Open Your Eyes (2 page)

Chapter Three

Nick
must’ve had supernatural powers to read my mind, because his next question came out of the blue. He was staring at my left hand.

“Married?”

“Er… No, haven’t been for a long time – metaphorically speaking.”

“I have a friend who speaks in metaphors.”

“Really?”

“Really. You may have heard of him. His name is Seal.” He s
tifled a laugh at what must have been an incredulous look on my face.

“
Seal?” I squeaked. “I
love
Seal. His music, I mean.”

“
I’ll tell him next time I see him.”

“
When is that?” A little test to see if he was just joking around.

“
In ten weeks, when I shoot a magazine cover featuring him. It’s a secret, though.” He winked at me as if it was just
our
secret.

“
Wow. I’ve been a fan of his for a very long time.”

“S
o have I. Strange how everyone thinks they know him through the tabloids and what they see on TV. What people see there is just a glimpse of the real man.”

“Are you… do you
… have a partner?” Surely if he could ask me personal questions, I could ask him too?

“Only a business partner. The
blond woman who floats around here. Irene. You may have seen her. She’s my agent actually. Strictly business.” He smirked in reply to my unasked question. “Although I get a feeling she would like more.” The way he said it wasn’t arrogant; he merely stated his opinion.

A faraway look flickere
d over his face, a sardonic smile curling his lips. “I was in love once, a long time ago. When I was too young to know better.”

What would it feel like to be loved by a man like this?
Beautiful. Brilliant mind. The total package.

“I really like you. I feel like we could be friends, Natalie. How about I show you around New York some time?” He smiled broadly, wiggling both eyebrows. “Besides, I’ve always wanted an Aussie friend.”

“Is that so?” I ra
ised an eyebrow at him. He wanted to be friends. Right.

“I could show you all the really cool places tourists don’t know about.”

“That’s very sweet of you. But I wouldn’t want to impose on your time. Besides, I'm only here for a few weeks before I head back home.”

“We could begin tonight –
”

I cut him off. “Sorry, but it just won't work out. I'm not in New York alone. I'm with someone.”

“Oh. That’s disappointing,” he said, his jaw tightening. “I must have misunderstood when you said you weren’t married?”

“It's complicated
.” I sighed. “We are separated.” I twisted my hands around in my lap; I didn’t want to discuss the status of my relationship with a near stranger. Especially not one who made my insides all warm and fuzzy. “I should be going.”

“The storm is still raging outside. Will be for at least another hour. Stay, Natalie. I like talking to you.
There is no harm in talking, is there? Let me show you around the gallery till the storm passes?” He quirked an eyebrow, his face suddenly serious.

My mo
uth went dry. Was he thinking that I was a prospective client? Then it dawned on me: of course, that’s why he’d been chatting to me.
He must think I'm going to purchase one of his artworks.
It all made sense now.
What an idiot I am!

Seriously attractive and obviously wealthy men d
idn’t chat up women unless there was something in it for them. Something like sex… or at least a few thousand dollars in sales.

Shifting uncomfortably on the seat, I
realized I simply had to stop this charade. What had I gotten myself into? The sooner he knew I wasn’t in any position to purchase an artwork, the sooner he’d drop this idle chit chat like a hot potato. I’d better bring this cozy conversation to an end – fast.

Too bad, I really enjoy
ed the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, as well as the rich soothing timber of his voice. But I should have known better. Served me right for even thinking there could be something else – another reason why he wanted to talk to me. It was simply too good to be true.

Clever – very clever. He had an agenda: to make a sale.
I didn’t see that one coming.

I sighed
heavily. Damn, he had me there, even if it was for the briefest moment –
I actually believed that he really saw me
. How foolish!

He stopped talking,
quirking an eyebrow. “Lost you there for a moment?”

Perceptive. Very perceptive. Bet his eyes would glaze over when he
realized he’d wasted all this time talking to me and that he wasn’t going to make a sale.

I raised my chin
. “I'm sorry for wasting your time, but I'm definitely not in the market for an artwork. I probably couldn’t afford even the smallest of your pieces.”

There. I’d said it. I’d always been brutally honest, even to my own detriment. Like today. But I’d rather not continue this discussion under false
pretenses. Pity though.

S
haking my head slowly, I tried to cast off the magic spell he had so cleverly woven around us. Hell, for a fleeting second, I’d wondered what could have been. There was an intimacy…
Ha!
It’s all in my imagination.

“Your eyes are sad,” he said
. “Why is that?”

What? Didn’t he just hear what I said? Either that or he was an even better salesman than I thought.
Sales 101. Emotion – get customers to buy on emotion.

