The British Billionaire's Baby (4 page)

Sebastian breathed a sigh of relief. No threat there, then. “I take it he was the one to tempt you into those shoes?”

“Ugh.” Gabby groaned, “This entire getup was his idea. Do you know…this damn dress cost five hundred dollars? Five
hundred
dollars.” She leaned close to him to whisper conspiratorially. “I can’t even breathe in it.”

At this point, Sebastian couldn’t repress an amused chuckle. She did indeed look somewhat uncomfortable in the silk confection, despite the fact that the dress made her look absolutely mouthwatering. He was also, for the first time in a long time, reminded of the relevance of money. The shoes he had bought earlier in the evening had carried a hefty twelve hundred dollar price tag that he had paid without thinking. If five hundred dollars was a lot to Gabby, than she might cringe at the sight of his closet. “Well, you look ravishing in it.”

“Thanks.” Gabby retrieved another glass of champagne from a passing waiter before sipping from it. As she did, she took him in from head to toe before her gray eyes widened as if seeing him for the first time. For a moment, Sebastian was worried that she had recognized him but his fears were assuaged when she next spoke. “Oh my
God
. I’m supposed to be pretending to be classy. I’m supposed to be making small talk. Holy hell, I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to come off as…as…”

“Human?” He inquired, emptying his own glass of champagne with an indulgent smile.

She flushed at the sight, looking away as her eyes gleamed alluringly in the low light. “It’s the champagne. I probably shouldn’t have had so much, but I’m nervous. I shouldn’t have access to an open bar.”

While it was clear that alcohol had loosened the lovely girl’s tongue perhaps a bit, she was far from inebriated. She was still handling her unfamiliar heels admirably enough, and she retained a certain amount of poise that didn’t come from money or a title. “Whatever do you have to be nervous about?”

Gabby shrugged, crossing her arms self-consciously over a slender abdomen as she gazed about the room. “I just…I want this to go well. I know that I’m no Da Vinci or anything, but this is my first time being featured anywhere of note and I’m just a bit…intimidated.”

“Wait,
you’re
the artist? You’re Gabrielle?”

It was as if Sebastian had been physically struck. He’d pictured the artist as someone middle-aged and wilting, who painted as the result of a midlife crisis, emptying her emotions out onto the canvases. An American hippie with ten cats and a studio in the wilderness. The woman who stood before him was the antithesis of all these things. She couldn’t be a day over thirty and hadn’t uttered a word about veganism or hairballs.

She blinked, eying him as if the answer was obvious. “Um, yes?”

“Bloody hell.” He ran a hand through his loose raven locks, trying to look anywhere but at her. That such expressive works had come from such a small, unfiltered package was something intriguing indeed. “You painted all these?”

Gabby nodded. “Yeah. A few are better than the others, but I remember every one. I think one or two of them have even sold. Isn’t that amazing?”

This woman was utterly and totally unaware of her own talent. And why should she be? New York was famed for being a dog-eat-dog city, and in a profession as amorphous as artistry, she’d probably been eaten alive while people with a fraction of her talent and ten times the money had gone on to thriving careers.

It was at that moment that Sebastian decided to buy all her paintings, if they hadn’t already been sold. Gabrielle deserved a break – more than that, she deserved for one person - just one, to appreciate her inherent talent. He would provide her with that and be happier for it. Of course, the purchases would be made in the same manner as the first two - anonymously – but her exhibition would be a hit, and maybe, just maybe, her career would be boosted.

Why he cared so much for the career of a woman he’d just met was beyond him. Perhaps it was her eyes – still vulnerable despite the epithets that poured from her mouth and her diminutive stance. Or perhaps it was her genuineness. Unlike eighty percent of the bar’s other patrons, Gabrielle wasn’t trying to be something she wasn’t.

“It is…quite amazing,” He mused, considering her. “Gabby, would you like to have another drink with me?”

