The Game. Vanessa Fewings

stared on proudly. “Terrance excelled in my art history class but found his true calling is modern art. He has my blessing, of course.”

      The bright young star with neat dreadlocks wore the brightest smile, and I guessed the pretty fortysomething black woman by his side was his proud mom.

      We headed on over to them to offer our congratulations. Terrance was enjoying his well-deserved praise as private collectors swarmed him, wanting to meet this gifted young man who’d set the art world alight.

      His paintings were featured around the walls. Gabe and I took our time to admire each one and I marveled at Terrance’s gift of layering colors and his use of texture. He was being hailed as a young Jackson Pollock and I could see why.

      Turning to face the crowd, my breath caught when I saw a vision of pure masculine beauty—Tobias Wilder.

      He was here.

      Sipping from an amber drink and looking ridiculously sharp in a black tuxedo with his hair predictably ruffled to perfection, so damn gorgeous as he smiled his response to something a middle-aged couple were saying to him. God, now he was doing that thing where he arched his brows as he listened with sincerity, seemingly engrossed in conversation, his left hand tucked into his trouser pocket as he leaned forward to engage with them.

      A jolt of reality hit me when I saw his ex-girlfriend and powerhouse attorney Logan Arquette standing beside him. She was wearing a pretty green gown and her usual cold glare.

      My body froze when Tobias’s stare found me in the crowd and his expression reflected intrigue.

      “Is that Tobias Wilder?” asked Gabe quietly.

      “Yes.”

      He snapped his head to look at me. “You’ve met him?”

      I managed a subtle nod, though kept my stare on Wilder.

      “Where?” Gabe sounded incredulous.

      “London. He’s a client of Huntly Pierre.” A quick glance over at Gabe told me that placated him.

      I wondered how Tobias felt about me evading his driver yesterday.

      Gabe grabbed my arm. “He’s coming this way.”

      Tobias and Logan strolled toward us, confidently nodding here and there at the other guests who parted respectfully for them.

      My back straightened as they neared us and I decided to go with a customary, “Mr. Wilder, nice to see you again.”

      Gabe flashed me another look of surprise.

      Tobias gave a warm smile. “Zara.”

      A seductive chill spiraled up my spine and I went for my best stony-faced expression to match his amused demeanor.

      Wilder wore that dazzling suit as though some artisan had carved it over his muscular physique to highlight his firm chest and broad shoulders, and his grin widened just enough to hide that he was strategizing.

      “It’s my pleasure to introduce Professor Gabe Anderson, art historian.” I gestured to them. “Tobias Wilder and Logan Arquette.”

      “Nice to see you, Zara.” Logan’s tone lacked sincerity and she looked triumphant as her arm wrapped through Tobias’s in a blatant gesture of possessiveness. Her flirting was being used against me to lessen my resolve.

      “Quite the exhibition,” said Tobias.

      Gabe responded with praise for Tobias’s own gallery and he told him how much he loved The Wilder’s reputation for its exclusive exhibits they were famed for.

      “We have something very special coming to The Wilder.” Logan zeroed in on Gabe. “It’s something you’ll find particularly appealing if you love history.”

      “Top secret for now,” added Tobias, fixing his attention on me.

      The full force of his power hit me and his stare held me captive.

      A memory flittered through my mind of the way he’d once touched me; a mesmerizing strength and tenderness and there came a stark recollection of the way he made me come so very hard.

      Think about something else.

      Anything else.

      Why did he have to look at me like this? As though we weren’t over.

      “Please excuse me,” I said. “There’s a Doug Aitken piece I’m dying to see.”

      I felt rude for leaving Gabe with them, but I needed to put distance between us. Tobias’s glare was burning my back as I walked into the next room. Avoidance was probably the best way to get through tonight.

      I willed myself to concentrate on the gold plaque before me. The word now had been enlarged to a three-dimensional wall model and was filled with a collage of images.

      The last place I wanted to be was in the now.

      “Zara.” Tobias’s voice exuded a deadly seduction.

      A jolt of uncertainty trailed up my spine.

      He stood a few feet away. “You look beautiful. I love that dress on you. I’m glad you wore it tonight.”

      I wanted to believe his words were a peace offering but the way his fierce gaze held mine reminded me of our goodbye outside The Wilder. He had that same look now in those green eyes.

      I turned to go. “I have to find Gabe.”

      He reached out and held my wrist. “Dance with me.”

      He was torturing me with physical contact; his firm touch reminding me what I’d lost, his sensual grip dangerously persuasive.

      “I can’t.”

      He arched a brow. “You moved on fast.”

      “Gabe’s a friend.”

      “I was worried I’d have to challenge him to a duel.” He grinned devilishly. “Have you any idea how stunning you look?”

      Evidently he knew how gorgeous he looked too, because he was using his magnetism to manipulate me into spending more time with him.

      “Boundaries,” I said firmly. “What does that word mean to you?”

      “In what respect?”

      “You broke into my hotel room and stole my suitcase.”

      He came closer. “I believe it was the concierge.”

      “Under your orders.”

      And he’d tracked down Gabe at UCLA. Seriously, did he expect me to forget that?

      “Zara, dance with me.”

      “How did you know I’d be here?”

      “I could say the same.”

      “The artist is one of Gabe’s students.”

      Tobias gave a mischievous smirk. “Don’t force me to dance with Professor Anderson.”

      “I’m sure you’ll find someone who’ll fall for your charm.”

      “Yesterday, I should have explained myself better.”

      I placed my hands on my hips and waited for him to finish his thought.

      His frown deepened. “One dance. Or...”

      “Or what?”

      “Don’t tempt me with refusing, Leighton.” He arched an amused brow. “Or there will be consequences.”

      “In what way?”

      “I’m still a client of Huntly Pierre. Do it for them. You can always think of England.” He winked.

      I relented with a nod and when his hand rested on the lower curve of my spine, I resisted the desire to close my eyes and lean into him as though there was no tension between