by Dane, Lauren
At first, when she’d started delivering things to him and he’d addressed her in such a way she’d thought he hated her. Or that he was a rude asshole. Or both. But after a while she realized it was just his delivery.
When it came to his perception of art school he was most definitely abrupt. He was old school and in his opinion you had it or you didn’t so why waste time in classes? Given his path—self-taught, sold his first piece at fifteen and now routinely sold pieces for six figures—it would have been a waste of time.
But she’d been exposed to so many things in her program. So many paths she could take. She’d learned about types of art and design totally out of her major, but that would serve her anyway. What she did was different from what he did. How she took in information was part of her process.
“I’m still working on it. I’ll have it finished in a few weeks I think.”
“I want to see it. You’re very stingy with it, Wren. Didn’t I just show you mine?”
“Are you offering to show me yours if I show you mine?”
He paused, thinking over what she’d said until his mouth curved into a slow grin. “Ahh, well.” He shrugged but managed to make it dirty and suggestive. “But I did show you mine, didn’t I? Unless there’s something else you’d like to see?”
She blushed straight down to her toes. Flirting with him was big league. “Maybe so. I’ll bring it by sometime.”
“Bring it next time you come. Kelsey always has something else to make me sign so it will be soon enough.”
“All right.” She finished her tea and dusted her hands off. She didn’t want to rush off, but she’d been there nearly an hour and she had work to do. He kept getting a faraway look on his face and she knew he was thinking about his own work.
She carried the dishes back to his kitchen. “Thanks for the tea.” She moved to the entry counter and indicated the envelopes. “I need to run and you need to sign these papers.”
He frowned. “Always with the signing.”
“Poor you.”
“You have no sympathy. A hard, hard woman.” One of his brows rose as she snorted.
“Kelsey will kill me if I don’t return with these. And, if I have to come back, you have to pay a delivery fee the second time. You sign the papers, she takes care of things and makes your life easier. Seems to me, buster, you need to stop crying and pick up a pen.”
“Other people are nice to me.” He read through the papers, signing where he was supposed to.
“Meh. Stop pretending you’re not business savvy. I know you and your game. As for other people?” She rolled her eyes. “Other people want things from you. I just want your tea.”
“I have better things to offer besides tea, you know.” He waggled his brows and she laughed, though she couldn’t fight the flush building through her belly.
“Yeah? You offering any of that up?”
He signed the last sheet, tucked all the papers back into the envelope and turned to face her. “I’m not sure you have enough time for all I have to offer.”
She stepped close enough to touch the envelopes, which put her just an inch or two away from his body. “Try me.”
The moment stretched taut between them, heating slowly, deliciously. Until he stepped back with a raised brow and a harrumph. “Go on then, Wren. Bring me something more fun next time.”
She took the envelope, tucking it into her bag. “I already bring myself. Nothing is more fun than that.”
One corner of his mouth rose. “I bet.”
She turned, heading out, but paused at the door. “One of these days, you should see for yourself.”
CHAPTER TWO
IT WASN’T UNTIL she’d gone that he realized he’d forgotten to give her the tickets for his show. Or even let her know he had a show coming up.
He stalked back to his workroom, pausing for a cigarette after he was sure all his welding supplies were shut off.
French. One of his small indulgences. He slid one from the pack and the scent of the Turkish tobacco rose. Distinctive. Connected to his work.
He loved the act of tapping the edge against his lighter. The ritual of putting it between his lips, the flick of the lighter and that first rush of nicotine into his system.
Yes. He knew they were bad for him. His dentist told him so every six months. His doctor told him so. He’d cut back to two or three a day. Almost always while he worked.
The light was good, he thought as he smoked, looking at the flames of metal. The color was also just right. Nearly bronze in places.
He smiled as he thought of how Wren had understood nearly immediately that he’d been creating flames. Intuitive, that one.
He really didn’t need to have tea. He’d known exactly what needed to be done next. But more and more often as their friendship had grown, he found himself delaying her departure to spend time with her.
Gregori picked up one of his hammers and moved to his worktable where several sheets of metal he’d cut earlier that day sat. He worked, still thinking of her, of the way she’d teased him and of how he’d teased her back.
It wasn’t that he never flirted. He was rather shameless about flirting, as it happened. He loved women. Came by that love honestly as he got it from his father. He flirted as easily as he breathed.
But with her it was different. She wasn’t world-weary. Wasn’t a social climber. She flirted back but it was...not pure, no, he was quite sure Wren Davis knew what she was doing. It lacked artifice. Which made her dangerous.
The artist, named after a bird, who delivered packages and envelopes to pay for art school. He stubbed the cigarette out, exhaling the last of the smoke from his body as he thought of her.
Long and tall. She moved as if she knew exactly where she was going and what she planned to do once she arrived. She often had her hair braided, held back from her face, exposing that beauty so easily.
Freckles danced over the bridge of her nose. Her eyes, bold and bright blue, took in the world all around her. Gregori always got the feeling she weighed, accepted, approved or rejected things as she went.