The woman did a double take, gazing at him in obvious surprise. “
You
want to buy
me
a drink?”

‘Well, you are the artist in residence. And quite a fetching one at that.” Her skin flushed alluringly in the low light.

“Well, I’m supposed to be mingling – but I suppose one couldn’t hurt.”

“Lovely. Shall we?” He held out his arm for her to take and the young woman giggled at the sight of it.

“You Brits really are a completely different breed, aren’t you?”

He winked at her, taking in her prettily colored cheeks and a gaze that sparkled in happiness. “Entirely.”

CHAPTER 3 – Delicious Luxury

“So…you’re from London?”

“A small town a bit outside of it actually - name of Raithwithe. I was born and raised there.”

Sebastian hadn’t intended to spend the entire evening with Gabrielle. However, once he had begun speaking with her, it was very hard to stop. The artist was certainly one of the most interesting individuals he’d ever encountered. She’d been born and raised in Harlem, and taken up art without a second thought. In two hours of speaking with her, he’d learned her entire life’s story. She’d loved painting for as long as she could remember and used it as an emotional outlet when times were particularly tough.

A few of those times included when her mother had died tragically from cancer in her second year of Uni. Though her father was still living, they weren’t close, and the man didn’t approve of her career choice. He sounded frightfully like Sebastian’s own parents, who panicked when he spoke of anything other than taking over his father’s title and seeing to the estate for the rest of his life.

Her apartment, he’d learned, was the size of a generous walk in closet and there were days that she didn’t live off much more than instant noodles and coffee, but she was breathtakingly, astoundingly happy. More so than a woman in her position had any right to be. When he looked at her paintings, and then back at the woman before him, he could see the emotion she poured onto the canvases. She was such a little thing – most of her pieces were taller than she was.

He himself towered over her, which incited in him a strange instinct to protect her. That, however, was about where his proprietary desires ended.

Sebastian’s eyes were continuously drawn to the ample swell of Gabrielle’s bosom and the lush curve of her hips. Though he knew they were supposed to be having polite conversation, he couldn’t help but wonder what she would look like stripped utterly bare against the sheets of his immense king-sized bed at the Ritz Carlton. Was she as open in bed as she was in her speech? Would the expressive artist scream as he took her, or would she remain silent, clinging to him as he explored every inch of her?

He was a dog, he knew. The girl was at least ten years his junior and hadn’t the faintest clue to his actual identity. This, he knew, was for the best. Right here, right now, he was just some British bloke she’d encountered at her exhibition who she happened to enjoy conversing with.

Though he supposed he wouldn’t mind if things went in a slightly different direction…

“Raithwithe? I’m no geographer, but I’ve never heard of it before.” As soon as the words had left her mouth, the young woman’s eyes widened in mortification. It was a common gesture where she was concerned – she often spoke without thinking, and then apologized. “I mean…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“No offense taken.” He chuckled. “Are you this forthright with everyone you speak to?”

“Almost everyone.” She shrugged, taking another sip of her champagne. “I feel like if I were this fresh with my boss at the café, I might be out of a job.”

Fresh. What a delightful way to describe it. “Well, Gabby, I have to say that I find your
freshness
rather refreshing.”

She laughed, her eyes gleaming as she gazed up at him. “If you’re waiting for me to tell you how clever you are, I’m not going to give you the satisfaction.”

“Of course you’re not.” He chuckled, sipping on the vintage wine he’d switched to. “I doubt you’ve ever allowed any man a compliment.

“Oh,
that’s
not true.” She rebuffed him with a frown. “I like plenty of men. I like Tristan and Phillip.”

Sebastian glanced across the bar to where the two men were huddled against one another, gazing over one of Gabby’s pieces. It was obvious to any onlookers that they were together, and that the men that she so idolized were far from straight. Sebastian had never minded that sort of thing, but if the only men that Gabby admired were those of no romantic interest to her, than she had an interesting view of the world. “I’m sure you do. But they hardly count.”

