evenings…‘I’m not used to people watching me work—or looking at the unfinished product.’
‘I’m paying you enough—that gives me the right to view it any time.’
He poured the bubbly into the glasses, looking satisfied with the deal. And why not? He dealt with mega bucks on a daily basis; this was probably no more than a drop in the Pacific Ocean to him. And he was correct—that amount of money on an unknown artist gave him every right to track her progress.
‘I’ll need time to design and collect materials.’
‘Not too long. I want to see something tangible within a few days.’
Panic stations. ‘Artists don’t work like that.’
‘Ah, but this one will. It’s too important, for both of us.’
He held up a full glass, sparkling with pink liquid, his eyes focused on hers and she felt…respect? No one had everafforded her work that compliment so she wasn’t sure of her perceptions. She stood by the window too strung out with emotion to move. Or speak.
‘Lost for words, Didi?’ His voice held a hint of humour, deep and warm, and he walked towards her with both glasses. ‘I have every confidence in you. Don’t doubt yourself or your abilities.’
She drew herself up as he approached. ‘I don’t.’
‘Good.’
‘Even though you haven’t said a word about my work,’ she pointed out.
‘Doesn’t the fact that I’m commissioning you say it all?’ His knuckles inevitably skimmed hers as he handed her the pink bubbly, sending a fizz of sensation through her fingers and up her arm. That first brief skin-to-skin contact left her wanting…more.
‘We’re in this together,’ he said. ‘A team. You create and I’ll provide you with meals, coffee, chocolate, headache pills if necessary…whatever you need.’
She clinked her glass to his. ‘Okay. To teamwork.’ The fruity bubbles sparkled through her system as she took the first sip, their happy hiss and pop tickling her nose and prompting her to smile and say, ‘I’ll tell you now, I only eat dark chocolate. Soft centres.’
‘Ah, a woman after my own taste.’
He grinned, an easy grin that reminded her of the first uncomplicated moment when she’d met him when he was just an attractive man with a flirtatious wit. Like Jay. Despite the warning bells that told her to avoid such men at all costs, she grinned right back. And why not? It wasn’t as if they were going to fall into bed—she wouldn’t let that happen. ‘And olives,’ she continued. ‘You like olives, if my memory serves correctly.’
‘Cheese and olive balls…’ His smile faded and just like that the atmosphere changed from light and casual to something darker, deeper. Different.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, which suddenly felt dry and chapped and tingly and she had to force herself not to run her tongue over her lips.
Her relationship with Jay had tarnished the way she viewed men. But none had made her feel so aware of herself as a woman. And if she was right in her assumption of his reaction, a desirable woman. He could even—perhaps—polish that tarnish away.
If she moved closer would he kiss her?
She couldn’t help it, she looked right back. She could imagine being kissed by those lips. Her own were practically puckering up in anticipation.
And where would that leave her?
In that big bad bed of his having the best sex of her life?
And more breathless and brainless than she already was, no doubt.
Big mistake. She knew next to nothing about him except that he was rich, gorgeous…and attracted to her. And his poster-boy status suggested a playboy and put her defences on alert. Yep, way too much like Jay.
So she chose the only alternative and stepped back. Away. Paying careful attention to keep her glass—and her voice—steady as she said, ‘Tell me about this gallery of yours.’
He regarded her a moment through thoughtful eyes as if he, too, was mulling over the sexual tension between them. ‘It’s my latest building
‘I’m paying you enough—that gives me the right to view it any time.’
He poured the bubbly into the glasses, looking satisfied with the deal. And why not? He dealt with mega bucks on a daily basis; this was probably no more than a drop in the Pacific Ocean to him. And he was correct—that amount of money on an unknown artist gave him every right to track her progress.
‘I’ll need time to design and collect materials.’
‘Not too long. I want to see something tangible within a few days.’
Panic stations. ‘Artists don’t work like that.’
‘Ah, but this one will. It’s too important, for both of us.’
He held up a full glass, sparkling with pink liquid, his eyes focused on hers and she felt…respect? No one had everafforded her work that compliment so she wasn’t sure of her perceptions. She stood by the window too strung out with emotion to move. Or speak.
‘Lost for words, Didi?’ His voice held a hint of humour, deep and warm, and he walked towards her with both glasses. ‘I have every confidence in you. Don’t doubt yourself or your abilities.’
She drew herself up as he approached. ‘I don’t.’
‘Good.’
‘Even though you haven’t said a word about my work,’ she pointed out.
‘Doesn’t the fact that I’m commissioning you say it all?’ His knuckles inevitably skimmed hers as he handed her the pink bubbly, sending a fizz of sensation through her fingers and up her arm. That first brief skin-to-skin contact left her wanting…more.
‘We’re in this together,’ he said. ‘A team. You create and I’ll provide you with meals, coffee, chocolate, headache pills if necessary…whatever you need.’
She clinked her glass to his. ‘Okay. To teamwork.’ The fruity bubbles sparkled through her system as she took the first sip, their happy hiss and pop tickling her nose and prompting her to smile and say, ‘I’ll tell you now, I only eat dark chocolate. Soft centres.’
‘Ah, a woman after my own taste.’
He grinned, an easy grin that reminded her of the first uncomplicated moment when she’d met him when he was just an attractive man with a flirtatious wit. Like Jay. Despite the warning bells that told her to avoid such men at all costs, she grinned right back. And why not? It wasn’t as if they were going to fall into bed—she wouldn’t let that happen. ‘And olives,’ she continued. ‘You like olives, if my memory serves correctly.’
‘Cheese and olive balls…’ His smile faded and just like that the atmosphere changed from light and casual to something darker, deeper. Different.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, which suddenly felt dry and chapped and tingly and she had to force herself not to run her tongue over her lips.
Her relationship with Jay had tarnished the way she viewed men. But none had made her feel so aware of herself as a woman. And if she was right in her assumption of his reaction, a desirable woman. He could even—perhaps—polish that tarnish away.
If she moved closer would he kiss her?
She couldn’t help it, she looked right back. She could imagine being kissed by those lips. Her own were practically puckering up in anticipation.
And where would that leave her?
In that big bad bed of his having the best sex of her life?
And more breathless and brainless than she already was, no doubt.
Big mistake. She knew next to nothing about him except that he was rich, gorgeous…and attracted to her. And his poster-boy status suggested a playboy and put her defences on alert. Yep, way too much like Jay.
So she chose the only alternative and stepped back. Away. Paying careful attention to keep her glass—and her voice—steady as she said, ‘Tell me about this gallery of yours.’
He regarded her a moment through thoughtful eyes as if he, too, was mulling over the sexual tension between them. ‘It’s my latest building
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