Page 71 of Crossed Wires: The Complete Series
He turned, needing to see Monet’s face. “Am I a novelty to you?”
She blinked, her feet stumbling beneath her. Dylan coiled his biceps and tugged his arm closer to his side, stopping her fall. He hadn’t meant his question to sound so blunt, but he needed to know.
Monet frowned. “Why would you say that?”
He shrugged. Everything about the situation was throwing him for a loop. “I just…” He stopped, drew a breath and let it out with a shake of his head. “It shouldn’t matter to me. I shouldn’t really care, but you’re a bloody gorgeous woman, Monet. You’re intelligent, witty, talented and God knows every bloke we’ve walked past since we left your apartment has checked you out. You could obviously have your pick of them, so I’ve gotta ask. Am I just…something to check off your list before you kick the bucket? Fool around with a dumb Australian hick for shits and giggles?”
Monet stared at him. She didn’t blink. She didn’t even move. For a moment, Dylan dreaded what she was going to say. What the hell did he do if she said yes? His bloody heart was already halfway hers. What did he do if she told him he’d guessed her game?
And then she went up on tiptoe, leaned toward him and placed her lips on his, a longer kiss than the one she’d given him back in the Hugo Boss store. “Dylan, you are so far from a novelty to me it’s scaring me witless. And if you call yourself a dumb hick again, I will beat you senseless with your hat. Do you understand?”
His breath gushed from him in a laugh. Relief flooded through him, hot and wonderful. Before he could stop himself, he dropped the bags, wrapped his arms around her waist and did what he’d wanted to do since she’d stepped out of her shower eight hours ago.
He kissed her. He didn’t give a flying fuck that they were standing in the middle of a crowded New York sidewalk. He didn’t care he was the only bloke dressed like an extra inBrokeback Mountain. He kissed her. The way he wanted to, with his tongue, his lips, his teeth.
He kissed her and she kissed him back. And he’d never felt happier in his life.
* * *
The opening was the most successful Monet had ever had. The exhibition itself—Lust Is Love Is Lust—had already stirred up some controversy before the doors had even opened, a local religious group taking offense to its sexual themes, exploration of hetro- and homosexual love and, to quote the spokesman for the protestors, “pornographic material”. Monet wondered now, as the last of the invited guests left the gallery, if the anti-sex ranting had amounted to anything more than free publicity. Though she didn’t need it. She’d been making a very nice income on her artwork for close to five years now and her name was enough to draw a strong crowd.
Still, there was something special about this opening.
Something? Or someone?
She chewed on her bottom lip, unable to stop her gaze from sliding to where Dylan stood talking to Kerrie, his hat on his head, his body filling out the Hugo Boss suit with such divine perfection she could almost believe he was a god sent from sexual heaven.
Hewas why tonight had been so special. It had nothing to do with the little green dots stuck to ninety percent of the works on display in the gallery, the dots that indicated the works had been sold. It had nothing to do with the rousing words of approval from theNew York Times’ harshest critic.
It was the simple fact that Dylan Sullivan was there to share her success with her. To smile at her when she caught his eye; to gladly say “g’day, mate” whenever a patron asked, fascinated by his Australian accent; to stand silently beside her, his presence more real than anything else she could imagine, while she watched the crowd take in her work.
How was it possible to be so…so…content? So happy? Especially when sheshouldbe feeling guilty about what happened last night. And her continued failure to reach Annie.
“I see you’re now playing dress up with the Down Under Wonder?”
She gazed to her left and frowned at Phillip, biting back a sigh. That he’d even attended the opening surprised the hell out of her. That he had the balls to approach her, to continue to insult Dylan, flabbergasted her. Still, he’d stayed away from her all night, so she guessed she had to put up with him now. If only to tell him to shut up and grow up.
Before she could open her mouth, Kerrie was at her side, the curator’s gloriously wicked smile flashing at Phillip. “Phi-Phi.”
Phillip sneered at Kerrie, and for the first time, Monet noticed just how metrosexual Philip was. And how narrow-shouldered. And how much foundation he wore.
“Like the cowboy’s suit.” He turned back to Monet, his lip curling. “How many cows did he have to rope to afford it, do you think?”
“Phillip,” Monet began. She’d had enough. The guy wasn’t just a jerk, he was a moron as well. “You need to?—”
“Let me handle this, Monet,” Kerrie said, eyes glinting behind his shocking-pink glasses. “Phi-Phi,” he said, turning to Phillip. “Do you have any idea how large the biggest cattle ranch in America is?”
Phillip snorted. “Why the hell would I know something like that?”
Kerrie’s smile stretched wide. “I do. It was onWho Wants to be a Millionaire?, of all things, last month. It’s almost three-hundred-thousand acres. Now guess how big our Australian cowboy’s ranch is. No? Don’t want to try? Well, I was pumping Dylan for info and I found out his ranch is overfourtimes bigger than that. Four times. And you know what they say about a man’s ranch in relation to his?—”
Phillip cut Kerrie short. “I’ve had enough.” With a glare at Monet, he turned and walked away.
She didn’t care. She was walking away herself. Through the gallery. Looking for Dylan. Her heart thumping hard in her throat, her mouth dry.
She found him sitting on the steps of the main floor staircase, his elbows resting on his knees, his hat on his head and a bottle of beer in his hand. Where he’d found a bottle of beer in the gallery, she had no idea. Perhaps Kerrie had procured one. The curator was quite taken with him.
He looked up as she approached, his lips doing that crooked-smile thing she loved so much, his dimples creasing his stubble-dusted cheeks. “Considering this is my first exhibition opening,” he raised the beer, “I think it went off really well.”