She wore jeans a lot, though in the summer she’d worn shorts. She had lovely legs. Powerful, probably from bicycling up and down the hills in downtown. He liked the warm days because she wore T-shirts and tank tops, exposing the outline of some seriously gorgeous breasts.
Glasses often perched on her nose. He wondered why she hadn’t gotten the surgery to fix her eyesight. Glasses worked for her in any case, though he wondered how they affected her when she worked on her animation for long hours at a time.
Art school. He scoffed as he began to pound the metal, shaping it, giving it texture. He’d gotten a few peeks at her work. She had a lot of talent. She didn’t need art school.
Wren was vibrant and clever and certainly one of the best parts of his day when she stopped in. A constant in a world he knew was filled with mostly temporary people and experiences.
He blew out a breath and fell back into his work. He’d deal with the tickets the next day.
* * *
WREN FOUND HER friends already seated in a booth near the back windows of the tavern. They waved, calling her name as she made her way through the already burgeoning Friday night crowd.
The music was loud, but not so loud she couldn’t hear Kelsey tell her they’d just ordered her a margarita.
“Yay.” She shimmied from her coat and ordered tacos when the server came back with her margarita. She sipped it happily, leaning forward to listen to Kelsey talk about her new boyfriend—apparently now ex-boyfriend—and the way he’d sprung on her that he lived in his mom’s garage.
“He tried to say it was all right because it has its own entrance. I wasn’t impressed because she came in to do laundry when we were about two minutes away from pants being off.”
“Well, at least when you smell
Tide the next time, you’ll have happy thoughts.”
Kelsey took a drink. “Not only does he live in his mom’s basement, but he tried to get me to see if Gregori could get us into Fixe.”
Fixe was Seattle’s hottest nightclub. Gregori knew the owner so he hung out there from time to time.
“Well, this is the guy who used a coupon to pay for dinner on your first date.”
Wren had nothing against coupons. After all, they were all at the tavern just then because it was happy hour. Half-price drinks and four-buck appetizers were a great deal. But coupons for dinner were a long-term couple thing. Or a high school thing. And you didn’t use your girlfriend to see if her boss could get you into nightclubs.
“I know.” Kelsey nodded. “You told me he was bad news.”
“But he has a great ass. And good hair. Did you dump him?”
“Yes. When his mom opened the door to the house and yelled down at him to change the laundry over when the buzzer sounded, I made my escape. He had the nerve to call me today to ask about Fixe. You know, since we’re still friends and all.”
“Get out!”
“I wish. Anyway, I managed to find it in me to laugh as I hung up on him.”
Zoe, Wren’s roommate, raised her glass. “Good riddance.”
They all joined her in the toast.
“So now that we’ve heard Kelsey’s news—” Zoe leaned closer “—what’s today’s hot Russian artist update?”
“Working shirtless when I went to his loft. Sweaty, but in the right way if you know what I mean. Man.” Wren fanned her face. “He gets so intense when he’s working. All that focus on what he’s doing. It’s so sexy. Makes me wonder—” like every twenty minutes
“—if he’s that intense in the sack.”
That got a laugh, but plenty of quiet moments afterward as they all totally went there.
“He made me tea. Flirted as usual. But he didn’t pull the trigger. He flirts with everyone, though. I don’t read anything into it. Though I’d like to.”
“He does flirt with everyone. But he talks about you differently than the scores of chicks he’s got on his speed dial.” Kelsey shrugged. “He’s got you in the employee camp. So you’re safe to flirt with because he tells himself nothing is going to happen.”
“I’m not his employee.” Though she’d be lying if she denied the image of some naughty boss fantasies hadn’t just run through her head.
“Nope. Just keep at it. He’ll see it eventually. I mean, maybe. He’s...well, you know. He’s not a permanent type of guy. He’s one of those live-in-the-moment people.”
Sure, sure, Wren knew that. Knew he’d tried marriage once, years before and that it had ended up a smoldering pile of rubble. Knew that ex of his had meant his distrust of people had grown.
But she wasn’t his ex. She wasn’t his employee. She liked him. Wanted to know him better and it wasn’t the worst thing in the world to imagine that he wanted to know her, too.
“I’d tell you not to go getting hurt, but you’re not a dummy. Still, he’s sort of...magical. Alluring with all those pheromones of his rushing around when you’re near him.” Kelsey shrugged. “He’s a total handful. I like him. He gives great holiday presents and he pays me well. But I would not want to manage a man like him.”
“Gregori is not a man to be managed. He’s the one who likes to be in charge.” Wren waggled her brows as they all laughed. “That’s okay, I don’t mind a man in charge. Well, in bed I mean. I can pay my own bills and order my own dinner. Anyway, he’s an interesting, titillating part of my week. He’s in a totally different world with models and hipster girls and jet-set travel.” He was fun and sexy, but she knew reality from fantasy. Flirting was great, but Kelsey was right and Wren had no intention of getting serious about a dude who was a fun crush.
The conversation shifted to Zoe’s new job at a design firm in town. Wren and Zoe shared a two-bedroom apartment just a few blocks away from the school where, up until a few months ago, both of them had attended.
