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“Let’s check out the art pieces in the auction.” She gently led him towards the first painting, expertly weaving through the throng. Jamon tried to smile at people as they passed. He didn’t see anyone on the list of “must meets” Gemma had given him. Then again, the thumbnails were a blur and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to match the pictures to the real people.
About a dozen easels were placed around the room, each holding a canvas of an original painting done by various world-renowned artists, Gemma explained. Jamon nodded to keep her talking. No matter how long he stared or how much money he had, some of the paintings looked like a five-year-old had gotten hold of a paintbrush; a squiggly line was a squiggly line.
“If I buy one of these, do I have to keep it?” Jamon frowned at the picture in front of them. Three thick purple lines circled in and out of one another. A light grey line slashed through all three, and a half dozen thinner ovals, grouped in threes, made up the final product.
Gemma stared at the image with appreciation. Something in her expression had changed. Her eyes held a note of serenity he had yet to see in her hard-nosed business persona. He stepped closer, and her vanilla and lace fragrance filled his head. He glanced back at the painting. Anything to put that look on her face was worth any price tag. “You like this?”
She swallowed as if she were trying to hold back her emotions and nodded. “It reminds me of dancing. Expression through the ebb and flow of the lines, the extensions and points, the eloquence.” Gemma seemed lost in a world of her own, one he couldn’t begin to relate to. His only experience with dance was the country swing. While he had a good time doing it, the movement didn’t evoke any emotional ties. “I love it,” she whispered.
Jamon’s world suddenly shifted. He wasn’t seeing the painting in a new light; he was seeing Gemma. The real Gemma. A woman who was passionate about dance, who loved it with her whole soul and could find pieces of it in swirls and lines. The love transformed her, and seeing her soul, Jamon was transformed too. He suddenly wanted to get closer, to see this side of her again, to feel her next to him. He gazed at Gemma. The soft flesh of her neck was exposed, and Jamon’s mouth puckered with the need to press a kiss to her soft skin. He’d lie down and let this temptress walk all over him if he wasn’t careful. “Let’s make a bid on it.” Jamon let his arm fall and catch her hand as if the action were the most natural thing in the world. “Where do I go?”
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