“You don’t understand
.” I shrugged. “I’m not buying an art piece today or any time in the future – unless I won the lottery – and we both know the odds on that happening.” I tried to keep the bitterness from my voice, but I didn’t quite succeed. “You may as well move on to the next client. You’ve wasted enough time with me. Sorry.”

It was time to go –
I had to get out of there. My heart pounded in my ears as I grabbed my coat and the purse beside me and jumped to my feet, desperate to get away from him, shame washing over me.

His hand sh
ot out and wrapped around my wrist. “Is that really what you think of me?” Hurt radiated from his eyes, his mouth turned downward. Wow! He should win an Oscar for that performance. Or write a book about sales titled:
How to Use Emotion to Make a Six-Figure Income
. Or some bullshit akin to that.

“I really must go now,” I hissed as I tugged my arm
, only to feel his grip tighten.

“I'm not letting you go. You’ve got me all wrong…”

Chapter
Four

I had to get out
. I couldn’t listen to another smooth pitch. My heel came down so hard on his foot that he gasped. Using his surprise to my advantage, I extracted my arm from his steely grip and ran for the elevator.

Tears were burning
at the back of my throat, my vision blurry as I stepped inside and the doors mercifully closed on me.
God, what a fool he must think I am.
I leaned into the corner of the elevator, my arms crossed over my torso, wishing it could take me deep down into the belly of the underworld – swallowing me whole.

Once out of the elevator
, I walked as fast as I could to the exit without drawing attention to myself. As I pushed the heavy doors open, the cold air struck my face like a slap. I wriggled into my coat. Crap!
I’ve left Olivia’s parcels under the bench
. Tough shit! There was no way in hell I was going back in there. Olivia would have to retrieve her own shopping bags. Double crap. Those parcels were worth a small fortune – all her birthday money and savings were in those bags. She’d kill me if they went missing.

W
arring with myself about what to do, the dutiful mother won. I pivoted on my heels to do the walk of shame back into the museum when I crashed straight into a rock hard chest. ‘I…I’m sorry…” I blurted out.

I
drew in a sharp breath that burned into my lungs – I was right up against the hard wall of
his
chest. I already knew his unique smell and the instant response my body had to his, even before I looked up, bewildered, straight into bemused eyes. Stunned, I took a step backwards and nearly tumbled down. He grabbed my arm, steadying me from falling.

“S…sorry,” I whimpered, unable to move, his touch sending small
bolts of electricity up my arm.

“You sa
y ‘sorry’ a lot.” His lips were drawn into a thin line; a small vein in his neck jumping. His eyes searched mine. “Someone must have really hurt you.”

I
squeezed my eyes shut tightly to hide the pain, standing there on the sidewalk, entranced, his grip on my arm like steel.

“It's OK. Look at me,
” he coaxed. “Don’t run away.” I looked into his eyes, they were pleading. “Look, I have the parcels you left behind.” He raised a hand, holding the precious goods.

This was my chance.
I grabbed at the parcels, but he swiftly swung them behind his back. “Listen, it's freezing out here, and you haven’t even put your gloves or hat back on yet. It would be bad manners for a New Yorker to let a visitor freeze to death. Let me buy you a coffee to thaw you out; then I will hand the parcels over.
Oh, and ‘no’ is
not
an option
.”

He pushed me
toward a door only twenty paces from where we were standing, his hand at the small of my back burning through the coat I had just scrambled into. My gaze darted left and right as he held the door open, but his huge frame blocked any attempt at escape.

H
e whispered in my ear, his breath warm on my frozen skin, “Your parcels, remember?” A low chuckle escaped his lips as I rolled my eyes at him. I clearly had no other option if I wanted to retrieve the parcels.

The severe winter weather was really annoying. Outside the gusty winds were minus freezing point, yet inside the buildings the heat was turned on so high t
hat within seconds of entering, a stream of sweat ran down my back. OK, maybe it was because his hand was still on my back, even though he could have removed it long ago.

I removed my coat in an effort to break the contact between us and quickly slid into the seat indicated by the waitress.
I looked around – this was not Starbucks. It was a full lunch service at what appeared to be an upscale restaurant, specializing in lobster.

“We may as well have lunch,” he said casually, as if we were old friends. “You have to eat anyway.”

“No, I don’t. I agreed to coffee and then you would return my parcels. That’s the deal.” My blood pressure rose, anger seething in my gut. “Just so you know: I hate being scammed. I'm not going to buy one of your pieces, let’s get this over with and I can be on my way.” I raised my chin and met his steely gaze head on.

