by Jennie Adams
‘Stupid thing.’ She grabbed the open container of ochre paint from her work shelf.
Perhaps, if she blended a little white into it, she’d overcome the toning issue she had going on. If indeed the problem actually was a toning issue. The colour wasn’t right. That much she’d known from the start. She just wasn’t certain if that was the entire problem.
‘I shouldn’t call the painting names. I’m the problem, not it.’ She muttered the words, set the container on a small work table and set about mixing the white in.
Overall, this painting was not going well. That much she could say for sure, and that was a problem because the client expected to receive this artwork on Monday.
Brent was in the next room, working on something. Well, she assumed so. He’d had the door pushed across all morning so she couldn’t be certain of anything, really, but she doubted he was having the same difficulties concentrating as she was.
In fact, he seemed just fine ignoring what had happened between them after the Awards night dinner. All of it. The revelation of his autism. The meeting with his father. Their kiss. His regret and rejection after it. Maybe it had been a sympathy kiss—for her sake. She had been very upset on his behalf and he was a kind man.
The thought made her cringe because to her it had been anything but that.
But he’d backed away from it, had clearly been put off by it. What other conclusion could she draw?
Fiona gave her paint one last vigorous stir. She would simply have to get on with her work, that was all. Take a leaf from her boss’s book and only focus on the responsibilities they shared here. That was smart anyway. The only sensible thing to do, really, in the face of the fact that Brent didn’t…want her.
So there. That was decided. Fiona snatched up her newly blended paint, briefly admired the glossy consistency of it and swung about to carry it to her easel.
‘I need to go up into the mountains. This project—’
‘I’m going to just focus on work…Oomph.’
As their words crossed each other, Fiona came up against a solid wall of chest. Paint hit that chest in a broad, gooey blob, slopped over her hand and splashed its way down until drips hit the floor.
‘Oh, no.’ The paint container wobbled in her hand. Fiona got it upright, but that was pointless now.
‘I guess I should have knocked first or something.’ Brent spoke in a slightly dazed tone while his fingers rose to his chest.
‘It’s my fault. I should have been looking at what I was doing.’ Fiona’s hand rose, too. She brushed at the dinner-plate sized splodge soaking into his shirt, sticking it to the firm muscles of his chest.
And then she stilled as Brent’s fingers explored the paint, sliding back and forth through it, not to clear it off, but to get the full tactile experience of it.
The sight of that exploration was one of the most beautiful, sensual things Fiona had ever seen. Maybe he caught her staring because his fingers came to a standstill and very green eyes searched her gaze while heat coated his cheekbones.
Embarrassment, but why?
Because that’s his condition speaking.
‘You must think I’m strange—’
‘I’m sorry I stared. It was just that you looked so—’ She couldn’t complete the words. Couldn’t tell him that his expression had made her imagine his hands stroking her skin that way.
‘I…um…I’ve ruined your shirt.’ Her mouth pointed out the ridiculously obvious while the rest of her tried to catch its breath. ‘I was trying to fix a problem with this artwork. The colour change probably wouldn’t have fixed it, anyway. I need to see the particular seed pod that grows on the plants I’ve used in the painting. The trouble is they don’t go to seed pods until they’re quite mature. I won’t find what I need at any young plant nursery.’
Brent’s glance moved to the half finished painting. ‘What you have there looks…okay.’
‘Yes, and that’s the problem. Okay is synonymous with “average”. It isn’t good enough.’ Fiona frowned at the painting. ‘I need the real thing.’
He looked from her to the painting and back again. ‘If you can’t fix this it’s going to drive you crazy, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, but how do you—?’
‘Know how that feels?’ He shook his head. ‘Because I’ve just spent all morning working on a project and not getting it where I need to because the one part of it that’s vital to the design I can’t perfect until I study rock formations in the mountains. And, as it happens, the rock formations I have in mind are the only place I know of where you’ll find your plants, complete with seed pods. It’s where I spotted the plants before I incorporated them into that landscape design in the first place. They aren’t normally stocked in nurseries. Linc sourced some young plants for me when I needed them.’
‘If you could get me a look at some…’ Without thinking about it, she took his hand in hers and used the base of his shirt to wipe as much of the paint off his fingers as she could. ‘I hope that shirt didn’t have sentimental value. I’ll replace it, of course.’ Her fingers worked at the buttons on the shirt. She got through three of them before he shackled her wrist.
‘Don’t—’ He broke off. ‘You’ll get it all over yourself.’
‘It’s too late to worry about that.’ It was too late to worry about a few things, Fiona realised, including the impact of revealing his chest to her gaze, even if she could only see a little of it. She dropped her glance so he wouldn’t see the expression in her eyes.
He probably liked petite women with dainty feet who didn’t have issues about plants, with or without seed pods on them…‘You should shower. There’ll be residue soaking through onto your skin. At least it’s not the most expensive brand of paint, but I’m sorry it got wasted.’
‘Don’t worry about that, and don’t worry about the shirt.’ Brent hesitated as he searched her face again. ‘You’ve been putting in long hours, trying to get this painting pulled together. I shouldn’t have asked you to produce something on demand for a project you weren’t in on from its conception. I said I wouldn’t let that happen more than once.’
