He had a sneaking suspicion Lily could show the voracious couple a trick or two.

A knock on the common door between his and Lily’s suites interrupted his musings.

“Are you ready for lunch?” she asked, the door squeaking on its hinges.

“Starving,” he said, getting to his feet. He grabbed his cane, squelching the pang of discomfort at having to eat in front of someone he’d just met. Wasn’t that a laugh?

Sex with and in front of strangers? He wasn’t uncomfortable in the least. Enduring the mechanics of feeding himself in front of those same people? There was a load of stress he could damned well do without.

But Dev was right-he couldn’t hide indefinitely.

He’d consider the next few days as rehearsals for next Friday night. No need to panic. He’d survived far worse.

On the heels of that thought several images assaulted him.

Sitting at a ratty desk in a shitty motel room. Anxious, flicking the lid on his antique Zippo lighter. Fear like acid on his tongue.

“Jude, is something wrong?”

Belatedly, he became aware that he’d come to a dead stop in his route to the door. His skin felt cold. Clammy. “What? No, I just got distracted thinking about something I have to do later. Shall we?”

If she heard the lie, she didn’t comment. As they walked together, Jude’s mind wandered back to his prized lighter, a sentimental item he’d rescued from his grandfather’s effects after the old man’s passing. Jude wasn’t sure what unsettled him more-forgetting about the beloved object or his own steady smoking habit.

How could I not remember an item associated with Pop, a man who was everything to me? And how could I forget a two-pack-a-day vice?

Even weirder, the memory did not bring on a craving for a cigarette. But he was suddenly anxious to know the fate of Pop’s lighter. Where could it be?

Jude did his best to put the question temporarily out of his mind as he and Lily made themselves at home at the glass table in the sunroom. He’d search later. The thing had to be lying around somewhere.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Lily remarked. “Are you sure everything is fine?”

“Perfectly.” He propped his arms on the table, leaning forward. “I should ask you that question. Was everything all right in your room? I could have sworn you were in pain.”

She swatted his arm lightly. “Oh! You know very well what was wrong with me, and I lay the blame solely at your sizable feet. A gentleman wouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Honey, I’m no gentleman. There’s no fun in it.”

“And I’m not your honey.”

He didn’t miss the edge behind her teasing. “Sorry. It’s a leftover Southern habit. No disrespect intended.”

“None taken.” She paused. “Where in the South are you from, if you don’t mind my asking? I can hear a hint of… Cajun?”

“Not bad, though I’m not Cajun. I grew up in New Orleans, though living in New York has taken care of most of my accent. I haven’t lived there in over twenty years, but it’s true what they say-you can take the boy out of the South…”

“But not the South out of the boy. How did you wind up in New York?”

“I left home at seventeen, eventually made my way here for my work.” There. The incessant pressure, the vague anxiety that accompanied a hole where part of his life should be. “I guess I believed New York was where a starving artist belonged. I took odd jobs to keep myself in paints and canvas, keep a roof over my head. Some of those jobs weren’t exactly legal. It’s a miracle I didn’t land in prison.”

And he almost had, hadn’t he? How had he avoided such a dismal fate? Dev wasn’t the one who’d saved him; he was positive.

“But you didn’t, and now you’re a huge success. I suppose one could say crime pays.”

Jude frowned. “I never hurt anyone, and I certainly didn’t get rich fencing hubcaps.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, contrite. “I didn’t mean to imply you did. I was kidding.”

“Forget it.” Puzzled, he tried to catch the subtle undercurrents. He could swear he detected the slightest thread of anger in her tone, and he couldn’t fathom why. Unless she held his humble beginnings against him. A woman like Lily could not possibly understand what it took to survive on the streets.

“How did you get your break?” Nothing but warmth now.

“I met a man by the name of Devon Sinclair-”

“The Devon Sinclair? Of Très Geneva gallery?”

“The same,” he said, impressed. “You keep up with society news. Good. One of us has to, because I hate the limelight. Dev rags me unmercifully about going out of my way to avoid the press while he and his wife, Geneva -the gallery’s namesake-lap the publicity up like cream.”

“Don’t you need to put in an appearance once in a while? Making sure you attend some functions is part of my job, after all.”

“Let me confess something-I loathed going to society events before, but I occasionally took one for the team. Since the accident, however, the idea positively terrifies me. I have to get over my fear somehow because I owe Devon. He launched my career, and sells my paintings for unreal sums.”

“We’ll get you out of the house, then,” she said firmly. “Baby steps. Lunch here, a party there. A vacation, perhaps.”

“I don’t recall the last time I took a real vacation,” he mused, surprised by how much he liked the suggestion. “Start working on a list of destinations and we’ll take it from there. Somewhere warm where clothing is optional.”

“Super.”

“In the meantime, I let Dev talk me into going out for dinner next Friday night. You’ll be my date, of course. He and Geneva will love you.”

He considered warning Lily about his friends’ naughty appetites, but decided to let her find out as the evening progressed. More tantalizing for everyone if things developed naturally.

“Where are we going? Do I need to take care of the reservations?”

“I’m not sure where we’ll eat, but no. Dev will take care of the plans and you’ll be my escort. We’ll take the limo and pick them up. After dinner, Dev wants to show you the gallery-unless you’ve already visited.”

“I never have, but I’ve seen the outside. It’s a gorgeous building.”

“Oh, just wait. I promise you’ll be blown away. After the gallery, we’re invited to their place for a nightcap.”

“Sounds like a lovely evening. I can’t wait.”

“It will be. And the Sinclairs are… interesting people.”

“Tell me about them.”

Ah, he had her curiosity piqued. He suppressed a grin. “I think I’ll let you find out for yourself. Dev and Geneva must be experienced to be fully appreciated.”

“Not fair-”

“Lunch, guys?” Liam called, rolling in his squeaky cart. He quickly set out their salads, silverware, and glasses. “Jude, your salad bowl is in front of you, fork on the right, napkin underneath. Iced tea at one o’clock, rolls in the middle of the table.”

“Got it.”

“Liam, this looks delicious,” Lily said. “But where’s yours?”

“I’m eating in the kitchen, giving you two a chance to get acquainted. Plus, I’ve got a ton to do. Chow down, and let me know if you need anything else.” Wheels squeaked again. “I’m leaving this cart parked against the wall over here for when I come back to clean up, but it shouldn’t be in your way.”

Jude nodded. “Thanks,” he said, throat tight. In his lap, his hands knotted into fists.

After Liam’s steps receded, Lily spoke with concern. “I assume dining is part of the fear you mentioned regarding going out in public.”

“How did you guess?” His attempt at humor was heavy with bitterness.

“Do you want me to-”

“No. I’ll manage.” Damn, he hadn’t meant to snap.

“Fine,” she fired back. “Then wipe that lost-puppy expression off your face and do it.”

Lost puppy? Okay, that fucking pissed him off. She had no clue what this goddamned hell was like, day in and day out. Suddenly her take-no-shit attitude wasn’t quite so charming. Being pitied was bad enough, but to be accused of trying to elicit sympathy?