“You still up, Bug?”
“Of course I’m up, you idiot,” she called through the door. “Come on in.”
He found her sitting at the table, the glass of wine in front of her a sure sign of her nervousness. He dropped into the chair across from her and tried to look dejected. The expression wasn’t a difficult feat at the moment.
“Oh no,” Jen moaned, worry lines radiating from her narrowed eyes, “someone found out? I knew we shouldn’t have done this, Jeff.” She clasped her hands together, the knuckles white. “Are we going to jail?” When he didn’t immediately respond to her question, she clutched his shirtsleeve. “Tell me. Don’t just sit there. I can take it.”
“Well, we’re both going to have to make a trip to Baltimore next week.”
“Oh god. To see a lawyer?”
“No, I don’t think a lawyer will help.” He looked down at the table to keep her from seeing the gleam in his eyes.
“If you don’t stop stalling and tell me how bad things are, I’m going to smack you silly, Jeff. I mean it. What makes you think a lawyer wouldn’t help us?”
“Because.” He paused in spite of her threat. Finally he relented, “I don’t think we’ll need a lawyer to schedule an appointment with the plastic surgeon.”
It took a second for the words to register, then his sister got up and threw her arms around him. After a bone-crushing hug, she sat back down. “One of these days I’m going to get you for that, you big oaf. You scared me to death. So, one of my paintings sold, huh?”
There was a smile on her face for the first time in months. One side of it sagged, and turned her face into a Halloween horror mask, which brought home the real reason for all of his dissembling with Zoe. He grinned back at her, his earlier worries forgotten, at least temporarily. “Actually . . .” he drawled.
She tilted her head and gave him a look designed to singe his eyebrows.
“We sold three of your paintings, Bug.” He held up three fingers for emphasis. “The customers loved your work. I was pretty nervous talking to the buyers. But I made sure never to actually claim I was the artist. Luckily none of them asked me any questions about technique. Mostly they raved about the quality of the light, or the realism of the sunset at the marina, or the water in the cove. Your stuff was a hit, Bug, and I am so sorry you couldn’t be there to hear all of the praise in person.”
His sister was dumbstruck. She kept shaking her head in wonder. He enjoyed every second of it, his heart lighter than it had been in many months.
“I don’t know if sales will be like this on a regular basis, but between your three paintings and my sculpture, we made enough money to pay for your first operation, Bug.”
Just saying it intensified the surreal feeling he’d had at the gallery when Zoe told him how much the canvases went for. Even his unicorn sold for four hundred dollars, an amount he never would have had the nerve to ask for it. Zoe knew her stuff, all right. He owed her, big time.
“Dad’s going to be here tomorrow. Zoe invited him to the opening, but he had to finish up a job so he couldn’t make it today. Since he’ll have the van, we’ll take some more paintings of yours over.”
Jen nodded, still thunderstruck. “Sure. I’ll go pick out which ones you should take.” She stood.
“You don’t have to do it tonight, Bug. Sit down. Finish your wine. Savor the idea that you’re going to get those operations.” He tousled her hair. “You’ll be beautiful again.”
He savored the thought too. He may not be able to give her back her dancing, but he’d give her sunshine and fresh air and the friends she denied herself now. He wanted Zoe to meet her. He knew they’d get along well.
He hoped to hell the sale of her paintings continued. They’d still need the money for two more operations.
The sleek black BMW with tinted windows drove slowly by the Blue Point Motor Coach Inn. A hundred yards down the road it circled back and parked alongside the unit with the unlit neon ‘Registration’ sign. Fredrick Barker had followed Zoe’s handsome handyman-turned-artist last night when he left the gallery. He sensed there was more going on between him and Zoe than a simple business arrangement, which gave him reason enough to find out more about Jeff Petrosky. If the former handyman thought he could derail the plans he had for the luscious Ms. Silvercreek and her gallery, he was sadly mistaken.