CHAPTER THREE
JUST A FEW weeks after that girls’ night out, Wren was in the student lounge, working on her sketch pad when her phone rang with Kelsey’s number on the screen. She put aside her pad and answered.
“Wanna make Gregori your last stop of the day? I just got some contracts he should probably see this week. If not, I can take them by.”
“I can do it. I’m done anyway. I was just hanging out and working on some sketches. I’ll stop by his place on my way home.”
“Great. I’ll call it in for you.”
But when Wren arrived at Kelsey’s apartment, which also served as her office, she interrupted a hostile phone call.
Kelsey made the wrap it up move with her hand to whoever it was she was talking to on the phone. “We’ve covered that. No.”
Wren sat across from her cousin, watching the interplay.
“If he wanted you to know his new cell number, he’d have given it to you.”
Kelsey paused, holding the phone away from her ear. The yelling from the other side was audible.
“I’m his wife! I need to talk to him.” Oh, her.
Kelsey rolled her eyes and, the genius was, it sounded in her voice, too. “You’re his ex-wife and if you have a message you’d like me to pass on, I’m happy to do so.”
Kelsey examined her nails as the yelling continued. Finally she’d reached her limit after a particularly vicious spate of epithets was hurled her way. “Nice. You kiss your mother with that mouth? Classy. This call is done now. I’ll let him know you’re looking for him. Don’t call back.” She hung up.
Kelsey snorted. “The last thing he needs is that crazy bitch back in his life. Ugh.”
The crazy bitch was Prentiss Ivanov, Gregori’s ex-wife. Wren was biased, of course, but she thought the way Prentiss kept pulling Gregori back into her life when she got bored was selfish and petty. Every time they reconciled he devolved into too much everything and yet not enough. Too much partying, too much anger and public scene making. Not enough work on his art, not enough happiness or stability.
“I thought they were done for good. Why’s she calling you?”
“After the last time they had one of their reconciliations, he cut her off. He changed his number, had the building owner change the codes and locks on the outer door at his place. He’s done, thank god. Anyway, she’s getting his message and she doesn’t like it. I think she truly thinks if she can get him face-to-face, she can pull him back in.”
Wren took the envelope and a few other packages. “I hope she’s wrong. I don’t think it’s good for either of them. I have one other delivery to make and then I’ll go to his place. Call me if anything changes.”
It was an hour or so later when Wren buzzed up from downstairs as the main door to the street was locked. He didn’t respond so she used her key and let herself in. Her arms were full so she took the elevator, hearing the music before the doors even slid open on his floor.
It was a guess that he was working. He often didn’t come to the door when he was. She had a key but the last thing Wren wanted was to let herself in and interrupt some makeup sex if the crazy ex had gotten past Gregori’s protests and back into his bed.
She kicked the door because her hands were full. No answer. There was only one other tenant on his floor and the building had good security, so it wasn’t a risk to leave stuff. She scribbled a quick note and then texted him, informing him there were deliveries on his doorstep.
As she headed back to the elevator she heard his voice, raised, arguing in Russian with someone. His door opened and he stormed into the hall. His face...she froze at the anger on his features. But then it was chased away as he recognized her.
“Wren!”
Standing, her hand on the doorknob of the stairwell, she was able to tear her gaze from his face to find him, b
arefoot, in threadbare jeans and a snug T-shirt, his hair in a ponytail, eyes ablaze with emotion. The intensity of the entire package continued to freeze her in place.
“Yeah?”
He lifted a shoulder and she saw beneath the hard outer shell, into the vulnerability beneath. “Why are you running off? Why didn’t you let yourself in?”
She blew out a breath. “I didn’t know if you were working or if you...had a visitor.”
He snorted and jerked his head toward his door. “Come.”
“I really should go.”
He put a hand on his hip. “Why?”
“I have a job. Other deliveries to make.”
“Your hands are empty.”
She sighed, annoyed. “Of course they are. I delivered your things.”
“Do you really have another delivery to make right now? Or can you come in for a bit? I need a break and you’re good company.”
She should have said she did. But instead, she narrowed her eyes. “Sounds like you already have company.”
“Me? No. I’m alone.”
She took a few steps closer. “I just heard you yelling.”
He shrugged. “I do that. It was a phone call.” He turned, bending to pick his things up. “Stop hovering five feet away as if I’m going to gobble you up. Come in. I have baked goods. Is your bicycle all right? Do you need to go bring it up?”
She’d left her bike in the lobby. It was locked in a rack. Everything was fine. He was her last delivery of the day. Not that he needed to know that.
“It’s fine. It’s locked up downstairs.”
“Why are you hesitating? Do you think I’m going to pounce on you?”
She wished.
“What sort of baked goods?”
“Macarons.”
“Well, you should have said.” She moved inside, closing the door in her wake. The place was a disordered mess. Not his usual.
“My mother came over this morning with them. Had I known it would take so little to lure you inside, I would have ordered them straight from Paris.”