He shook his head slowly, all mirth gone from his face.
His jaw tightened and his lips thinned as he peered at me through narrowed eyes. I swallowed, he was clearly pissed off.

“Let’s get this straight. I am not scamming you in any way, shape or form. I make more money every day than I need from my craft
and sheer hard work, so I certainly don’t need to hard sell any of my work to an unwilling client. I was merely curious as to why you were staring so intently at one of my pieces. Then as I got to know you, I was sincerely interested in your opinions. I apologize if anything I said offended you. But I don’t apologize for talking to you, for trying to get to know you. And just so
you
know: I don’t give up easily once I've set my mind on something.” His knuckles were white as he clenched his fists open and shut.

“Now stop staring at me with those
big blue eyes and order something. And stop chewing your lip, before I lean over and shake you.” I released my lip. He cupped my chin, his thumb skimming over my quivering lower lip; increasing the pressure of his thumb so slightly that it was hardly noticeable, yet one of the most sensuous gestures I’d ever experienced.

“I know you feel it too. This incredible connection we have. And I plan to explore it. Fully.” Before I could respond, the waiter appeared at our table.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Gallagher, lovely to see you again. What can I get for you today?” The waiter beamed.

“Bring us a bottle of
Cristal and two lobsters.” He shot me a glance. “You’re not allergic to shellfish, are you?” I had barely shook my head when he continued, “And a table salad to share, dressing on the side.”

Gallagher?
Nick Gallagher. Could he be
the
Nicholas Gallagher – world famous photographer to royalty and the who’s who?
Of course, how could I be so stupid?
It all fell into place now. He had mentioned Seal as one of his friends and a client. Oh God! And here I was, worried he was a slick salesman trying to part me with my hard-earned cash.

An article in
a recent
Time
magazine eluded that in spite of being famous and inspiring his subjects to do exceptional work in front of the cameras, the man himself was a bit of a mystery. Apparently he abhorred the limelight himself. Ironic, as he was hands down the sexiest and most handsome man I had ever laid eyes on, in real life or in pictures. He could outshine every one of his clients with his natural beauty.

But if he was who I thought he was, then what the hell did
he want with me? Panic rose up in my chest, making it hard to breathe.
Can I ever hold the interest of a man this magnificent?
But now that I’d had a taste of being in his presence, I was reluctant to let go. Even though every fiber in my body was yearning for his touch, I had to resist. Because deep down I knew this could only end one way – badly. When he finally figured out who I was, he would lose all interest. And I would be left wanting more.

“You
’re Nicholas Gallagher?” I breathed.

“Yep, that
’s what my birth certificate states.” He gave me a tight smile, his eyes hooded. “Please don’t judge who I am by what you think you know about me. It's just a name.” He waved his hand dismissively as if he’d had this conversation numerous times before.

“I'm good at what I do and it pays the rent. But please don’t decide to
not
be my friend because of perceived ideas of fame and fortune. You liked me before you knew who I was; I really appreciate that about you. And if it's OK with you, I’d like to get to know you better.”

“
Nick, I…” Should I be calling him Mr. Gallagher? I was definitely in way over my head. It would be best if I backed out now.

“Give me a chance to see you smile again. A chance to hear that
sassy, witty mouth of yours shoot off.” He raised an eyebrow. “A chance to be friends?” He reached out and covered my hand with his.
Friends? Good God, I’d gladly jump your bones right now. But ‘friends’ is good.

“I’m going home in little over a week. So if you want a friend for a week or so, you’re on. I don’t really know that much about you, sorry to say, you’re not
that
famous in Australia. Besides, we like cutting tall poppies down; it's a national sport in my country.” If he wanted to play his fame down, I could work with that. He didn’t need to know that he was often mentioned in Olivia’s glossy magazines as one of the world’s most evasive bachelors.

My daughter. Crap
. Since Nick had been stirring up my sleeping libido, I had totally forgotten that I had arranged to meet with her. We wouldn’t even have been here if Olivia hadn’t won two plane tickets in a radio competition. She’d never believe that I actually had lunch with the legendary photographer. I pulled my hand from under his and glanced at my watch.

“Somewhere better you have to be? Best not be with another guy,
younger or more handsome, or I’d have to challenge him to a swordfight at dawn,” he mocked, but I could sense the seriousness in his tone.

I laughed heartily, deciding to relax just a little and enjoy the experience.
“Well,
my friend
, I have just over an hour to spare. Then I have a prior arrangement I can't be late for.” I winked at him, letting him wonder about my supposed ‘date’.