Reprieve (Love's Second Chance Book 1)

by Scott,Scarlett

  “This is it,” she told him, sweeping her hand about the room in an encompassing gesture. “I don’t have many pieces anymore. These were easier to hold onto than the others you’ve seen.”

  Trevor felt the emotion radiating from Sophie, heard it in her words.

  She looked so fragile and delicate standing in the sunlight pouring into the room. She also looked terribly alone. But that was just it, wasn’t it? She was alone, a gentle woman adrift in a harsh, unforgiving world. His heart ached to see her like this, so broken, so sad. He went to her, unable to help himself, needing to be closer to her.

  Trevor wanted to touch her, to take her in his arms and comfort her as he had earlier, but he did not. He stood not three inches from Sophie but she had yet to notice, too absorbed in her own memories. He followed her gaze to the paintings and sketches on the walls.

  “They’re amazing,” he said, meaning every word. He realized it had not been easy for her to open herself up to him as she had just done, revealing work she’d kept for only herself. That she had trusted him enough to do so filled him with inexplicable warmth.

  She turned to him, looking startled to see him in such proximity. Her eyes flared in awareness. An irresistible attraction hummed between them like live electric wires.

  “Thank you. You can take them all with you, if you’d like. Except for the sketches of Peter and Elizabeth, of course.”

  That surprised him. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “I hardly need them anymore.”

  Trevor didn’t like the sound of that. He reached out and tilted up her chin, studying her eyes. “Will you paint more for me?”

  She licked her lips, looking uncertain. Trevor nearly groaned, his gaze homing in on her full, red lips. God, he wanted to kiss her so much he ached with it.

  “I don’t know,” she began, her tone unsure.

  He couldn’t resist the urge to trail his finger down the curve of her jaw. “If not for the gallery, then for me?”

  His request startled him as much as it appeared to startle her. He wasn’t quite certain where it had come from, but he realized it was very important for him to have one of her paintings for his own. Trevor wasn’t about to delve into why that was.

  “For you?” She looked confused and wary at the same time.

  She reminded him of a wild doe, beautiful, sleek, ready to run away at any moment.

  “Make it anything you want it to be. Name your price.”

  Sophie shook her head. “I would do it for you for nothing. I owe you so much already.”

  “You owe me nothing.” There she went again, looking at him as if he were some kind of saint. Her eyes were so soulful, so full of innocence he could scarcely believe it. Somehow, the world had yet to jade her, even with all the pain she’d been through.

  “I insist. But I can’t make any promises about painting more for the gallery. I’m just not sure if I’m up to it yet. I need some more time.”

  Trevor understood when to press his advantage and when to retreat for the day. It was time to retreat.

  “Whatever you need, Sophie,” he murmured softly. “Whatever you need.”

  One thing was becoming increasingly clear to Trevor.

  He couldn’t stay the hell away from Sophie.

  Cursing aloud, he glanced at the screen of his laptop and brutally punched the backspace key several times. He couldn’t keep his mind off her, either. He was doing his damnedest to stay focused on his work but failing miserably. The weekly e-letter he and Marcus sent to their clients detailing the gallery’s latest acquisitions read more like a third grader’s book report than the sophisticated piece it was intended to be. The Wesley-James clientele was broad-based, ranging from the Hollywood elite to wealthy socialites to business tycoons. Some lived in the city but most only ventured to its confines when lured by a significant outside force, the James-Wesley e-letter being one of them. Trevor and Marcus alternated monthly in creating the letters and unfortunately for Trevor, this was his month.

  He cursed again and rose from his comfortable leather chair to pace the gleaming hardwood floor of his office. This just wasn’t right. Ordinarily, he enjoyed creating the e-letter. He loved to market the paintings, prided himself on knowing which works to spotlight. Not so today. Today, he’d be damned if he could concentrate on anything but her.

  Sophie.

