He had insisted on driving with her to New Orleans to give her moral support. Now he stood beside her with his hands in his pants pockets, waiting patiently for a response. Serena gave him a look.
«Yes, we're going inside. I just wanted to be certain this is the place, that's all.»
David raised his eyebrows. «Mmm.»
«Save it for your patients, Dr. Farrell,» she said dryly, and led the way inside.
The gallery was cool and light. Stark white walls were used as backdrops for the paintings, lights were strategically spotted toward the works, bleached wood floors were polished to a brilliant sheen. An impressive number of people milled around, admiring Lucky's work, talking, nibbling on dainty canapes and sipping white wine from tulip-shaped glasses. Cajun music floated out of cleverly hidden speakers, too soft to be appreciated.
Serena found herself missing the bayou country, and she smiled a little at the thought. This was the land of life she had enjoyed in Charleston, but she found herself wishing she were sitting on the gallery at Chanson du Terre, listening to Pepper and Gifford argue with a blaring two-step playing in the background.
She couldn't imagine Lucky in these surroundings. He was too big, too wild, too elemental. She moved through the crowd half expecting to see him in fatigue pants and no shirt.
«He's very talented,» David said over her shoulder.
They had stopped beside a study of the bayou cast in the last bronze light of sunset. Serena looked at the painting, remembering the day she had first seen Lucky's work, remembering how it had drawn her in, remembering how they had made love at the foot of his easel.
«Yes,» she murmured. «He's very talented. I'm glad he finally realized that.»
«It looks like a lot of people are realizing it tonight. I think your Mr. Doucet is going to be a reasonably wealthy man. Have you seen him yet?»
«No.»
«Well,» David said, snatching a glass of wine from the tray of a passing waiter, «just say the word and I'll melt into the background.»
Serena went abruptly still. She felt Lucky's gaze hit her like a spotlight, and she turned slowly, her breath catching in her throat as her eyes met his halfway across the room. He stared at her as if she were the only woman on earth, completely ignoring the two gallery patrons who had been speaking to him. A vague dizziness swirled through Serena's head as he came toward her. He moved with the grace of a big cat, and even the city folk knew enough to get out of his way.
Serena steeled herself against the wild mix of emotions seeing him set loose inside her. She gave him a wry look and said, «Gee, they even got you to wear a shirt. This is a special occasion.»
He frowned at her, but smoothed a hand over the tie he had already pulled loose around the collar of his dress shirt. He looked devastatingly handsome in his pleated coffee-colored linen trousers, ivory shirt, and brown silk tie. His hair was still unruly, still long, but the boot lace that normally tied it back had been replaced by something a little more discreet. Serena felt a nervous flutter in her stomach. She wasn't sure she knew this Lucky. She found herself wishing he had indeed come in fatigue pants.
«I wasn't sure you'd come,» he said gruffly. His gaze raked over the man standing beside her. His jaw tightened.
«Of course I came. I got my invitation,» Serena said, sarcasm edging her voice. She held the envelope up to him as proof. «I brought a friend with me. I hope you don't mind. This is David Farrell. David, Lucky Doucet.»
David stuck his hand out. «It's a pleasure.»
Lucky said nothing. Tension rolled off him in waves.
Fighting a smile, David stepped back. «Well, I believe I'll have a look around. You two probably have some catching up to do.»
Serena watched him move off into the crowd, then turned back toward Lucky. He was watching her, his gaze as disturbing as ever. Even after all this time Serena could feel her body responding to his nearness. Her heart had picked up a beat. She felt hot and too aware of her every nerve ending.
Forcing herself to ignore the sensations, she looked up at him with genuine warmth in her eyes.
«Congratulations on the show, Lucky. I know what it means. I'm very happy for you.»
Lucky said nothing for a long moment. He was too caught up in looking at Serena. He had lain awake nights aching to see her, but he hadn't allowed himself to go to her, not until he had something to offer her. Now he drank in the sight of her, absorbing everything about her-her honey-colored hair in its smooth twist, the delicate rose of her cheeks and mouth, the liquid brown of her eyes, the stubborn tilt of her chin. She was dressed in one of her neat business suits, a navy blue skirt and boxy double-breasted blazer, and Lucky caught himself picturing her in nothing but the old blue workshirt he'd left with her. He wondered bitterly if he would ever get the chance to see her wear it, wondered if she had worn it for her «friend.»
«You look good,» he said, trying to decide what it was about her that seemed subtly different.
«So do you,» she whispered.
«How's Giff?»
«Fine.»
Bon Dieu, he thought, there was so much he wanted to say to her, but he stood like an oaf exchanging bland pleasantries as if she were little more than a stranger to him. Maybe when he had gotten his fill of looking at her-as if that could ever happen-the words would come. But then, he'd never been much for talk. What he wanted to do was lass her. He wanted to take her in his arms and feel her against him, soft and warm. He wanted to pull the pins from her hair and run his hands through the silk. He wanted to lay her down and join his body with hers and feel that incredible sense of peace he'd known only with her.
But she had come with another man.
A finger poked Lucky's biceps and he turned his head to glare at the gallery owner, Henri Richard, a slender man in his forties who was just a little too cosmopolitan for Lucky's tastes. Lucky had needed to remind himself too many times over the last few weeks that the man was the owner of one of the best galleries in the city and that Danielle, Lucky's sister-in-law, had gone to a great deal of trouble to get the two of them together. Respect for Danielle was about the only thing that had kept him from telling Richard to go hang himself. That and the fact that this was his big chance to show Serena he was ready to turn his life around.
Richard ignored Lucky's glower and motioned to the exotic-looking woman standing beside him. «You really must meet Annis, Lucky,» he drawled. «She's the art critic for the Times.»
«They don' teach manners where you come from?» Lucky asked in a silky voice. «I was speaking with Miz Sheridan, here.»
Richard's high cheekbones reddened. The art critic eyed Lucky with open interest.
Richard took a step closer to Lucky and spoke in a low, stiff whisper. «Annis is a very important person in the art community.»
«Then I'm sure you won't mind kissing her ass,» Lucky muttered. «Me, I've got better things to do.»
Serena cleared her throat delicately. «Lucky, I can see you're busy. We can talk later.»
«We can talk now,» he said, swinging toward her, a dangerous look in his eyes. He took her by the arm and started for the back door. «Let's get outta here. I can't breathe in this place.»
«But your show--«
«Can take care of itself.»
«Lucky!» Serena protested through her teeth, trying not to attract too much attention to them. «These people came here to see you.»