Hearts Unveiled: When Love Defies Destiny

The smell of new paint and possibilities permeated the gallery's air. Emma Carter stood in the far corner, attempting to disguise the butterflies whirling in her stomach by staring across the audience. This was her moment—a night devoted to presenting her work. Years of hiding up in her little workshop, turning feeling into color and canvas came together. Tonight, however, she felt vulnerable, as if everyone could see right into her heart behind the strokes.

Feeling more like an imiter than an artist, she pulled at the hem of her black dress. Why was her anxiety so great? She ought to be relishing in the compliments, chatting with possible purchasers. Her heart had never mended, however, after the treachery she had vowed to forget. Brick by brick, she had created walls around herself, vowing never to allow anybody near once again.

But tonight she sensed a change in the air, as if something unavoidable was about to happen.

Your art is very beautiful.

Right behind her shoulder, the voice was deep and silky. Emma turned swiftly and her breath seized as her eyes locked those of Lucas Stone.

He was tall and wore immaculate, fitted blue suits that appeared to fit the somber colors of the museum. But it was his eyes—sharp and focused, like they could see through every façade she had ever created. She forgot everything else; he had a magnetic quality that permeated the place.

She said, "Thank you," her voice breaking as she slid a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm glad you enjoy it."

Like it? He murmured, approaching the picture she had been staring at, fascinated by it. One of her favorites was a stormy scene with black, whirling sky and a lone person staring into the future from the brink of a precipice. "It is raw and forceful. Surely, there is a narrative here?

Emma drew in a firm gulp. In what way did he observe that? Most people questioned about her method or only praised the colors. But this guy sensed something more profound.

"There's always a story," she replied gently, feeling his weight on her even as he examined the artwork. But I typically tell none of this.

Lucas's lips drew into a little, mysterious grin. That's a shame. Stories belong to us to share.

His comments made her shudder down her back. Emma tried to keep her cool by pushing herself to turn away from him and back at the picture. She found something in him that drew her in one way and made her want to dash in another. She didn't trust guys just like him. Men radiating strength, assurance, and appeal. They would get too close and then leave you broken when you let your guard down.

Offering his hand, he said, "I'm Lucas Stone."

Emma paused barely a moment before putting her hand in his. His solid, friendly hold sent a shock of energy up her arm.

Emma Carter is it.

"I know," he responded, a little broadening of his grin. Your reputation comes first.

Unclear of what to say, Emma blinked. She was not very well-known—far from it. She had, nevertheless, developed a tiny following in the art scene sufficient to get her works shown in a few well-known galleries. Still, her unease was exacerbated by his manner, which matched his knowledge of her all along.

"You're an artist who doesn't like to expose too much about herself," Lucas said, staring directly into hers. "That's curious."

"What's interesting about that?" Emma felt her pulse speed up and inquired.

"Because it begs me to question what you're hiding."

Emma felt as if the words lingered in the air between them and momentarily struggled to breathe. She felt vulnerable in a manner she hadn't in years because of his too close proximity and keen senses. She was accustomed to allowing people see only what she wanted them to see and keep them at arm's distance. But Lucas Stone was the kind of guy who could see right through the masks she donned.

She said fast, "I'm not hiding anything," but even she didn't trust the words.

Lucas's eyes never changed, yet he did not push her any more. Rather, he turned back to the picture and nodded as if he had come to a quiet ending.

"You're quite gifted, Emma," he remarked, his voice quieter now, almost personal. "I would like a piece commissioned."

She was not prepared for the offer. "Commission a piece?" About what?

"For my place of employment. I want something unique and am building a new headquarters downtown. Something like this, he waved to the stormy scene. "Something speaks."

Emma fixed him, not knowing how to reply. She was not new to commissions; something about this seemed different. Lucas Stone had a passion that drove her to seek more even if every instinct urged her to flee.

She said, "I—I usually take commissions—not usually take commissions." She had really not taken one in a while as she wanted to work on her own schedule. She would want to question Lucas, however, based on his manner of looking at her—as if he had already chosen.

His grin came slowly and deliberately. "I usually ask not too much."

They remained there caught in a quiet struggle of wills for a long period. Emma understood that answering would signify more than just a commercial transaction; her pulse was racing. Between them was something, a spark that, carelessness may cause to blaze into something she wasn't ready for.

She could, however, have been bored with following convention.

"All right," she said steadily at last. "I'll finish it."

"Good," Lucas murmured, his grin broadening like if he had won something. "I'll have my assistant get back to you with the specifics.

Emma watched him go as he turned to go off, her head whirling. Though she had no clue what she had just consented to, one thing was obvious: Lucas Stone was unlike anybody she had ever known. And something informed her that working for him would be more difficult than she could have ever dreamed.