Page 71

“Not for long,” he murmured, his voice low, a confession meant just for my ears.

“Hmm?” I teased, settling into the plush leather seat, hoping to coax him into repeating it.

“You heard me,” he growled, slipping inside and closing the door behind him, sealing us in the dim, intimate light of the car. The atmosphere reeked of luxury.

Colton leaned forward as the car began to move, reaching for a bottle of champagne nestled in a chilled bucket beside him. “Care for a glass?” he asked, his tone casual but his eyes smoldering.

I wasn’t typically one for champagne, preferring the smoky bite of bourbon, but how could I resist sharing a drink with him tonight? I gave a small shrug and nodded, my gaze locked on his.

“I know you’d rather have bourbon,” he said, tilting the flute to pour, his voice tinged with understanding. “But I figured we’d have plenty of that later. Thought we’d change it up for now.”

“That’s fair,” I replied, accepting the glass he offered, our fingers brushing in a brief, electrifying touch. I watched as he poured one for himself, anticipation simmering between us.

I raised my glass, waiting for him to do the same. “To tonight,” I said, my voice soft but filled with the unspoken possibilities ahead, “and to how lethal we look together.”

THE RIDE HAD been long, filled with stolen glances and flirtatious touches. Even as we arrived, the electricity in the air didn’t let up.

Colton stepped out first, extending his hand toward me, a gesture both chivalrous and intimate. I placed my hand in his without hesitation, feeling the warmth of his touch as our fingers intertwined. Together, we strode toward the massive building, the exterior a textured cream clay that seemed to glow under the soft evening lights.

Other attendees were arriving, their presence marked by sleek black SUVs, sports cars waiting for valets, and limos. It had been a while since I’d attended an event of this caliber. These were the sorts of nights I used to revel in back in New York City, but lately, I’d opted for quiet, introspective evenings alone, trading the glamour for solace.

Was it age? At just over thirty, the thrill of rushing through life, parties, and social events had fizzled out. The more I rushed, the more I felt life was slipping by, unappreciated. Perhaps it was a late quarter-life crisis.

From our conversation last night, Colton seemed to resonate with that feeling too. Nearly ten years older, he shared a similar fall out with the relentless pace, which made me feel a strange sense of solidarity with him, a connection deeper than just the moment.

What I found refreshing about Colton was his unapologetic attitude—he didn’t care about superficial things.

As we walked through the grand doors into the gallery, I was immediately struck by the sight. Stark white walls served as a canvas for golden frames, each holding a world within—a swirl of colors, shades of monotone grays, and even three-dimensional pieces that seemed to dance with light. It was overwhelming in the most beautiful way, my eyes flitting from one piece to the next, unable to settle.

“Whoa,” I breathed, slipping my hand from Colton’s to loop my arm around his instead, pulling us closer together as we moved deeper into the space. He tightened his hold, his guiding presence steady and reassuring.

“Do you enjoy art?” Colton’s voice was soft, his curiosity genuine.

I shrugged, glancing around. “I don’t dislike it, but I’ve never felt compelled to admire it deeply. It definitely takes talent, though.”

“Me neither,” he admitted, a rare openness in his tone.

“Then why are we here?” I asked, tilting my head up at him, teasing. “Two people who aren’t exactly art enthusiasts?”

Colton paused as we reached a bar set up in the main lobby. He looked down at me, a soft expression flashing on his face. “It was an excuse to take you out.”

I smiled, looking away, taking in the sights again. His words lingered, a quiet thrill running through me.

When it was our turn to order, Colton asked for two double bourbons on the rocks, slipping the bartender a hefty tip that lit up the young man’s face. The bartender nodded eagerly, hurrying to prepare our drinks.

With rocks glasses in hand, we resumed our walk around the gala. The bourbon’s warmth spread through me, grounding me as we moved through the art-filled rooms.

“Do they at least feed us?” I asked, stopping in front of a particularly stunning piece. The colors swirled and danced, creating a kaleidoscope effect that drew me in, almost hypnotic in its beauty.

Colton chuckled softly beside me. “Yes, we just got here. You have to be at least a little patient.”

I hoped so—my stomach was growling. With the alcohol in my system, I’d definitely need something to keep me grounded.

We moved to the next display, and I stayed tucked close to Colton’s side. It felt oddly comforting and natural to be this close for so long, like we fit together in this space.

“This one is really…interesting,” I said, stopping in front of a rather phallic-looking piece of art. Colton and I both stared, cocking our heads first to the left, then slowly to the right, trying to decipher what exactly was going on.

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder?” Colton questioned with a cautious tone.