“Why not?” Her pout was ungodly alluring, the fullness of her extended lower lip doing sinful things to his nether regions.

“I’m sure neither Phillip nor Tristan has ever propositioned to you.”

Gabby made a face. “Oh, Christ no. Thank God for that.”

He arched a brow. “So you admit you’re uncomfortable with male attention?”

Gabrielle opened her mouth, shut it, and then opened it again, floundering adorably for words. “That’s not what I meant. My life is…complicated. Most men don’t understand that.”

“I’ll bet they don’t.” His lips curved in mirth. “I can’t think of very many men who’d risk being doused in paint the moment they inspire a woman’s wrath.”

“Very funny. You’re hilarious.” Though her tone was very obviously sarcastic, the young woman’s smile was genuinely amused. If she was gorgeous wearing that artistic pout of hers, than she was utterly entrancing when she smiled. “I supposed the women in England are all timid and rule abiding?”

“If only.” He teased. “I once had a woman after me for sending her the
wrong
type of flowers.”

Gabby’s eyes widened. “What do you mean the wrong type? Flowers are flowers! She should have been grateful!”

“Tell that to her.” The woman in question had actually been partial to red roses, and when he’d sent her yellow, his mother had lectured him on the faux paus after she’d sent him a note detailing everything she liked, from Tiffany’s jewelry to Prada shoes. While the scene had been ridiculous when it occurred, here, seated next to a woman like Gabrielle, it was even more laughable.

“So I take it you’re not into the high-needs type, then?” Gabby gestured to the bartender to bring her a glass of water, and Sebastian was impressed by both her restraint and her ability to hold her liquor. She must have had at least six glasses of champagne and she was still very level-headed. Her inquiry, however, had him on guard for a moment. Of course, most women wanted to know his type. But unlike the women he’d dated in the past, Gabby wasn’t hanging on his every word. He sensed that the inquiry was genuine, and not a bid to interrogate him.

“Most definitely not. I haven’t the time. I’m a very busy man.”

“But you made time to come to my little ole exhibition.” She fixed him with a teasing smile. “I’m flattered.”

Bloody Christ, the woman was alluring as hell. If he didn’t leave her soon, he was going to end up doing something stupid. It was time for him to beat a hasty retreat. He’d find and speak to the proprietor about the paintings and then he’d be on his way.

“I need to use the ladies’ room.” With that proclamation, Gabby slid from her seat and promptly stumbled. Sebastian caught her in a smooth motion, drawing her into his arms as his concerned gaze searched his. He hadn’t thought she was that inebriated, but he could have been mistaken. To his relief, Gabby merely giggled, her gray gaze meeting his quite steadily. “I told you I hate these things.”

“You did.”

He couldn’t look away from the fullness of her painted mouth. She smelled of fresh strawberries and the champagne she’d been drinking; her body was intoxicatingly warm and soft against his.

Sebastian acted without thinking. Lowering his mouth to hers, he kissed her.

Gabrielle responded almost immediately, her hands sliding through his raven locks to hold firm as his tongue slid past her lips to tease her own into awareness. At the first taste of her, Sebastian was drugged. She was dark, sweet and completely drugging. He felt himself rising in his slacks as she moaned softly against his mouth, her tongue sliding sinuously against his.

Slowly, he hauled her upright, his mouth never leaving hers as he deepened the kiss, his hands sliding downwards to palm the full curve of her behind. She had tantalized him all evening, and now, he knew he wouldn’t be able to leave until she agreed to accompany him. As much as he tried to avoid spontaneous affairs, Gabrielle Arnold had garnered his interest, both mental and physical, and it took a rare woman to accomplish such a thing.

When he broke the kiss, he found her gazing up at him, her expression somewhat dazed. Sebastian swallowed thickly, resisting the urge to lower his mouth to hers again. “I won’t apologize. I’ve wanted to do that all night.”