  He liked to think it was because the handful of paintings he’d brought up from her house were the talk of the New York art world. But it wasn’t the truth. Oh, her paintings truly had caused quite a commotion. Buzz about a new artist featured at the gallery had spread quickly, bringing the curious in for a peek. Only their peeks had turned into purchases and in some cases, bidding wars. It was a fantastic showing for an unknown artist. Just a week and nearly all her works gone.

  Her work wasn’t as edgy as that of some of the artists commissioned by the gallery, but it had its own distinctive flair and voice. Trevor had not been off the mark, either. A few well-placed comments here and there and Sophie’s work was on fire. Their faithful clients—the grossly rich art addicts, as Marcus called them—were eager for more.

  So was Trevor. Only it wasn’t exactly more of her art he was eager for, just more of Sophie herself. He would have to call her again, see her again. Inexplicable though it was, he was filled with emotion. What was it? Relief? Happiness? Impossible to tell. There was no denying it. He wanted her. Badly.

  He was going to have to do something about it.

  Trevor strode to the window. Outside it was bright, sunny, a beautiful spring day. Cars dodged in and out of traffic, taxicabs nearly running over pedestrians everywhere they went. Just an average day in New York City, a city he had come to love and view as home for nearly thirteen years now. Suddenly, it didn’t seem quite the same anymore. He felt restless, like it was time to move on, the same way he’d felt when he left home at twenty-two. Being in Pennsylvania so often in the past few weeks had reminded him of just how much he had once loved it there. But that was a long time ago.

  Even so, he was seriously considering driving down there tonight. He could personally deliver Sophie’s first check from the sales of her artwork to her. Then, perhaps he could convince her to go to dinner with him. It sounded like a plan, but first, he needed to unload the damn e-letter.

  He sighed, left his office and barged into Marcus’ across the hallway without bothering to first knock. Marcus was seated at his desk, typing away at his laptop. He looked up with a brow raised in query when Trevor entered the office, closing the door behind him.

  “Is there something you need?” Marcus asked. “I’m in the middle of a heated game of internet chess.”

  Trevor threw himself into the brown leather chair facing Marcus’ desk. “You hate chess,” he reminded his friend.

  Marcus shrugged. “So I lied. What’s the problem? Don’t tell me Dominique dumped you.”

  Trevor scowled at the mention of Dominique. He’d forgotten about her, damn it.

  “No, she didn’t dump me,” he responded coolly. “Can’t you find any of your own women to worry about, Wesley?”

  Marcus just grinned. “I’m wounded.”

  “Try to recover,” Trevor offered dryly. “I need to ask a favor of you.”

  “Ah.” Marcus leaned back in his chair. “A favor, is it?”

  “The e-letter,” Trevor said. “I know it’s my month, but could you manage to do it for me?”

  “An interesting development,” Marcus murmured. “Having problems concentrating, Trev? I hear from my brother-in-law that’s one of the first signs you’re in for it.”

  “Shut up about it, will you?” Trevor growled. He wasn’t falling for Sophie. He was attracted to her, yes, but as for an emotional attachment, that was another story. Trevor didn’t form emotional attachments to women. Ever.

  “Back to the letter. It needs to go out by tomorrow, but I forgot that I’ve got plans for tonight,” Trevor explained.

  Marcus grinned knowingly
. “Would these plans have anything to do with a pretty little widow from Pennsylvania?”

  “I have a date with Dominique,” Trevor lied, just to spite his friend. “Can you do it, or not?”

  Marcus’ eyes narrowed, as though he didn’t quite believe Trevor but wasn’t sure if he wanted to call him on it. “Fine. I’ll do it. Email what you’ve got to me.”

  “Thanks.” Trevor shot out of his chair, already on his way back to his own office.

  “But you owe me,” Marcus called after him. “Big-time.”

  Sophie didn’t know why she had allowed Trevor to convince her to go out to dinner with him, but she had. When he had suggested it after surprising her by hand-delivering her first check for her paintings, it had been on the tip of her tongue to tell him no. But one look into those eyes of his and she had found herself acquiescing instead.

  “Are you ready to order?” their waitress asked with a harried smile.

  Sophie bit her lip, looking to Trevor.

