“Because it’s not a sure thing,” she replied angrily. Her voice took on a mocking quality, echoing Mr. Killian’s slight accent.
“What happens now then?”
“My savings will last me about two or three months. If I don’t find a patron by then—which should be easy because, you know, they grow on trees—then I’ll have to find a job. I’ve tried that before and I’m lost when I’m not being creative. I can’t sleep, I can’t focus. Art is in my blood and people who aren’t artists just can’t get that. I live simply because my art is everything. I’m lost when I’m not painting and I don’t know if I’ll survive without it. But I can’t think about the future now, can I? I get the lovely fucking task of dealing with this shit instead.” She threw her arms out, indicating the ruins surrounding them.
Despite what she said, he did get it. He understood being so passionate about something to the exclusion of almost everything else. Thinking quickly, he asked, “Would one painting make him happy?”
“What?”
“If you could deliver a painting to him by tomorrow for the show, would it make him happy enough to keep his patronage, even for a short time?”
Her hostile glare softened. Just a little bit, but it was enough for now. She brought her thumb to her mouth and nibbled on a nail. “I don’t know.” She looked up again. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t have the equipment or until the insurance comes through, the extra money—”
“I’ll buy what you need if you think you can do it. If you think it’ll help.”
“Joe, even for one painting we’re talking hundreds—”
“Call him back and find out if he’s agreeable.”
Uncertainty crept into her expression. “It might be a long time before I could pay you back.”
At last comfortable her fury wouldn’t strike him down, he moved closer. “You don’t need to pay me back. Consider it an advance for one of your paintings.”
They stood in silence as she considered his offer. He was confident she wouldn’t turn him down. It was a slim chance they’d bring Mr. Killian around to their way of thinking, but slim was better than none. After a few minutes, Tanya folded her arms over her chest and cocked an eyebrow at him. “I will pay you back with money. Face it, you can’t afford one of my paintings.”
The tension in the room dissolved in an instant. He dropped his voice low, almost a growl. “You won’t pay me back because I want a painting. I guess you’ll have to exact the rest of the money out of me in…other ways.”
“Other ways?” she repeated, walking out of the studio. She whirled on her feet and winked at him. “You’re a good model, but not that good.”
He lunged after her, but she bounced out of the way, giggling the entire time. He released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding when he heard that delightful sound. It seemed like forever ago that she’d been happy.
She came back in a few minutes later, a grin splitting her face. “He said to bring it by. He’s not making any promises yet, but Joe, I think I’ve got a shot at keeping him. It’s gotta be good. My best yet, but nothing like a little pressure to bring out my best, right?”
He knew there was a reason he liked that Killian guy. “Let’s go shopping, sweetheart. I think we should use my condo for your work, but either way, let’s get going. The next twenty-four hours are going to fly by.”
Tanya’s hand gripped his wrist as he walked by. He looked down at her, his eyebrows drawn together. She stared up at him with a question on her face. “Why would you do this for me?”
That was too easy to answer. “Because,”—I love you—“I like seeing you happy.”
Something flickered in her expression, but she only said, “Thank you.”
Tanya couldn’t stop staring at her watch. Bless Joe for taking her on the shopping spree of her dreams, but always in the back of her mind, a clock ticked away the seconds loud enough to drive her mad. Even now as she waited for him to emerge and settle himself for a marathon modeling session, she couldn’t focus on drafting out what she wanted to paint. She just kept thinking about the stupid time.
“You’re going to snap that pencil in two if you don’t ease up.” His warm hand embraced hers before pulling the pencil out of her grip.
She looked up sharply. “What?”
The pressure to produce stifled her air and she almost snapped at him to move his ass, but her scowl faded when she peered into his blue eyes. Every time his gaze met hers, her heart turned over in response. This time was no different.
Joe’s kiss was surprisingly gentle. His lips touched hers like a whisper. All of the neediness, all of the passion from before shattered beneath the tenderness of his mouth on hers. This was a kiss of promises. A kiss that gave her the world.
He lifted her hands, propping them on his chest before letting them slide down over the muscled ridges of his abdomen. “Touch.”
As if she could do anything else. Memories of before, the way he let her memorize him. Of what they’d done together danced in her mind.
His tongue traced over her lips before easing past them. “Taste,” he murmured, his mouth brushing hers. It was yesterday all over again. Not the yesterday of nightmares, but the one when he’d fed her. When he’d tasted her body. When he’d opened the door to her heart a fraction of an inch.
Twenty seconds or twenty hours might have passed, and she didn’t give a damn…which must have been his intention all along. Joe kissed her one last time before rising to position himself on the stool in the pose they’d adopted for him. Instinctively, he’d taken on the one that produced the best results over the past few months. The one that resulted in the painting of him she’d miss the most.
