he was supposed to give a damn? Laramie drew in a deep breath, tired of playing this cat-and-mouse game. The man was probably right, it wasn’t the same Bristol, but there was something about this man’s attitude that rubbed Laramie the wrong way. “Lockett. Her name is Bristol Lockett.”
The man smiled. “Lockett? Then I was right all along. Her last name isn’t Lockett.”
“So what is it?”
Evidently tired of this conversation as well, the man said, “It’s Cooper. Bristol Cooper.”
Laramie frowned. He and the woman had the same last name? What a coincidence. But then there were a lot of Coopers out there. “You’re right. It’s not the same woman. Sorry I took up so much of your time.”
“No problem. Let me see you out.”
“No need. I know my way.” Laramie had made it to the door when he heard it. That laugh.
It was a distinctive sound that could only come from one woman. He turned and glanced around the room. He didn’t see her. Had he only imagined hearing her laughter?
“Is anything wrong?”
That Culpepper guy was back. Laramie looked at him. “Not sure. However, I’d like to meet the artist, Bristol Cooper, after all.”
“That’s not possible.”
Laramie was about to tell the man that with him anything was possible, when he heard the sound again. His gaze sharpened as he looked around the room. The sound had come from another part of the gallery. He was certain he hadn’t imagined it twice.
He began moving toward the sound, not caring that people were staring at him.
“Wait a minute! You need to leave now.”
When Laramie kept walking, he heard the Culpepper guy call out, “Mr. Jazlyn, I suggest you call for security.”
They could call for security all they wanted. He wasn’t leaving until he made sure...
He entered another area of the gallery and immediately felt it...that undisguised pang of longing and desire he hadn’t felt in three years. He swallowed hard against the deep yearning in his throat as his gaze swept around the room.
And then he saw her.
Her back was to him. She stood beside an older gentleman as the two of them studied a landscape. Laramie knew without even seeing her face that the woman was his Bristol.
He’d only spent three days with her, but he knew that body, even if it was now draped in a beautiful gown. There were a few curves that hadn’t been there before, but he was certain everything else belonged to Bristol Lockett, right, front and center. Especially that shapely backside.
He remembered the feel of his hand on that backside as well as the brush of his fingers along her inner thighs. He felt an immediate tightening in his gut at the memory.
Every muscle in his body tensed as he quickly moved in her direction. When he came within a few feet of her, he inhaled her scent. It was the one he remembered from Paris. Hurried footsteps were headed in his direction. Security was coming. Let them come. But not before he made his presence known.
“Bristol?”
She must have heard her name but she seemed almost afraid to face him. And when she slowly turned, she looked as if she was staring at the face of...a ghost?
She took a step forward. She whispered his name. And then she crumpled.
Laramie managed to grab her before she passed out on the floor, sweeping her into his arms. People were staring, some had begun moving in their direction, no doubt wondering what the hell was going on.
“Put her down!”
He recognized Culpepper’s voice. Laramie turned to see Culpepper flanked by several security guards and the owner of the gallery. Then suddenly a woman pushed through the crowd. “What happened?”
Laramie thought it was obvious but answered anyway. “She fainted.”
“Fainted? How? Why?” She then narrowed her gaze at him. “Who are you?”
“Laramie Cooper.”
“Laramie Cooper?” The woman gasped.
He wondered why hearing his name had such an effect on the woman. “Yes, Laramie Cooper. I need to take Bristol somewhere to lie down. And I need someone to get a wet cloth.”
“Wait a damn minute,” Culpepper was saying. “He has no right to be here. Who is he supposed to be?”
He heard the woman whisper something to the bastard that sounded like “He’s her husband.”
Laramie wondered why the woman would make such an outlandish claim. He wasn’t anyone’s husband. Then he recalled what Culpepper had told him earlier. Bristol’s last name was Cooper. Now he was more confused than ever and confusion was something he didn’t deal with very well.
Suddenly, the older gentleman Bristol had been talking to said, “Will someone do as this man asks and get a wet cloth? Jazlyn, where is your office?”
“Right this way, Mr. Kusac.”
“Kusac?”
Laramie ignored the flutter of whispered voices repeating the man’s name as if it meant something. Even the woman who was moving ahead of them stopped to look at the man in awe. Who was this guy Kusac? Was he a celebrity or something?
Laramie moved quickly toward the back of the gallery while carrying Bristol in his arms. He recalled the last time he’d carried her, from her kitchen to her bed.
Entering the gallery owner’s office, Laramie laid Bristol on the sofa. The man who’d been identified as Kusac closed the office door, only admitting the three of them along with the woman. Laramie couldn’t determine who she was studying more, him or Kusac. There was a knock on the door and Kusac opened it. Wet cloths were handed to him and he passed them over to Laramie.
“Is she all right?” the woman asked nervously.
“Yes” was Laramie’s response as he began wiping Bristol’s face with a cloth.
“By the way, Mr. Kusac, I’m Margie Townsend, Bristol’s manager. I appreciate you coming out tonight and giving your support. You and Bristol seem to know each other.”
“We do. I was a close friend of her father’s.”
“Oh.” And then out the corner of his eye, Laramie noted the woman moving closer to him. “And are you really Laramie Cooper?” she asked.
He didn’t take his gaze off Bristol as he continued to wipe her face. She was even more beautiful than he’d remembered. Her chocolate brown skin was smooth and soft. He’d always liked the shape of her lips. They had the perfect bow. He recalled kissing them. How he’d licked them with his tongue.
Bristol was three years older now. Twenty-five. But you couldn’t tell it by her features. It was as if she hadn’t aged at all.
She still was the most beautiful woman he had yet to meet.
He switched his gaze to the woman who’d introduced herself as Bristol’s manager and who’d asked him a strange question. “Yes, I’m Laramie Cooper.”
“B-but you’re supposed to be dead.”
Laramie frowned. Bristol must have told her that. But then, how had Bristol known?
Deciding he would get all the answers he wanted from Bristol when she came to, he said, “Yes, I’d been captured, and they presumed I was dead.”
“And you decided to show up after all this time?”