  He sent her a charming grin before turning to the waitress. “I think we need a few more minutes.”

  The woman nodded and made her way off to another table, leaving Sophie and Trevor in silence once more.

  “I’m sorry,” Sophie offered contritely. “Were you ready to order?”

  He shook his head. “I was too busy watching you to even notice the menu.”

  Sophie’s traitorous heart skipped a beat. She should not have accompanied him to dinner. The whole thing felt like a date rather than the celebratory dinner it was supposed to be.

  She eyed him again. The dimly lit interior of the tavern cast shadows on the stark planes and angles of his face, rendering his gaze molten. He looked beautiful, dark and dangerous all at the same time.

  “I suppose I shouldn’t have said that,” he murmured when she remained silent. He didn’t sound the least bit repentant.

  Sophie was at a loss for words. She was helplessly attracted to him. It appeared that he felt the same magnetism pulling between them. Still, she felt guilty every time she thought about him.

  It was too soon after Peter’s death, too soon for her to move on to someone new. Wasn’t it? Besides, getting involved with a man as gorgeous and worldly as Trevor would be like committing emotional suicide. He lived in another city, for heaven’s sake and moved with a different set of people. People who had weekend homes in the Hamptons and came from old money. She and Trevor were as different as two people could be.

  “The Chesapeake Chicken is good,” she said, her voice sounding on edge even to her own ears. What a pitiful attempt at changing the subject.

  “I get the distinct impression I make you nervous,” Trevor said. “Why is that?”

  She peeked at him from the side of the leather-bound menu. “You don’t make me nervous,” she lied. “I just thought we should decide on something to order before our poor waitress has to make a third trip to us.”

  “Hmm,” was all he said, but it was enough.

  She snapped her menu closed and frowned at him. “What do you mean, ‘hmm’?”

  He sent her a slow smile. “I guess I mean I don’t believe you.”

  She tried to hold his gaze but had to look away at last.

  “You don’t have to be, you know,” he continued, either oblivious to her discomfiture or plowing ahead in spite of it. “Nervous, that is. You’re a beautiful woman. It’s only natural I would be attracted to you.”

  He was attracted to her. Oh God. What now? Breathe, Sophie.

  “Oh,” she managed to say. “Thank you. I think.”

  She heard his low chuckle. “Sophie, when was the last time you were on a date?”

  Sophie stiffened. “That’s none of your business.”

  He reached across the table and covered one of her hands with his, the gesture comforting. She looked down at his large hand, noting how it dwarfed hers.

  “There haven’t been any, have there?”

  She swallowed. “None.” She couldn’t hide the obvious truth from him. There was no point in it when he could so easily see right through her.

  His fingers tightened over hers. “Sweet Sophie,” he murmured. “Why do you shut yourself off from the world?”

  She was about to argue but realized he was absolutely right. “I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “Maybe because it’s easier that way.”

  Trevor’s thumb made lazy circles on the top of her hand in a small, simple caress. Heat stole through her at the limited contact. Her pulse fluttered.

  “Why doesn’t anyone know the real Sophie Olsen?” Trevor demanded. “Your sister would never pass judgment, you know. Everyone has a weakness.”

  Sophie sighed. He was likely right again. Being open with someone was refreshingly good for her. Trevor was good for her.

  “What’s your weakness?” she asked as he turned her hand over, gently tracing the lines of her palm.

  “I’ve got more than just one.” Tension crept into his voice. “But I’d hate to spoil the evening.”

  He wasn’t going to open himself up to her, she realized, feeling oddly disappointed. Trevor had demons of his own, demons he wouldn’t share. Just as she reached her conclusion, he pulled his hand away from hers, leaving her feeling oddly bereft.

  “Ah, here comes our waitress,” he announced casually, as though they’d just been discussing the weather instead of invisible scars. “I hope you’ve decided.”

  Sophie blinked, disconcerted by his abrupt change.

  The waitress reappeared and took their orders. Sophie ordered the chicken, not bothering to give her menu the once-over yet again. With a few quick scribbles, the server departed.

