BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE: The Unforgettable Southern Billionaires: The Complete Collection Boxed Set (Young Adult Rich Alpha Male Billionaire Romance) by Walker Violet

Author:Walker, Violet [Walker, Violet]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kindled Romance Publishing
Published: 2016-01-12T08:00:00+00:00

Dragon Romance

Heat Wave

Book Two

Lucile Wild

Dragon Romance: Heat Wave

Chapter One

When Terry led me into the abandoned warehouse I was skeptical. She’d promised me a gallery opening, not a horror movie. But she’d just led me through the narrow doorway and into the darkened basement.

“You’ve gotta embrace the unexpected, Dorothy,” she said. My name isn’t Dorothy. It’s Skye.

I’d only known Terry a week – for all I knew, her idea of ‘unexpected’ involved murdering country girls and stashing their bodies in abandoned warehouses. I was thinking that maybe I should quickly text Daiki and see if he would come and pick me up. But then we stepped into the basement and I felt my jaw drop.

“Nice, right?” Terry said, watching my reaction.

I nodded dumbly. The basement of the abandoned warehouse was crowded with people speaking in hushed whispers and clutching glasses of bubbling champagne. Blue light cast their faces into an eerie, dull shadow. But what it did to the paintings was another matter entirely.

There were three paintings on each of the four walls, uniform in size. The images on the canvas seemed to burst with vibrant fluorescent color. While the crowd looked washed out, the paintings seemed to blossom under the blue light.

“Black light,” Terry said.

I wondered if she could read my thoughts. “Pardon?”

“She paints with blacklight-reactive ink. That’s what’s making the paintings glow like that,” Terry pointed at the nearest one. It was a picture of a little girl in a white dress, dancing alone. “When it’s just regular light, or daylight, the pictures look kind of grim. Put ‘em under a blacklight, and suddenly it’s a party.”

I wanted to reach out and run my fingers over the paint, but I knew that it was a terribly inappropriate thing to do to another person’s work.

“It’s amazing,” I said. The image of the little girl would have looked grim. She had her back turned to the artist, with her head tipped so that she could see the viewer out of the corner of her eye, and her hands fanned down as if she meant to fall to the ground. But with the blacklight paint, she looked as though she was getting ready to take flight.

“I know, right?” Terry said. “This is art, whatever Professor D-Bag says.”

I laughed. Terry and I went to the Art Institute in Manhattan, but neither of us had been impressed by our professor. He’d made a bad impression when he’d told the class that painting shouldn’t be considered art and was a waste of time. I’d watched that lecture unfold with my lips pursed like I’d swallowed a whole lemon. Terry had sought me out not long afterwards.

We couldn’t be more different, Terry and I, but we’d bonded over our mutual dislike of pretentious art teachers. Terry had been raised in New York and had more piercings and tattoos than I had fingers and toes. Today, she’d dyed her hair saffron, and she wore a long vintage dress which made her look like she’d just walked off the set of Grease.

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