‘It’s all right—’
‘No, it isn’t, but we’ll make it right.’ He wiped his hand on his shirt again. ‘I came in to tell you I’m going into the mountains to study rock formations. Maybe you should come with me, see these seed pods, take photos, draw them, whatever you need.’
‘A day trip.’ A day to spend time with him. No. It wasn’t about that. It was for work, had to be for that reason only. And Fiona had to look at it from that perspective. ‘I’m a professional. I have to be able to produce the goods on demand, without special trips or anything else.’
‘No. You don’t have to be able to do that. I’d never expect that of myself and I don’t expect it of you.’ Brent’s gaze became very focused as he said this. ‘Finish up here in the office while I take my shower. When I’m done, we’re going to swing by your place and my place for clothes and then we’ll go. Bring the work boots you wore on site. They’ll do for the trail I want to take you on.’
‘O-okay.’ What else could she do but agree? And be grateful, Fiona added silently as she glanced once again at her stalled painting.
‘Good.’ Brent gave a nod and turned away to head for the shower. ‘Oh, and we’ll be gone overnight.’
He walked off before she could even collect her thoughts.
An overnight stay in the mountains with her boss…
‘And that’s a square-tailed kite. See it?’ Brent pointed into the branches of a tree to the left on the trail in front of them.
They’d been flora and fauna spotting for the past hour, indulging in guesswork when they didn’t know what they were seeing, though in Brent’s case he recognised most things, right down to a gold and white daisy Fiona hadn’t seen in exactly its type anywhere before.
Fiona had photographed and sketched her seed pods. More importantly, she’d spent time simply studying them. Examining them f
rom every angle, exploring the texture with her fingertips, feeling their weight and the roughness of their shells.
Brent’s response to bush walking like this was very tactile, too. He would stroke his fingers over the spiky leaves on a bush, or stop to carefully examine a bottlebrush or some other native flower. That attention to detail carried through into his work as much as Fiona needed to carry it to her work. Fiona didn’t doubt it was part of the reason his designs were so successful. She shouldn’t wonder if that tactility would carry through into other more personal parts of his life, because those thoughts were adding to her consciousness of him.
His autism made him unique and special, and yet he seemed determined to dislike it and hide its existence from the world if he could.
And Fiona needed to hide the existence of how attracted to him she was. She truly should have turned down the offer of joining him on this trip but, once decided, Brent had been set on the idea, convinced it would be good for both of them. And so far it had been. They were…enjoying themselves. It just worried her how much she struggled to do that without letting her emotions and feelings for him carry her in directions she shouldn’t go.
‘Is it really a square-tailed kite or are you making that up?’ She was proud of the slight teasing tone she produced, the relaxed humour as she went on. ‘I think I’ve heard of those, but I’m a city girl…’
‘It really is one.’ Brent’s mouth quirked up at one corner, as though he understood that edge of humour and enjoyed it.
But their gazes caught in that moment and she lost herself in moss-green irises and in an instant the relaxed state of their interaction changed.
Part of her welcomed that, was fiercely glad that he hadn’t managed to completely lose his awareness of her, after all.
The other part warned her not to think like that. She would only open herself to hurt from him all over again, though she knew he hadn’t set out to hurt her.
Brent’s head twitched to the side. It was only a little twitch in the scheme of things, but his gaze searched hers after it happened and suddenly every feeling she’d had the night they’d run into his father rushed to the surface to join with the rest of her confusion and interest in him that she needed to stifle, yet couldn’t seem to.
‘Families should love each other unconditionally.’ The words burst out of her. ‘There shouldn’t be any question about it. That should simply happen as a matter of course. Your father was very wrong to reject you the way he did. He should have seen that you were unique and special, not less in any way.’
‘Not less, perhaps, but I am different.’ A lookout appeared on the trail to their left. He led the way down to it over steps hewn from dirt and rock and leaned his arms against the chest-high railing to look out over the gorge spread before them. ‘I made a family for myself with Linc and Alex and I’m happy in that.’
Happy with his brothers—yes. Fiona believed that, and it was wonderful. ‘It’s just that you’re very guarded—’
‘An institutional training ground will do that. Linc and Alex are the same. I’m afraid that’s something all three of us are going to be stuck with.’
‘I can understand why that would be true, but people can change…’ She was stepping over the line again, wasn’t she? It happened because she cared about him, and that in itself was a cause for concern. Fiona turned back towards the trail and couldn’t help her one final comment. ‘Well, I believe your autism only makes you more special, and your work richer and more amazing for all you bring to it. I think that’s something to celebrate about you.’
‘You have…a very open heart and I appreciate you saying that.’ Appreciated and felt disconcerted by her openness, if his torn expression was any indication.
They continued their walk in silence. Her outburst had probably been too much, she supposed, but his situation hit a particularly raw spot with her.
Because aspects of it bore an unpleasant likeness to her treatment at the hands of her family. She’d said there was no comparison, but she couldn’t ignore the similarities.