  “You’re not being fair,” she pointed out. “You want to dissect me like I’m a frog in some seventh-grade science class, but you don’t want to give anything in return.”

  Trevor toyed with the stem of his glass of red wine, sending her a cool smile. “Yes, but I’m not exactly the one who tried to kill herself on the highway, now am I?”

  His words stung her. So it was pity he felt for her. Her pride made her rise from her chair, ready to leave. The last thing she needed was more pity. She would far rather endure almost anything else first.

  He caught her wrist in a firm grasp before she could leave the table. She shot him a look of unadulterated fury and tried to extricate herself from his clutches, but it was no use. Trevor wasn’t going to release her.

  “Sit,” he ordered her.

  “I will not.” She was doing her best to keep from making a scene. But it was a moot point since there were already half a dozen heads turned curiously in their direction.

  “Sophie, I didn’t mean that,” he gritted out at last. “You know I didn’t. I was angry.”

  She waited, watching him.

  His full lips flattened into a stern line. “All right, you win. I’m sorry. Now will you sit?”

  Sophie knew the apology had not come easy for him, but still she paused, uncertain of his motives. She wasn’t some lost puppy for him to save. She could get along well enough on her own, thank you very much.

  A haunted look passed through his eyes for a moment, startling her. But as quickly as the look had appeared, it was gone, replaced by his calm, self-assured façade. Had she imagined it? Had it been a mere trick of the shadows flickering over his beautiful face?

  “Please?” A grin tugged the corner of his lips.

  Sophie sat. Could it be that inside Trevor had the same broken pieces, the same hopelessness she felt? That would surely explain his uncommon interest in her.

  “What made you angry?” She had to know.

  He tilted his head to the side, considering her for a moment. His gaze came to rest on her lips. “I know what would make me exceedingly happy.”

  Sophie couldn’t quite breathe. She suddenly, very desperately wanted him to kiss her. She wondered what it would be like to feel those sensual lips pressing against hers, what he would taste like. How it would be for his tongue to sweep into her mo
uth, for his hands to cup her breasts.

  Dear God, what was she thinking?

  She frowned at him, recalling he had skirted her question. “You didn’t answer me,” she reminded him.

  He raised a black brow at her. “You don’t want to know what would make me happy?”

  She crossed her arms, determined not to fall beneath his spell again. “I’m sure I have a pretty good idea.”

  A predatory glint entered his eyes as he raked her with a hot stare. “I don’t think you do.”

  But Sophie had a terrible feeling she did know and it was precisely the same forbidden thing she’d been thinking of so much lately. She reached for her glass of wine and gulped down half its contents. It had been easier before, when Trevor had merely been a friend. Now however, things were getting complicated. Sophie was terrified, terrified because she was attracted to Trevor even though she wasn’t sure if it was right to be feeling such things for another man. She had closed that portion of her life off forever, or so she’d thought.

  She downed the remainder of her wine and toyed with the silverware before her, refusing to look at him.

  “Would you like another glass?” He sounded amused.

  No.

  “Yes,” she murmured before she could stop herself.

  The moment the traitorous word left her lips, Sophie inwardly berated herself. Wine always affected her easily. The one glass she had already consumed was even now snaking through her stomach, leaving a warm trail of fire in its wake. If she had a second glass, she would get embarrassingly giggly, there was no doubt about it. But she needed something to steady her nerves.

  Trevor signaled to a passing waiter and before she knew it, Sophie was nursing her second glass of wine. Their food arrived before they could strike up further conversation, saving Sophie from more embarrassment. They ate in a companionable silence that was virtually uninterrupted. When they had finished their meals, Sophie declared she was too full for dessert but Trevor requested that a slice of decadent chocolate cake be wrapped up to go anyway.

  She was feeling the effects of the wine by the time she and Trevor rose from their table. He had insisted on paying for their meal and she had been feeling too much wine-induced magnanimity to argue the point. Likewise, when Trevor took her hand in his, she didn’t protest, just curled her fingers around his, enjoying the touch.