One woman is so bold she says a variation of the same line as the others, “Your suit looks so luscious. What’s it made of?” except she slides her hand along the top of his thigh to find out. He manages to keep a straight face and discreetly remove her hand while thanking her for her admiration.
“We should move along,” I say smoothly, pulling him away. Once we’re out of earshot, we both giggle.
“And I thought you Brits were so reserved,” I laugh.
He smirks. “Clearly, she can’t resist the goods.”
“Modest, much?” I hit his arm lightly, but he grabs my hand, and looks into my eyes.
“You know I’m taken,” he says in a low voice, and the intensity in his gaze takes my breath away. “I only have eyes for you.”
My heart takes flight. I stare at him, overwhelmed – and guilty as sin for the secrets I’m hiding from him.
“Mr. St. Clair?” We’re interrupted by the college president. St. Clair drops my hand. “We’re ready to welcome everyone, if you’d like to follow me. We’re all looking forward to your remarks.”
“Of course.”
We move to the stage area at the back of the room. The president introduces him as an important donor to the school and the benefactor for tonight’s event. St. Clair steps up to the podium to a round of thundering applause. I look around, seeing the respect and admiration on people’s faces. I think of St. Clair growing up in that cold house with nothing but criticism. If only his father could see how much his son is appreciated.
“Thank you,” St. Clair starts as the applause dies down. “This is a very special night for me, a cause that’s dear to my heart.” His eyes find mind and he holds my gaze while he pauses, then goes back to glancing at the crowd.
“I know what it’s like to have a dream—to want something so much you can taste it, but not quite touch it. And it’s opportunities like this showcase that will propel these artists into the realm where dreams become possibilities. So my hope for all the students here tonight—whether you are in the showcase or not—is to follow your passion. Don’t be afraid to take a few risks, maybe break a few hearts”—there are chuckles—“but be true to yourself. It’s a much bigger risk to try to be someone else. Art is about authenticity, and only you know your heart.”
His eyes meet mine for a moment again, and then he looks away. “I’m so pleased to have a small hand in supporting the future of authentic expression, of creativity, and of these young artists here tonight. May all these futures be fruitful. Thank you very much.”
He steps off the stage to more applause, and I’m so proud of him for helping to jumpstart the career of these students, and proud to be a part of his company for doing good deeds like this, for giving back to the art community. I look around and see the beaming faces of the students and know without a doubt that we made in difference in their lives today. It feels great.
After the art show, St. Clair’s driver takes the scenic route along the Thames. I gaze out of the window, treated to a palette of colorful lights: the old buildings lit up, with the rainbow of the London Eye in an array of changing colors like a planetarium light show.
“Did you have fun tonight?” St. Clair asks. He takes my hand and squeezes it.
“I always have fun with you.” I realize how corny my answer sounds and cringe, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
“I always have fun with you, too.” His reply is quiet, thoughtful. He seems contemplative for the rest of the drive, not really saying much until we’re back at his place again. There, St. Clair opens a bottle of wine, and we sit together on the couch.
“To another successful endeavor,” he says, raising his glass in a toast.
“To the show,” I agree, tapping my glass to his.
He takes a sip, still looking thoughtful. I wonder what’s going through his head. I start to get nervous. I’m not used to him being this way – not unless something’s wrong.
What if he knows I’ve been meeting Lennox?
My heart drops. Crap. If he knows about the clandestine meetings, he might think I’m betraying him. But isn’t that what I’m doing, the longer I entertain notions of him being the master criminal Lennox claims?
I sit, waiting, my heart beating faster, until finally St. Clair puts down his wine glass and looks at me straight on. The energy between us is all fired up from the night, from teasing each other and laughing the whole car ride home, but now I can’t get comfortable with him so close.
“Uh oh, you look serious. Should I be worried?”
He gives me a smile – not broad and flashy like the ones he gave everyone at the event tonight, but something private and sincere, just for me. “You make me happy, Grace.”
I gulp. Is this a break-up speech, or a ‘I know you’ve been meeting the feds behind my back’ speech, or what?
“I don’t often let people in,” he continues. “Well, more like never. It’s just easier that way, to keep focused on business, keep my personal life and professional worlds separate.”
Oh God, it is a break-up speech. I feel a pain in my chest, and I have to bite my lip to keep the tears from welling up.
“And then you came along. And everything I thought I knew went out the window.” St. Clair looks at me, and the tenderness in his eyes takes my breath away. “You’re like nobody I’ve ever met before, Grace. Your energy, your strength, your passion – for art, and the world around you. You haven’t let the world beat you down, you’ve kept striving for the life you want. You believe in the good in people. In me.”
He reaches down under the coffee table and pulls out a long black velvet box with a silver bow. I stare at it, dazed.
“I guess, I just wanted to show you what you mean to me.” St. Clair looks at me intently. “And when I saw this, I knew it belonged with you.”
He hands the box to me. With shaking fingers, I unwrap the bow and lift the lid open.
Oh my God.
I’m staring at the most incredible diamond necklace: a single perfect teardrop diamond pendant strung on a gorgeous gold chain. It’s absolutely breathtaking – and enormous.
“St. Clair,” I stutter. “I can’t…this is…”
“Don’t you like it?” his face falls.
“Are you kidding? I love it! But it’s too much, Charles—”
“Nonsense.” He smiles again. “It’s perfect for you.”
St. Clair takes the necklace and lifts it from the box. I turn, and my heart racing, and move my hair aside as he gently fastens the chain around my neck.
The diamond sits against my skin, sparkling, and perfect, and without a doubt, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever worn.
“It’s incredible,” I whisper, still blown away.
He leans closer, and drops a kiss on the line of my shoulder. “So are you.”
I shiver, feeling the heat from his touch radiate through my body.
I turn, and find myself pressed up against him. He reaches out, and trails his fingertip around the diamond pendant – caressing my collarbone. My skin prickles with awareness, and when I look up, his eyes are fixed on mine. Dark and glittering. Midnight blue.
“I’m falling in love with you, Grace,” St. Clair murmurs, his voice deep with emotion. “I’ve been falling in love with you since the first time you spilled coffee on me.”
I feel like I’m in a dream. I hear his words, but they don’t sink in. I’m still in shock from the necklace, from his confession, from the way my body is leaning into him, eager for another tantalizing touch.
“Tell me you feel the same way,” St. Clair says, his voice turning urgent. His hand glides over my bare skin, caressing me, seducing me. Warmth radiates through my chest. “If you could ever think about loving a man like me.”
I realize what he’s saying now, and it blows me away. He thinks he’s the unworthy one? I cup his jaw with my hand. “Stop, Charles.” Calling him by his first name like this, our connection feels more intimate than ever. “You don’t have to do this. I love you, too.”