Kiss Me Crazy

by Ednah Walters

  Chase stepped away from his desk and paused to glare at him. “You’re an idiot. The stupid woman wasn’t even worth it.”

  Baron tensed, his eyes narrowing. Was he talking about his Kara? “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Valerie. You’re killing yourself to prove you’re better than that ass wipe she ran away with. Haven’t you heard? His career is going down hill. Steroid users never last long in baseball.”

  Baron laughed.

  “What’s so goddamn funny?” his brother snarled.

  Baron controlled his mirth and shook his head. Chase had it all wrong. The decision to stop playing around and take his gallery to the next level had nothing to do with Valerie per say, just what she did—killing his unborn child. He’d needed an outlet for his grief and his work had been it. Of course, Chase blamed her for everything he perceived was wrong with Baron, but that was blind familial loyalty talking. Baron held himself responsible for the whole fiasco. He’d thought he loved the woman, bought her a ring, and moved her into his home without knowing much about her. All he’d seen was her vulnerability, the lost country girl in the big city needing to be rescued. What a crock of shit that turned out to be.

  He realized Chase was still waiting for a response. “Nothing’s funny. Kara submitted her resignation today.”

  “Aaah.”

  Baron didn’t bother to ask his brother what that ‘aaah’ meant.

  “She’ll be gone in exactly one month.” His voice sounded sad to his ears, which only ticked him off. “I offered her everything. Double her pay, a new office, the whole nine yards—”

  “Except what she needs,” Chase finished with a knowing smirk, as though he was enjoying a secret only he knew.

  “Yeah, I know. To fulfill a dream.” He scowled at his brother. “Will you quit with that annoying smirk?”

  “No. It amazes me that we’re related…no, that we’re twins. You’re totally clueless about women.”

  Baron shrugged. “Women are impossible to understand, a total mystery. Show me a man who says he knows women, and I’ll show you a liar.”

  “I don’t lie. If you paid more attention, you’d be a lot wiser too,” Chase bragged. “Anyway, what are you going to do?”

  “Nothing.” Baron went back to his previous reclined position and rested his linked hands behind his head. “I can’t stop her.”

  Chase wiggled his eyebrows. “Does that mean I can have her now?”

  Baron gritted his teeth. “I told you—”

  “That she can’t be one of my short but quickly forgotten lovers, I know. That was five years ago. Now that she no longer works for you, no longer under your watchful eyes, you shouldn’t care. Right?” Chase started for the door. “So sweet and cuddly, so smart and pretty, maybe I’ll keep her longer than—”

  “Don’t,” Baron snapped.

  His brother turned his head and gave him a gleeful grin.

  “Remember the pact,” Baron said through gritted teeth.

  They were eight when they’d sworn to never take what belonged to the other. It didn’t matter whether it was a toy, a game, or when they started dating, a woman. Once it belonged to one, it was off limits to the other.

  Chase threw him a triumphant grin, and Baron snarled, “Just get me something to eat.”

  Chase’s laughter echoed in the room as the door closed behind him. Baron glared into space. He must do something about Kara. The sooner the better.

  CHAPTER 3

  Kara pulled up outside the gallery the next morning and parked beside the cleaning services truck. Relief coursed through her, followed by a tinge of disappointment, when she saw Baron’s SUV still missing from its usual space. It was the fourth day he hadn’t shown up to work.

  This was ridiculous. On one hand she wanted to see him, but on the other, she dreaded it. The first meeting after their Monday confrontation was bound to be awkward. Who was she kidding? In the next month, she’d feel uncomfortable around him, the gallery, and her coworkers once they found out she’d resigned. Her only sanctuary would be her workroom downstairs.

  She flipped open her cell phone and speed-dialed Gena’s office. Baron might be the first one in and last one out of the gallery in the evenings, but Gena’s job included opening the doors for the cleaning crew. For security reasons, he didn’t allow cleaning after office hours.