The door to the unit at the far end opened and Petrosky exited. He didn’t go far, unlocking the next door down and disappearing inside. A white van was parked in front of that unit and before long Petrosky and another man came out and loaded several large canvases into the rear of it. The older man went back inside for a few moments, then he reappeared and before closing the door, he spoke to someone inside.
“Jeff will probably have to stick around until the gallery closes, but I’ll only be gone for an hour or so. Want me to bring you back something for dinner?”
Baker couldn’t hear the reply, and in a few moments the two men left. His curiosity roused, Fredrick parked the car into the spot vacated by the van and got out. He knocked on the door but got no response. He knocked again and called out in a loud voice, “Delivery. I have a delivery here for a Mister Jeff Petrosky.”
Still no answer but he saw the curtain in the next unit over twitch slightly. Probably just a nosy neighbor, but, what the hell, he’d give it a try. Nosy neighbors were often valuable sources of information. He went to the next door and rapped sharply. “I’m looking for Jeff Petrosky. I have a delivery for him.” He’d just about given up when a voice called through the closed door. “Leave it at the registration desk. They’ll get it to him.”
“I’m supposed to deliver this in person,” he lied.
Silence. Guess whoever was in there wasn’t very friendly with Petrosky.
Even though he had no package to deliver, he figured he might as well see what he could find out at the front desk. He walked over. The sign on the door had a clock whose hands pointed to ten o’clock. It was already ten-thirty but when he tried the door, it was locked. He heaved a sigh, his irritation mounting. He pounded his fist on the door, causing the glass panes to rattle. After a few minutes he heard the slide of the deadbolt and the door opened.
“What do you want?” A cantankerous old man, his gray hair a tangled mess, a two-day-old beard covering his sunken cheeks, and wearing clothes he obviously had slept in, peered at him with bloodshot eyes. “Can’t you read the sign?” he rasped. “We don’t open till ten.”
“It’s ten-thirty, old man,” Fredrick spat. “Where’s the owner?”
“You’re lookin’ at him. If you want a room, you’re out of luck. We’re full up.”
A pungent mix of body odor, tobacco, and alcohol wafted out the door. Fredrick grimaced at the foul combination, but kept his foot in the door. “I’m looking for a Jeff Petrosky. I have a package for him.”
The man stuck out a hand that shook visibly. “I’ll see ‘at he gets it.”
“No. He has to sign for it,” Fredrick said, embellishing his lie. “What room is he in?”
“The one at the other end.” The old curmudgeon indicated the side with a jerk of his head. “If he’s not in, you can leave it next door with his sister.”
Sister, hmm? Interesting.
“I thought that was his room, but I tried there and next door. Nobody answered my knock.”
“Yeah, she ain’t goin’ to open the door for the likes of you, but she’ll get it later if you leave it outside her door.” He scratched his whiskered jaw. “Keeps to herself, mostly, that one does.”
“Really? How come?”
“Ain’t none of my business, nor yours neither, fella. You want to leave it here, fine. You want to leave it at her door, fine. You don’t, might as well take yourself back where you come from and quit bothering decent people.” This time he shut the do
or firmly in Fredrick’s face.
He had hoped for more information, but he’d make do with what he got. Back in his car, he dialed the P.I. he kept on retainer.
Chapter 14
It was Christmas Eve, and although they had mutually agreed not to exchange gifts, Zoe wanted to do something to make the holiday special. So much of what she had accomplished was due to Jeff’s skills and hard work that she needed to show him how much she appreciated everything he’d done the past few months.
So after they’d put a small Christmas tree in the corner of her studio and decorated it with tiny white lights—the only thing she could afford—she gave him her Christmas card. Inside was a hand-lettered coupon for one modeling session, in the nude. He’d asked her many times to pose for him and she’d always declined, actually shy about standing naked in front of him with no sexual distractions to keep him from really looking at her body. She was sure he’d notice that one of her breasts was a bit smaller than the other one, though neither were particularly generous. He’d find her hips were much too wide compared to her waist, and that her legs were, well, short. Her figure did not have the proportions artists’ models were known for.