Fiona listened to the swishing of grasses and shrubs and the leaves of trees in the wind. Small birds and insects making their sounds, larger ones filling the air with clarion calls and sharp cries and warbles.
And she glanced at Brent and let the conversation move on because there didn’t seem to be much choice. ‘Thank you for this. I think I’ll be able to do what I need to with my painting now.’
‘I’m happy with my rock formation study, too. I consider the time well spent. We’ll head to the house now.’ As they completed their circuitous walk and approached his truck, he explained how he’d purchased the house in the mountains that he and his brothers now visited whenever they wanted to get out of the city.
‘I’m looking forward to seeing the place.’
Brent started the truck and turned to face her while the engine idled and, oh, those beautiful deep green eyes were guarded and interested and thoughtful and self-protective all at once. Fiona longed to break through every barrier he had erected and know the man inside.
Yes, she wanted that even if it was dangerous to. Even though he had kissed her and then not wanted to be near her that way again.
‘Seat belt.’ Brent waited while Fiona strapped herself in. Her knowledge of his autism made him uncomfortable. He couldn’t deny that. In his adult life, his brothers had been the only ones who knew of it. He didn’t want Fiona to know of it, yet she did.
But it was more than that which had put lead in his stomach. The sinking feeling came from a very old, very deep conditioning that his father had handed to him.
Brent forced himself to admit it. Charles had done a number on him and Brent hadn’t managed to process and deal with that in the way he’d wanted to believe he had done.
‘Sorry. I’m ready now.’ Fiona gave a wry smile. ‘I guess I was sitting there daydreaming.’
‘It’s no problem.’ Brent’s thoughts turned back to the woman at his side. Strands of hair lay in soft wisps against Fiona’s face and neck. Their walk had put a soft flush in her cheeks.
She was lovely inside and out, and that was an ongoing problem for him. He’d helped her along the pathway and known he would have found some excuse to touch her even if there hadn’t been a practical reason to do so.
Even choosing to bring her on this trip, he could have done things differently. He could have told her to forget about the painting…
He’d been a repeat offender where resisting Fiona was concerned. After the Awards night he’d kissed her. He hadn’t even thought about not doing that at the time, let alone given himself a chance to decide against it. He’d simply leaned in and covered soft, warm lips and taken what, deep down, he had wanted from the first day they’d met.
He still wanted her. That was his problem. He wanted her and her gentle attitude about his autism, her determination to be accepting, even if she didn’t truly understand the issues, didn’t help him to resist. Brent’s fingers drummed out a rhythm on the steering wheel.
‘Is it far to the house?’ Fiona gazed out of the window as they made their way along the road.
‘Not far, but it’s just as well we finished our walk when we did. Night falls earlier here, and there’s often thick fog late in the afternoon. It’s best not to be on the walking trails then.’ He drew a breath. ‘There’s a small township between here and the house. We’ll stop there and buy some groceries, and something ready to go to have for dinner tonight.’
They had to eat. It was too late to return to Sydney now. All he needed to do was treat the situation as though it were nothing out of the ordinary, and that was what it would be.
With this decision made, Brent drove them to the township. They shopped in one of those ‘all things for all occasions’ long narrow stores with foodstuffs lined along each outer wall and a single row up the middle. A barbecued chicken, a creamy potato bake and a big fresh salad air-sealed in a bag all made their way into the shopping basket. Breakfast items
and fresh milk, and a glazed fruit and custard flan followed.
‘I’ll put on a hundred pounds if we add any more food like that.’ Fiona made the comment half jokingly, but her eyes weren’t laughing. ‘Mum would have a fit if she saw—’ She cut the words off.
But she’d said enough. Her mother had made a comment on the night he’d met her family.
I hardly think that’s appropriate clothing for someone your size, dear.
Brent had assumed the comment was ill-thought out and something to do with fashion choices and Fiona being tall.
But it hadn’t been that at all, had it? Fiona’s mother had been criticising her size. As though Fiona could do anything about being voluptuous.
As though she should want to!
‘You don’t need to worry about food intake. You obviously eat appropriately. Your size is right for you.’ He growled each of the words more harshly than the last. And he piled apples and bananas into the basket, and some high nutrition, slow energy release snacks.
Fiona gave him a thoughtful, slightly arrested glance and then walked ahead of him through the store.
Brent dragged his gaze from the view of her bottom swaying in form-fitting jeans, tossed a few more items into the basket and followed her to the cashier’s counter. His fingers drummed on the counter as the cashier processed his payment.
This time, he didn’t even try to stop the incessant movement. Let Fiona look at it, think about what it meant.
She needed to start seeing his condition for what it was, not through rose-coloured spectacles, even if it was very kindly meant.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘I SHOULD set up my easel and have another go at this painting now.’ The enthusiasm and inspiration was there inside Fiona, but she was also relaxed and mellow from the meal and the time spent chatting about nothing while they’d eaten.
She’d thought they’d be tense together but somehow they’d drifted into relaxation. Drifted in such a way that it was more dangerous than consciously thinking about it. ‘I think I know where I want to go with the painting now. It’ll mean starting over and I’m still considering a couple of aspects, but I brought a blank canvas—’
