guy."
"You know Wyatt?"
"Well, sort of. Not personally, but I've seen him around. He comes into Blacklist sometimes."
"Makes sense. He lives in Venice Beach, so that would be his local bar."
"Me, too," I say. "I've probably seen him other places, as well." I glance around. "I really am impressed by the show. Will I get to meet him?"
Lyle skims the room. "I don't see--wait." He lifts a hand to someone behin
d me, then grins. "Yeah, I think you will."
A few moments later, an attractive man with golden brown hair and a charming smile joins us. He's accompanied by a striking woman who makes her simple wrap dress look like the most haute of couture. "Wyatt, Kelsey, this is my girlfriend, Laine."
"It's a pleasure to meet you," I say, as Kelsey's smile widens and she gives me an enthusiastic hug. Wyatt's reaction is less vibrant. He's polite and pleasant and tells me how glad he is that I've come. But I see the way his eyes cut to Lyle, and I note how they widen just a little, as if in surprise or disbelief.
I glance at Lyle, who doesn't seem bothered, and decide not to worry about it. All I can do is play the role. If Lyle's friends don't get on the girlfriend train, there's nothing I can do about it.
"The show is amazing," I say. "The images--they're all incredible."
"I appreciate that," he says. "We move on to what I call Act Two in just a few minutes. If you like what you've seen so far I think--hope--that you'll be blow away by what comes next."