  Kara squinted through the windscreen at the entrance of La Baron Galleria when Gena didn’t pick up the phone. When the voice mail started, she closed her cell phone with disgust. She hadn’t woken up early to cool her heels outside the gallery for hours. The showroom assistants wouldn’t arrive until nine-thirty, half an hour before the doors opened for business, and she had a painting to clean and repair.

  She got out of the car and glanced up and down the sidewalk. People hurried past her to their offices with cups of steaming brew in their hands. She could kill for coffee right about now. She hadn’t bothered to stop by Starbucks because, well, she hoped Baron would bring her some later.

  Today, like any other Friday, the two of them discussed her current project. He’d stop by her workroom, Starbucks coffee cups in his hand—one for him and another for her—and spend at least an hour talking shop. She had looked forward to his visits although she never let on. She hoped she never did.

  Kara shook her head. She swore last night she wouldn’t fret over what she did or didn’t do in the past. It was counterproductive. She blocked the sunlight with her hand and peered into the gallery. The second floor lights were on and custodial paraphernalia sat in the center of the main room. Somebody must have let the cleaners in.

  She redialed Gena’s number. “Come on…come on Gena. I know you’re in there. Pick up.”

  “Yes?”

  Baron’s husky voice sent a gush of awareness through her, and for a moment, Kara opened and closed her mouth like a beached fish. What was he doing here? His SUV wasn’t parked outside.

  “Who’s this?” he snapped.

  Stop panicking and act like the confident woman you are. She swallowed and strived to sound calm. “It’s me. Could you open the door, please?”

  “Kara?” His tone softened. “Sure. I’ll be down in a sec.”

  Her stomach muscles tensed and her hand went to her hair. She had it down, and wore makeup and contacts instead of glasses. Peering at her reflection on the glass door, she couldn’t see much except her silhouette. Oh forget it. Her reflection this morning had said she looked just fine in black pants and a red and white striped top. The lightweight black jacket added a touch of class to the entire ensemble.

  Kara glanced down and frowned. Maybe the sleeveless, V-neck knitted top did show more chest than usual. She pulled and tugged at her top then sighed. Why did she bother? The sloping neckline was wasted on her. Her breasts were not drool-worthy. Maybe it was time she took extra effort to showcase them and invest in some push-up bras. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel good about her body, she did; most of the time anyway. But these days a girl had to go the extra mile to stay ahead in the dating game or she’d end up an old, miserable woman.

  Okay, that sounded too much like something Chloe would say. At twenty-nine, Kara wasn’t exactly over the hill, but right now she felt like an old maid without prospects. No man to snuggle with on cold nights or burn holes in the carpet whenever she felt frisky. Even her faithful vibrator didn’t give her the satisfaction she craved.

  She gave herself a mental shake. This had to stop. She didn’t have a meltdown when Briana got married, yet ever since Chloe’s announcement, Kara kept thinking about engagement rings, marriage, lovers, or lack thereof when it came to her own social life. At least Renee had a reason for not fretting over marriage. Her parents’ shaky marriage and subsequent bitter divorce turned her off marriage as an institution. Kara’s parents were still in love after thirty years. She had no excuse.

  A movement from the other side of the door interrupted her reverie. Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened when she saw Baron.
Black jeans hugged his narrow hips and draped over his long legs, and a white polo shirt showcased his broad shoulders and his thick, sinewy forearms.

  Where was the power suit that acted as a barrier against his overpowering physique and made him appear aloof and unapproachable? This Baron was lethal, not what she wanted to deal with right now. He reminded her too much of the old irresistible Baron. Surely, he wasn’t planning on pulling a fast one on her, again. She couldn’t deal with unpredictable behavior from him after the disastrous meeting in his office.

  Her palms began to sweat before the door swung open. Her gaze swept over him before she could stop herself. Tall, solid, and ruggedly handsome, so masculine and overwhelming up close she felt small and feminine, insignificant. The white of his shirt contrasted attractively with his tanned skin. He hadn’t bothered to shave this morning, the hint of shadow on his chin adding to his brooding, rakish look.

  When his kissable lips curled up as though he was trying hard not to smile, she realized she was still ogling. It wasn’t fair. No man had any business looking like he did without even trying. She rushed into speech.

