Wait. Was she looking for a path of escape? She pressed her lips together and took a step.

“Angel,” Saint said on impulse, stepping toward her. “I’m so glad you decided to come.” He crooked his arm in invitation, aware of the cameras shifting to the pair of them.

“What?” Her amber gaze flashed to Saint, hitting him like a shot of whiskey, sending even more heat pouring into his gut and out to his extremities. The delicious warmth sank to pool low and heavy behind his fly. It was exciting. Dangerous, but exciting.

“Sir.” The greeter reacted to Saint trying to bypass him, then stammered, “I beg your pardon, Mr. Montgomery. Of course you may go in.”

“We’re blocking the entrance,” Saint said, steadying his new date’s faltering steps as he guided her into the noisy foyer, then found them a quiet corner in the main gallery.

She blinked, taking in the freestanding sculptures and abstract oils surrounding tables placed like stepping stones into the labyrinth of the gallery’s showrooms. The glitterati milled in pockets at the edges. Above them, origami flowers were suspended on threads, drifting and bobbing on gentle, unseen currents, like an upside-down meadow.

The woman’s enchantment was cute, her uptilted mouth in that rosy pink nearly irresistible.

“I was stood up, too,” Saint said, signaling a server to bring champagne.

“You’re joking.” Her wide-eyed gaze came down from the ceiling as she took the glass he handed her.

“Prevaricating,” he admitted. No one would ever leave him waiting. “I parted ways with my date two weeks ago.”

“I’m so sorry.” She sounded sincere, which was adorable.

“It’s for the best. And you? Who had the poor taste to leave you hanging?”

“Are we prevaricating?” Her chin dropped in a sly, self-deprecating dip. “I actually knew my...um...date wouldn’t be here. I came anyway, hoping they’d let me in, which they didn’t. So you’ve aided and abetted a party crasher.” She wrinkled her nose.

“I’ve done worse.”

She started to say something, then checked herself, biting her lips with contrition.

“What? You’ve heard that about me?” That was no surprise. He’d misspent his young adult years on wine, women and song. He was a lot more circumspect these days, but that playboy reputation remained his calling card and had its uses, so he didn’t fight it.

“Maybe.” Her lashes flickered as her gaze traveled across the unpadded shoulders of his jacket and down to the buttons that closed it.

He stole the opportunity to take another long drink of her figure-eight figure—which was a solid ten. He came back in time to see the tip of her tongue slide along the seam of her lips.

Her bottom lip was wide and full, the top one thinner with two sharp peaks in the center and an uptilt at the corners that gave an impression she had an amusing secret.

Damn, but he wanted to kiss her. Right. Now.

But when her gaze lifted to his, there was wariness behind the speculation. She quirked a quizzical brow at him.

“Are you really Saint Montgomery?”

“Yes.” He liked his name in her accent. It wasn’t one of those posh pronunciations that scolded, demanding he behave like his namesake. Her broad inflection held a rueful skepticism that seemed to know he was the furthest thing from a saint.

“So why are you talking to me?”

He liked how direct she was, too. “Is that a real question? I find you attractive.”

She choked on the sip of champagne she’d started to take. “No.” She tilted her head, eyeing him with suspicion. “At best, you’re on a rebound from your recent breakup.”

He winced, caught, but, “Both things can be true, can’t they? I do find you attractive, but it also suited me to give the paparazzi fresh meat to chew on. Now they’re out there wondering who the hell I came in with.”

Her eyes widened with alarm.

“Why does that worry you? Who did I come in with?”

“I’d rather not say.” She glanced around and shook her head with something like incredulity. “I was misrepresenting myself by turning up here and really need to quit while I’m ahead. Thank you for getting me in, but I’m leaving.”

“Why?” He put out a hand, needing to touch her again if only to graze her bare elbow. And watch her nipples peak against the thin silk of her gown. “Who was your date? Why did you come if you didn’t think they’d let you in?”

“I’m embarrassed to say. Genuinely.” Her flush of awareness turned to dark pink stains on her cheeks. Her bright-eyed amusement was very much at her own expense. “I’ll do more damage than good if I stick around, so... It was nice to meet you, but I have to go. Even though it galls me to walk away from a dinner worth a hundred pounds.”

She really was new here. “It’s twenty-five thousand.”

“What is? This statue?” She halted herself from setting her unfinished glass on the base of a nearby sculpture.

“The plate fee.”

“Is twenty-five thousand pounds?” she cried and fumbled her glass, splashing champagne against her knuckles. She added an earthy epithet that he would’ve loved to hear against his ear while they were between the sheets.

He offered his pocket square, not bothering to mention he’d underwritten a table of ten for his London team of executives and their spouses.

“I’m definitely leaving,” she blurted as she handed back his damp square of silk.

“Not before midnight, Cinderella,” he cajoled, caressing her arm again, liking how quickly goose bumps rose against his tickling touch. He nodded toward an archway into another room. “I have to make the rounds. Stay and amuse me.”

She sobered. “I don’t mind laughing at myself, but I don’t care to become entertainment for others.”

“Why would you be?” He frowned.

“We can both tell I’m out of my league here,” she said with reproach. “Why else would you want me on your arm? Social anxiety?”

“I find your sense of humor a welcome balance to people who take themselves far too seriously.”

“Gosh, fun as it sounds to meet those people, I’ll have to give it a miss.” She handed her glass to a passing server.

A lurching sensation pulled in his chest. He wanted to catch at her as though she was falling off a cliff away from him.

“Saint Montgomery. Just the man I need.” A woman’s hand arrived on his shoulder. She was the forty-something wife of a man Saint had met somewhere for some reason. Her chestnut hair was piled atop her head, her gown a racy haute-couture creation that framed cleavage where a ruby the size of a holiday turkey nested. “I’m planning an eclipse party. I need your clever brain to calculate the perfect time and place. Hello. You’re not Julie.”

His mystery woman froze like a bunny, then produced a dazzling smile that hit Saint like a ball of sunshine even though it was directed at the other woman.

“I’m not Julie, you’re right. I’m Fliss. Sadly, you’ve missed this year’s total eclipse. There will be another in about fourteen months with good views from Iceland, Portugal and Spain. The path is easy enough to find online. I would look it up for you, but I’ve been called away, so...um...good night.” She included Saint in her wave of departure.

“Don’t be silly, Fliss. I can’t leave you to find your own way home.” What a flossy, fluttery name. It suited her perfectly. “Excuse us.”

Saint flashed a dismissive smile at the other woman, who was watching them with great curiosity, and steered Fliss against the tide of people still streaming in.