Rock Kiss 03 Rock Redemption(45)

The latter words were Thea’s. “You’re hot right now, sweetie,” the other woman had said. “But you aren’t yet molten, and your place on the A-list isn’t set in stone.”

Blunt as always when it came to the industry, Thea had gone on to add, “The movies you’ve got on your slate will get you some traction, but we also need to capitalize on the current level of interest—part of that is continuing to build your image as elegant, stylish, and intelligent.”

“Thea, this is Noah’s deal.”

“It might be his deal, but as a woman you’ll be photographed as often, if not more,” Thea had reminded her. “The intelligent part is a given since this is a private gala hosted in the home of a renowned art collector. For elegant and stylish, the gown is going to be key, makeup to be decided once we find that gown.”

In the end, the two of them had settled on this sleeveless but not strapless floor-length gown that skimmed her body to the hips before opening out into a gorgeous skirt created of multiple layers of material. It draped in a way that meant it had a lovely flow in motion and a stunning line when she was still. The back was a deep vee, but not so deep that she was in danger of looking trashy, while the front neckline was cut straight across at an angle that gave the dress a point of interest suited to the high-class charity/arts event.

Jewels glinted in the light, the only hint of color in the entire outfit coming from her polished green nails and the long emerald-and-diamond earrings borrowed from a jeweler. She acted as his walking billboard; he gave her gemstones she couldn’t otherwise afford—courtesy of Thea’s contacts.

Thea had laughed when Kit sent her a photo from the nail salon earlier today. “I love it. Kathleen Devigny is still Kathleen Devigny, even when she’s going to a stuffy gala. No blending in for you.”

Slipping her feet into ankle-breaker Jimmy Choos that exposed her painted toenails when the dress moved, she picked up her simple black clutch and took a deep breath, released it as slowly. “I’m his friend, and he needs a friend tonight.”

The intercom buzzed, Butch letting her know they’d cleared Noah through.

“A friend,” she repeated again and walked to the door.

She opened it just as a gleaming black limo came to a stop in front of it. Noah exited from the front passenger seat a second later, and all the breath just whooshed out of her. He was always gorgeous, reminding her of a young lion in the summer when his hair turned streaky gold, but today he could’ve stood in as Prince Charming or as James Bond, depending on the smile he pulled out.

But the smile he gave her was wary.

“Wow.” Coming to the door, he stared at her, a sexy, beautiful man in a classic tuxedo that perfectly fit his frame. He was built like a model, she thought suddenly. Lean muscle, wide shoulders, slim hips.

“Wow yourself,” she replied after catching her breath. “You do clean up pretty.”

Some of the wariness receded. “Shall we go?”

Suddenly unable to bear the strain and distance between them, she said, “Feel in the mood for a friendly wager?”

He tilted his head to the side.

“As soon as the photos of you in this tux start hitting the airwaves, I bet Thea starts getting calls from designers who want to dress you or get you to front their campaigns.”

“Not happening. One night does not turn a sow’s ear into a silk purse.”

She knew the fashion world far better than he did, was conscious it could turn on a dime and that the rules were different for men and women. As long as Noah looked this hot in their clothes when he wore them, the designers wouldn’t care what he wore the rest of the time. In fact, the contrast would only heighten interest. “So, bet?”

“Bet. Stakes?”

She tapped a finger against her hip. “If I win, you have to hunt down this specific plant I want for my garden—it can only be ordered from a cantankerous old gardener in Kyoto, Japan who refuses to sell to anyone he hasn’t met in person and vetted.”

“So let me get this right,” Noah said, eyes narrowing. “I’d have to not only fly to Japan, I’d have to win the approval of a crusty old man who might kick me out on my ass without a plant?”

“Yep.”

“In that case, if I win”—that troublemaker’s grin that had been missing till now—“you have to get onstage at the next Schoolboy Choir concert, whenever that might be, and sing a duet with me.”

Her mouth dropped open. “And humiliate myself in front of thousands, maybe millions, if the video goes viral? I don’t think so.”

“You have a good voice.”