  “Your SUV is not outside.” It was an odd thing to say, but it was better than saying, “Damn, you look good.”

  “It’s parked near the side entrance. Good morning to you, too.”

  Heat crawled up her face at his teasing voice. Definitely the old Baron. He wasn’t playing fair. Just when she had an exit plan, the man who made her weak in the knees re-emerged.

  “Morning. Gena’s not in yet?”

  “Nope, but she should be here soon.” He stepped back and gestured for Kara to walk in. “I was hoping you and I would talk before I left.”

  Left for where? She wanted to ask but bit her tongue. It was none of her business. He turned to lock the door and her mindless eyes swept his broad back then moved down to his world-class butt. The wildest urge to slip her hand in his back pocket and squeeze one rock-hard cheek stole through her.

  He turned and she shifted her gaze, her hand gripping the strap of her purse.

  “Talk about what?” Her voice sounded funny even to her ears, which almost made her giggle.

  Baron gave her a weird look, as though he wasn’t sure about something, then waved in the general area of the doorway leading to her workroom. “Your workload. What are you working on right now?”

  “A piece by Edward Hallè.” She strived to match his serious tone as she hurried forward. It wasn’t easy, not with his pine-scented aftershave teasing her senses. “There’s a chafed area that needs fixing. The varnish has also yellowed and is starting to crack.”

  “When does the owner expect it?”

  “End of next week. Why do you ask? Is there a problem?”

  “Nothing that can’t be fixed,” was his mysterious response. He took her elbow and led her down the hallway.

  His behavior threw her off balance. Not to mention the heat from his hand seemed to be burning a hole right through her jacket. Her unease shot up a notch, drumming along with the excitement of being so close to him. “What’s going on, Baron?”

  “You’re always so impatient,” he teased in a light tone.

  She bristled. “I’m not.”

  He chuckled. “I want to show you something.”

  She glanced at him, but he stared straight ahead, pretending not to notice her curiosity. He could be so annoyingly closemouthed.

  “What is it?” she insisted.

  “About the piece you’re working on. Can you finish it sooner?”

  She’d planned on working on it tomorrow to get out of shopping with Renee. The clothes her friend forced on her always ended up occupying space in her closet, unworn. “I think so. Wednesday…maybe Tuesday.”

  “Oh, that soon?”

  “Knowing the style of the period and Hallè’s painting technique helped in this case.” They stopped outside her door and he released her elbow. She actually felt bereft, which bothered her. She didn’t want to start hoping for the unattainable—his undivided attention. Focus. “I’ve already identified the color scheme. I found clear pigments in a thin area hidden under the edge of the frame. Once I finish removing the old varnish, I’ll start the final step.”

  He smiled. Not just a hint of a smile or flashing twinkle in his eyes, but a lazy grin packed with raw sensuality. It took her breath away. The old irresistible Baron was resurfacing and mercilessly crushing through her defenses.

  She found herself responding with an answering smile. “What?”

  “It’s not important.” He reached for the doorknob, but Kara beat him to it. He couldn’t pretend nothing was amiss. The twinkle in his eyes gave him away.

  “Let me be the judge of that. Okay?” When his eyes narrowed, as though he was debating whether to tell her, she rolled her eyes. “Come on.”

  “You’ve a lot of talent. I know it and you know it.”

  “But?”

  He let out a long sigh. “But at times you can’t resist showing off.”

  Kara’s eyes widened. Was he seriously chastising her? She studied his face, saw the corners of his mouth twitch and forgot to object to his words. The gorgeous hunk was teasing her. A jolt of longing poured through her at the transformations on his handsome face. She had missed the smile lines, the heated sensuality in his eyes, the sexy upward curve of his lips.

  “No, I don’t.” Her protest pitifully lacked conviction.

  “Yes, you do. It’s rather cute.” He covered her hand and turned the doorknob. “It shows you’re confident about your work and are not afraid to show or share it.”

