Nor can I see my portrait, and right then, I am glad. I am so happy to know that Damien didn’t breach my confidence, but I still feel exposed and raw.

I know that Damien is behind me even before he speaks. Perhaps I subconsciously heard his footsteps. Or maybe I caught the scent of his cologne.

More likely we are simply so attuned to each other that it is impossible to be in close proximity without my body crying out for the touch of his hand.

“I hope this means you aren’t still mad at me,” he says.

I am standing at the railing, my back to him, and I feel the whisper of a smile touch my lips. “Should I be?”

I hear the rustle of his clothes as he moves closer to me. He is right there, right behind me, and I can feel the air thickening between us. “I’m truly sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean for Giselle to know. And I certainly never expected her to tell Bruce.”

I close my eyes, thinking of Blaine and the secret Damien kept. “You are an exceptionally good man, Damien Stark,” I say.

For a moment, he is perfectly still behind me. “No, I’m not. But every once in a while I do a good thing.” He slides his hand gently over my bare shoulder and I draw in a trembling breath. “Evelyn told you?”

“Yes.” I hear the need in my voice. I am certain that he hears it, too.

His hands close around my waist and he pulls me close, then presses his lips into my hair. “I wish she hadn’t done that. I didn’t want you to be upset with Blaine.”

“I’m not. I might have been if I’d learned first that it was him, but you deflected that.” I turn in his arms, then tilt my head to look at him. “Like I said, you’re a good man.”

“I’m still sorry. And even sorrier that Giselle came early. She wasn’t invited, and I know it embarrassed you.”

“I’ll survive,” I say, and then, because I think Evelyn might be right about Giselle’s motivations, I add, “Why didn’t you tell me that you and Giselle dated?”

He looks truly baffled by the question. “You never asked.”

“You knew I wondered,” I say. “That night. Our first night.”

He thinks for a moment, and then his mouth quirks up as if my question is amusing him.

“Dammit, Damien,” I say, smacking him lightly on the arm.

“Giselle and I went out a few times, but it was long before she and Bruce got married. And if I recall correctly, at the time Giselle came up, I was in the process of seducing you. I didn’t think that outlining my dating history would be conducive to the tone I was trying to set.”

I have to smile. The memory of that ride in Damien’s limo is beyond delicious.

“After that,” Damien adds, “the topic never came up again. And there’s no reason it should. There is only one woman I’m interested in,” he says, with such fervency that my legs go weak.

He tilts my chin up. “Better?”

“Yes.” My scowl is more for myself than for him. “I don’t like feeling like a jealous harpy,” I confess. “But suddenly I’m being bombarded by Giselle. The painting, the trip back from Palm Springs, what Tanner said, and then finding out that you two actually used to date.”

“I have no idea what Tanner said or what Palm Springs has to do with anything, but I can assure you that as far as the painting is concerned, Giselle has promised me again that she won’t tell anyone that you’re the model. She can be flighty, but she won’t break her word.”

“You talked to her tonight?”

“I did.”

“Oh. Well, I’m very glad to hear it,” I admit. “And I don’t think Bruce will tell anyone, either.”

“Do you want me to talk to him? I haven’t yet.”

“No. I trust him.”

Damien nods, satisfied. “What about Tanner?”

I tell him about Tanner’s theory that I was hired to make Giselle happy, and I see the anger light in Damien’s eyes.

I laugh. “He’s already been fired—thanks for that—but don’t do anything else.”

“What would I do?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I say, thinking of my old boyfriend Kurt. “Sic the Yakuza on him. Task a satellite to blast him with a laser beam from space. Honestly, what couldn’t you do?”

“I rather like the laser-beam-from-space idea.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise. He’s out of Innovative and away from you. End of story.”

“Good,” I say, even though, honestly, I wouldn’t be too upset if a space laser took out Tanner.

“And Palm Springs?” he asks. “I’ve always found it to be such a relaxing place. I’m curious how such a benign location made it onto your list of suspects.”

“You’re teasing me.”

“Only a little.”

“You should have told me you were giving Giselle a ride back in the limo.”

“Oh,” he says, and nods solemnly. “Yes, I can see your point. I should have. I would have. If I had given her a ride back in the limo.”

He’s patronizing me, of course, but I don’t care because I’m still caught up on the whole he-didn’t-drive-her thing. “But you came back in the limo. I assumed that was because you were giving her and the paintings a lift. But if you weren’t, then why not just come back in the helicopter? Wasn’t that your plan?”

“It was. But my meetings ended surprisingly early, and as you’ve noted so many times, I have a universe to run. It’s difficult to conduct business from a helicopter. The noise level makes dictation tricky, and I’ve found that international clients get touchy when they think I’m shouting at them. Plus, it’s much easier to make unscheduled stops along the way from a ground vehicle, and when I realized I had the time, I scheduled a few stops in Fullerton and Pasadena.”

I cross my arms over my chest and cock my head to the side. “The point, Mr. Stark?”

“The point is that when I realized my schedule was going to change, I called my office to arrange to have the limo sent. My assistant told me that Giselle had called, hoping that I could suggest a transport company in Palm Springs that could arrange the delivery of some paintings for the show. Apparently she decided to bring back more than could fit in her car.”

“And since you were right there, you offered to bring them back yourself.”