asked.
“Jonathan Frank is a family friend. I wanted to get some guidance from him on what to do with some things from my grandmother’s estate.”
“Your grandmother?”
“She died a few years ago and I’m her sole heir. I’m just getting around to deciding what to do with her house and the stuff still in it.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Ryder shrugged. “We weren’t that close.” Time to change the subject. “I didn’t see a Bridgette LeRoy in the gallery. Do you paint under an alias?”
“No.” Bridgette chewed for a moment and pushed the food around on her plate. “The department chairman has been pressuring me to contribute something, but, well, I just haven’t yet.”
“I’m disappointed. Isn’t there somewhere I can see your work?”
“I have some paintings and a sculpture or two in galleries in New York and Boston.”
Bridgette took a sip of her wine, and Ryder captured her hand when she put her glass down.
“You sculpt, too?” She turned Bridgette’s hand over and lightly traced the soft palm with her fingertips, pleased at the faint tremble she evoked. “I wouldn’t have guessed. No calluses.”
“I sculpt in clay, not stone.”
“Ah, that explains it.” She caressed Bridgette’s palm once more before releasing her, pleased when Bridgette picked up her wineglass and gulped down a large swallow. She suspected it wasn’t just the alcohol coloring Bridgette’s cheeks.
“If you’re really interested, I can write the names of the galleries down for you. They both post their offerings on their Web sites.”
“I’d like that, but the Internet is so impersonal. Every artist I’ve known has a studio filled with their work. I was hoping for a personal showing.”
“I’m not sure I want to get personal with someone I know nothing about. What do you do for a living?”
“I work in the sports field.”
“I don’t really follow sports.”
“Then I won’t bore you with the details.”
Ryder noticed that Bridgette gravitated toward the spicy tuna, so she had taken only one piece and left the rest of it for Bridgette. She snagged the last piece with her chopsticks and held it up. She watched Bridgette hesitate, then take it gently on her tongue and into her mouth to chew slowly. When Ryder looked up, a blazing gaze captured her.
They both smiled, acknowledging the mutual seduction. If they didn’t get out of that restaurant soon, the heat between them would cook every piece of sushi in the place.
“My personal studio is at my loft,” Bridgette said.
“If that’s an invitation, I accept.” Ryder tossed enough money on the table for the meal and a generous tip, then slid out of the booth and held out her hand to assist Bridgette. “I’ve always found art to be very…inspiring.”
Chapter Six
Their journey to the loft was one long, hot tease.
During their walk to the car, Bridgette linked her arm in Ryder’s, taking every opportunity to brush her tantalizingly erect nipple against Ryder’s bicep as they flirted. By the time they had reached the parking lot, Ryder had slipped her arm around Bridgette’s waist and drifted her hand down to palm Bridgette’s firm ass. She teased back, pressing Ryder against the car as she unlocked it, then stepping away just as their lips were a hairbreadth from their first kiss. Once in the car, Ryder took her hand and pressed it against her hard thigh. She retaliated by inching her hand upward until her pinkie barely touched the damp heat of Ryder’s crotch. She smiled when Ryder groaned under her breath.
She jogged to her second-floor loft while Ryder’s cane thumped noisily along the stairs behind her. Disengaging the lock, she grabbed fistfuls of Ryder’s T-shirt and yanked her inside. As they stood breast to breast, Ryder’s breath was hot on her face, her whisky eyes smoldering. She grazed her lips against Ryder’s, dodging her head away as Ryder’s mouth chased hers.
“I thought you wanted a
“Jonathan Frank is a family friend. I wanted to get some guidance from him on what to do with some things from my grandmother’s estate.”
“Your grandmother?”
“She died a few years ago and I’m her sole heir. I’m just getting around to deciding what to do with her house and the stuff still in it.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Ryder shrugged. “We weren’t that close.” Time to change the subject. “I didn’t see a Bridgette LeRoy in the gallery. Do you paint under an alias?”
“No.” Bridgette chewed for a moment and pushed the food around on her plate. “The department chairman has been pressuring me to contribute something, but, well, I just haven’t yet.”
“I’m disappointed. Isn’t there somewhere I can see your work?”
“I have some paintings and a sculpture or two in galleries in New York and Boston.”
Bridgette took a sip of her wine, and Ryder captured her hand when she put her glass down.
“You sculpt, too?” She turned Bridgette’s hand over and lightly traced the soft palm with her fingertips, pleased at the faint tremble she evoked. “I wouldn’t have guessed. No calluses.”
“I sculpt in clay, not stone.”
“Ah, that explains it.” She caressed Bridgette’s palm once more before releasing her, pleased when Bridgette picked up her wineglass and gulped down a large swallow. She suspected it wasn’t just the alcohol coloring Bridgette’s cheeks.
“If you’re really interested, I can write the names of the galleries down for you. They both post their offerings on their Web sites.”
“I’d like that, but the Internet is so impersonal. Every artist I’ve known has a studio filled with their work. I was hoping for a personal showing.”
“I’m not sure I want to get personal with someone I know nothing about. What do you do for a living?”
“I work in the sports field.”
“I don’t really follow sports.”
“Then I won’t bore you with the details.”
Ryder noticed that Bridgette gravitated toward the spicy tuna, so she had taken only one piece and left the rest of it for Bridgette. She snagged the last piece with her chopsticks and held it up. She watched Bridgette hesitate, then take it gently on her tongue and into her mouth to chew slowly. When Ryder looked up, a blazing gaze captured her.
They both smiled, acknowledging the mutual seduction. If they didn’t get out of that restaurant soon, the heat between them would cook every piece of sushi in the place.
“My personal studio is at my loft,” Bridgette said.
“If that’s an invitation, I accept.” Ryder tossed enough money on the table for the meal and a generous tip, then slid out of the booth and held out her hand to assist Bridgette. “I’ve always found art to be very…inspiring.”
Chapter Six
Their journey to the loft was one long, hot tease.
During their walk to the car, Bridgette linked her arm in Ryder’s, taking every opportunity to brush her tantalizingly erect nipple against Ryder’s bicep as they flirted. By the time they had reached the parking lot, Ryder had slipped her arm around Bridgette’s waist and drifted her hand down to palm Bridgette’s firm ass. She teased back, pressing Ryder against the car as she unlocked it, then stepping away just as their lips were a hairbreadth from their first kiss. Once in the car, Ryder took her hand and pressed it against her hard thigh. She retaliated by inching her hand upward until her pinkie barely touched the damp heat of Ryder’s crotch. She smiled when Ryder groaned under her breath.
She jogged to her second-floor loft while Ryder’s cane thumped noisily along the stairs behind her. Disengaging the lock, she grabbed fistfuls of Ryder’s T-shirt and yanked her inside. As they stood breast to breast, Ryder’s breath was hot on her face, her whisky eyes smoldering. She grazed her lips against Ryder’s, dodging her head away as Ryder’s mouth chased hers.
“I thought you wanted a
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