Jeff held the piece of paper between thumb and forefinger, waving it gently back and forth as he studied her with heavy-lidded eyes gone sapphire in the firelight. “I can redeem this any time?”
Zoe nodded, her mouth dry as his gaze swept down her torso then back to her face. “As long as the gallery isn’t open,” she murmured. I’ve been naked in bed with the man a dozen times. So why is the thought of posing nude for him getting me so hot and bothered? She swallowed with difficulty, aware that her nipples had budded against her flannel shirt. Since she’d worn no bra, the rasp of the fabric against them sent spirals of heat snaking between her legs.
She could neither move nor look away from the intensity of his gaze. His hair needed a trim, but the curling, disheveled mass only added to the sensuality pouring off him in waves. It filled the space between them, lapping at her like a warm incoming tide, rising higher with each indrawn breath. She feared her legs might soon go liquid from the heat.
“I don’t have my sketch pad and pencils with me, so I won’t cash it in now. But perhaps you’d gift me with a brief . . . preview?”
She nodded again, still struggling with speech, and stood motionless as he stepped up to her and began slowly to undo the buttons on her shirt. The scent of the tree blended with his own musk and set images of a forest populated with fauns and satyrs swirling in her head. She tilted her chin up and parted her lips, sipping at the air between them as though it was nectar. He spread her shirt and slid it off her shoulders, then quickly twisted the material to pin her arms behind her. She gasped at the sudden move, eyes wide, nostrils flaring, but before she could make a sound he pressed a finger across her lips.
“Shh, sweetling. A gift as precious as this should be savored.”
He took his time. His gaze lingered on her breasts, now thrust out, their ruddy areolas crowned with taut, dark nipples. He blew a warm breath across them and a smile quirked the edges of his mouth as he watched them tighten even more in response. Finally his gaze followed the soft skin curving down to her waist. Still keeping her arms imprisoned, he undid the button of her jeans and slowly slid the zipper down.
Zoe finally found her voice. “You know the rule about models. You may look all you like, but no touching is allowed.” She’d watched his pupils dilate as he examined her and when he pursed his lips to blow on her breasts again, the muscles of her vagina spasmed. His quick glance up with one brow quirked made her wonder if he could sense even that hidden a reaction. She drew in a shaky breath. Crackles of electricity chased over her skin. Her nipples had tightened so much they ached. If he didn’t kiss her soon she’d have to beg for his mouth.
He released the bunched material and her shirt fluttered to the floor. “I believe I’ve had about all the preview I can handle.”
He pulled her up on her toes and covered her mouth with his, his tongue fencing with hers. She moaned and twined her arms around his neck, burying her fingers in the mass of tousled curls at his nape.
He leaned back to study her face. “Are you ready for me, sweet cheeks?” At her breathless nod, he slipped one finger into her panties and found the nubbin he sought wet and waiting for him. He teased the tiny bud until she panted ragged breaths and her fingers clutched at his shoulders, then he slid his finger into her.
She came instantly, her orgasm so violent she barely held on to consciousness. She clung to him, and felt his hard shaft straining against his pants. Zoe rubbed herself against him and sucked his tongue into her mouth, gratified to hear the wordless groan of need she wrung from him. “Bedroom . . .”
He lifted her and strode to the bed, dropped her on it, then reached for a condom in the drawer next to it. She busied herself with his zipper and was soon rewarded with the velvet tip of his erection brushing her lips. She obliged by sucking him deep into a mouth no longer dry.
“Babe. Stop.” He pushed her away so that he could cover himself, then he flipped her onto her stomach, tugged her jeans down, and buried himself in her heat. With one hand cradling her breast and the other circling her sweet spot, he needed but a few strokes to bring them both to orgasm. He collapsed on top of her, crushing her into the mattress.
