RED LOVE (A British Billionaire Romance Part 2) by Kristina Weaver

Author:Kristina Weaver [Weaver, Kristina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-01-03T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

I can’t believe how many people have turned up for my first official showing. The gallery is packed to the rafters and so abuzz with positive reviews that I feel a glow of accomplishment settle deep within me.

People actually like my work, are paying obscene prices to acquire it and have gone so far as to ask for first option when I complete my next series. I don’t know what has suddenly changed to make a once overlooked artist this popular, but I absolutely refuse to look a gift horse in the mouth.

For once in my life, everything’s going right. I have enough money coming in to consider paying the obscene rent on the apartment my father has gotten me—still as yet unoccupied—and I can afford the baby.

If I feel unsettled and somewhat guilty about my avoidance of the baby’s father the last three weeks, well, I’m consoling myself with the excuse that he deserves it.

“Congratulations on your success.”

Every nerve ending in me stills as that husky voice washes over me, and I feel my heart skip a beat before it starts racing. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, fighting the urge to throw myself at him and blather my every thought and emotion.

God, is it possible that I’ve missed the oaf this much?

Steeling myself against the overwhelming rush of lust I know I’ll feel when I turn, I take a deep breath and face Vincent, almost swallowing my tongue when I see a blonde goddess hanging from his arm.

“I believe you remember Clara?”

To say that I feel like a volcanic eruption about to level the city is an understatement! Of course I remember Clara. I’m not likely to forget her giggling helpfulness that day at the museum when I’d tumbled over that rack and made a complete ass of myself.

I want to hate the woman, really I do, but it’s way too hard when she grabs my hand and pumps it enthusiastically, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Well, God help me, of course she remembers me. We women have to stick together and all that.”

Ah, how could I forget that cultured accent and her glowing youth? She can’t be older than twenty or twenty-one, now that I’m taking the time to look at her properly, and now I just feel like a gross old hag. Which makes me so mad at him I can hardly swallow past the bile lining my throat.

“Thanks,” I manage to grit out between my teeth, feeling my cheeks ache at the force of my smile. “And of course I remember you. I’m not likely to forget your help, especially when Mr Manners here couldn’t wait to get the heck outta dodge when he’d seen my panties. It’s good to finally meet you,” I say, rescuing my poor arm from her shaking by pulling away with a gentle smile. “Thanks for coming.”

“Oh, obvious! Mummy heard that there was a hot new artist showing tonight and she demanded I cross the pond to come see. I’ve already made a purchase of that wonderful oak tree.

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