  Kara couldn’t move. His hand on hers had sent a jolt of unadulterated pleasure through her. Whenever they touched, it was always the same. Fire and ice. Sizzling heat and chills. At least that was what she felt. But what did he mean by cute? Puppy-frolicking-on-the-floor cute or I-find-you-attractive cute?

  “Kara?” He sounded impatient now.

  Jeez, can’t a woman analyze a moment? She filed the incident away in her RAM for retrieval later, pushed the door, and stepped forward. Realization hit her just as she reached for the light switch. The lights were already on in the basement. Frowning, she looked at Baron, but he didn’t seem surprised. He must have turned them on.

  “Go on ahead,” he urged.

  She reached for the eight by ten plastic Do Not Disturb sign from a hook on the wall. The sign usually guaranteed her privacy—no employee barging in when she least expected it. Everyone, even Baron, understood there was no margin for error in her line of work. Precision, keen eyes, and steady hands, no original pigments removed or abraded, no excess solvent left to ruin or burn the painting. Sudden movements on her part could be catastrophic, the mistake irrevocable. New employees never needed to be told twice about not interrupting her when that sign hung outside her door.

  Kara placed the sign outside then shrugged off her jacket. Baron already stood by the easel, his gaze on her tools—a jeweler’s magnifying glass, a microscope, and ultra-violet light lamp for studying the painting as she worked; solvents, cotton balls, and swabs for identifying the pigments and cleaning the old varnish; a loaded still camera to record every step of the restoration. His gaze shifted to her just as she started down the stairs.

  It wasn’t a cool regard or an assessing look a boss gave an employee. Something hot and lethal burned in the depth of his eyes—a deep-seated desire that echoed deep inside of her. His mouth moved, and she knew he was talking, but she didn’t hear a single word he said. She was busy listening to the thumpity-thump of her heart and the roar of blood in her ears. How come he never looked at her like that before?

  He pointed at the easel, and that was when she saw it, a painting so breathtaking, so awe-inspiring she gasped, threw her jacket on the coat rack, and rushed forward, everything else forgotten. She stopped in front of the piece, reached out to touch the glass covering it and laughed.

  “Wow. Is that what you wanted to show me? It looks like a Caravaggio.” She threw him a glance. “T
he same dramatic angled lighting, the deep shadowed background. It’s got to be, uh, Saint John…no, the hermit…Saint Jerome—he’s the one who translated the Bible into Latin.”

  “That’s right,” he said. Her brilliance never failed to amaze him. “They said only three of Saint Jerome’s paintings survived.”

  “One is in Rome, the second in Boston, and the third by a Swizz collector, yet this…” She leaned closer for a better look, then continued talking about what she knew about the artist’s work.

  Baron stood back and simply enjoyed her response. She was breathtaking in her enthusiasm, the glances she kept throwing him over her shoulder giving him glimpses of her animated face. Usually, she was so pale and delicate-looking, like she could break if he was too rough with her. Her skin was flushed, eyes sparkling, the V-shaped neckline giving him a clear view of her perfect breasts. Hers were just right for his large hands, not too big and not small either. But as a self-proclaimed ass-man, he appreciated hers, loving the way her pants draped over it and her rounded hips. From the way she was leaning forward, her hands on her knees, he was getting a rare treat. Blood rushed to his groin.

  He needed to focus on something else, but nothing in the room captivated him long enough. His eyes swung back to Kara. He moved behind the painting so he had a better view of her face. Today she had more makeup than usual, but her glowing skin didn’t need it. It was soft, fine-grained, her lashes incredibly long and curling upwards. The glasses often added something to her appearance he found irresistible. The last few days, he’d imagined removing them before kissing her, a form of foreplay. Seeing her without them was screwing with his head.

  She looked up, her eyes gleaming with laughter. “It is a Caravaggio, isn’t it?”

  Her expressive hazel eyes were incredible, changing with her moods, the black pupils dilating and contracting delicately. They were darker now, sucking him into their mysterious depths. He shook his head to focus his thoughts on their conversation. When he saw her frown, he realized she’d assumed he was responding to her question.