Zoe reveled in the sensation generated by the final pulsations of his cock as he emptied himself, milking him with her muscles to express every last drop. No other man she had had sex with—not that there had been many, admittedly—had ever provoked such soul-shattering orgasms from her. Nor the desire to repeat them again so soon. This time, however, she managed to leash her lust in favor of more oxygen. She bucked her butt against him to gain a bit of breathing room and Jeff obligingly rolled off her.
Zoe snuggled against his side and stroked the thin line of hair arrowing down his six-pack toward his now-relaxed shaft. “Now you understand why I knew your request for me to pose in the nude would never work.”
“It’s hardly fair to count today.” Jeff dropped a kiss on the top of her head and toyed with the brown strands of silken hair that slid over her shoulders and partially covered his chest. “Christmas Eve has always seemed more magical to me than Christmas day. I guess it was the anticipation. Christmas morning was great, opening presents and all, but then it was over. The wonder, the excitement of the weeks before, all gone. Christmas Eve is the best part of the holiday.”
“Then I’m even happier you’re spending it here with me.” Zoe planted kisses along his jawline.
“And you”—he dropped another kiss on her head—“are the best part of this Christmas Eve.”
“What time will your dad be arriving tomorrow?”
“Ah . . . I’m not sure, really. I doubt if it will be very early, but definitely before noon. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. You’re not the only one who can give presents.”
“No. We agreed, remember? I hope you didn’t go buy something, Jeff.” Just because he was flush with cash after Thanksgiving weekend, he probably thought she was in good shape financially too.
The problem was her generosity. She’d reduced the gallery’s commission to encourage more artists but the downside of that was less money for her business. Since Thanksgiving weekend, she hadn’t sold one darn thing. Oh, she’d had browsers, lots of browsers. But they were mostly locals who were curious about the new gallery but not interested in spending their money on her merchandise.
After the holiday, Amanda was due to come by and go over her books. November’s sales would improve her bottom line for the fourth quarter, but they would increase her tax burden for the final quarter as well. Zoe shivered and rubbed her arms to banish the chill bumps that had taken up residence.
“Are you cold, babe?”
“No, no, I’m fine. But let’s go out by t
he fireplace and the tree, okay? I’ll open that bottle of champagne you brought and we can have a Christmas toast.”
“Excellent idea. Especially when I tell you about my gift. Now, don’t look so upset, sweet cheeks. You gave me a gift, so now it’s my turn. And my present isn’t a thing, exactly. It’s a . . . Nope, I’m not telling until we have that champagne in hand. C’mon.”
Zoe grabbed her robe and tossed Jeff a pair of his sweats. Since he occasionally spent the night, she’d given him a drawer in which to keep a change of clothes. She went to the fridge, took out the bottle, and began to untwist the wire around the cork. Suddenly the anticipation of Christmas Eve wasn’t working for her.
“Here, let me do that, babe.” Jeff reached around from behind her, keeping her between him and the kitchen counter as he deftly removed the wire, then popped the cork. As he filled two glasses, he leaned down and planted a kiss on her ear. “You take the glasses and I’ll put on some music.”
Finally snuggled together on the couch, Jeff set his glass down and hummed along as Johnny Mathis sang “We Need a Little Christmas.” Unable to stand the suspense any longer, Zoe elbowed him in the ribs. “Okay, Studley, spill. I know you’re just dragging this out to drive me crazy.”
“Is it working?” He grinned at her.
“Grrrrr . . .”
“Okay, okay.” He laughed. “Have you heard of Russell Manheim?”
“Russell Manheim, the artist?”
“Yes.”
“Of course I’ve heard of him. He’s very well-respected. His works were in high demand at the gallery in D.C.”
“Right. Well, you were hoping to get some famous artist to do an exclusive show for the grand opening of the Silvercreek Gallery, weren’t you?” Jeff shrugged and waved a hand. “So if you think he’s good enough, he’ll do it.”
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