She ignored his aroused state, a monumental task at this point, and blew out a breath. Time to get into artist mode. Turning a critical eye on him, she started dishing orders. “Your left arm needs to move two inches to the left. Elongate your back.”
Joe—her beautiful, wonderful Joe—complied.
Chapter Seven
The following morning Tanya paced his condo, unable to stand the pressure any longer. Joe had been gone hours. He was supposed to call after Mr. Killian saw the painting and let her know what he said. Mr. Killian had granted the extension to the morning of the show to allow the paint to dry, but he hadn’t sounded happy about it at all. She tried to tell herself that at least if she was going out, it would be with a fight.
God, why had she sent Joe in her place to deliver it? She should have gone and explained the concept to Mr. Killian herself. The thought alone made her want to hurl though. The last thing she’d needed to do was soil his expensive loafers with the contents of her stomach, so she and Joe had agreed that he’d go in her place.
But was it a good idea? Tanya couldn’t keep her fingers out of her mouth, nibbling on her nails the only way to keep her from throwing open the front door and rushing to Mr. Killian’s anyway. Her stomach turned over on itself, “nausea” too mild a name to call what she had going on.
Blowing out a breath, she straightened out her shoulders and willed her stomach to calm. What was done was done. She’d trust the two men could move forward without her. Even though the wait was excruciating. What she should think about was the fact she’d finished a painting. That alone was something worth celebrating. Months of not being able to find the fortitude to actually complete a project came to an end. If Mr. Killian rejected the painting, at the very least she could cling to the sense of pride finishing the piece brought her. It meant she could start another project today or tomorrow and feel confident that she’d finish it. And damn it, she would finish it.
For now though, she needed to distract herself with something else. A quick shower settled some of her nerves. Getting dressed for the opening was another good way to kill time.
After drying, she dragged on her favorite bronze-colored bustier, and shimmied until the girls settled into place. Sort of. The designer couldn’t have meant the cups to hold actual breasts. More like
, the wire contraptions suggested they could if they wanted to—and clearly they didn’t. Anyone who risked wearing the thing begged for a wardrobe malfunction.
Too impatient to wrestle with hose, she pulled on a black crinoline skirt. Since it didn’t always cover her mid-thigh, depending on her stance, she supposed hose might have been a little too provocative anyway. Besides, incredible strappy heels insisted on playing center stage when it came to her legs. One of the straps was giving her fits now, but she just managed to push it through the loop.
“Jesus. Christ.”
Half-stooped, she almost toppled in her enthusiastic whirl to face Joe. “I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, rising. And positioning her boobs back into the cups. “What did he say?”
His gaze traveled slowly up her body, the heat of it blazing a trail from down by her toes up to her eyes. He asked huskily, “What are you wearing beneath that thing?”
She pushed aside his question. “Joe. What did he say?”
He blinked once. “You’re in. Now…what are you wearing beneath that thing?”
Her head fell back, she closed her eyes and let out a whoop. Thank God! Just a single painting, but it meant her future. Mr. Killian might still recoup some of his money; she might still have his patronage. The freedom that knowledge provided her could float a galaxy of clouds.
“Tanya, answer me.”
She opened her eyes in time to notice Joe stalk across the room, his attention never leaving her face. Nothing but sin stared back.
Was something wrong with her outfit? She always thought it was kind of cute. Brushing a hand down her front, she replied, “Uh, the same kind of panties you saw—”
“Fuck,” he moaned. He didn’t stop until close enough to pull her to him. His gaze dropped to her breasts and back to her face. “Do you remember where you bought this thing?” His fingers slid beneath the black fabric of her skirt, toying with the seam along her panties.
“Yeah.” The dark desire facing her sent a rush of moisture between her legs.
His lips moved to her jaw line, down her neck. “Good,” he mumbled. “Because when we get back from the opening, I’m going to ruin it.”
Just like that, he sucked all of the oxygen from the air.
Joe pushed her backward, until her back pressed against the wall. He kept that naughty, daring hand beneath her skirt all the while. “Before we go, though,” he said against her skin, “I want you to do one thing for me.”
If he kept running his finger along her crease like that, she would agree to anything short of murder. She tilted her head, waiting for him to stop long enough so she could raise her eyes to meet his. “Yes?”
“Right here. Right now. Come for me.”
His nearness made her senses spin, but there was no way she’d turn that invitation down.
Joe leaned in closer, his chest barely grazing hers. His face hovered just above hers, his mouth within grazing distance. He pushed the material of her panties to the side and eased his fingers in. She wrapped one hand around his bicep with the first touch on her clit.
“After the art show, baby, I’m going to bring you to my bed.” He circled her nub, inciting sparks of pleasure that rippled out in waves. “We’re going to finish our art lessons. Touch.” A flick of his finger almost made her knees buckle. “Taste.” Her head fell forward, stopping to rest on the fleshy part of his neck. She cried out and he dipped inside before tracing delicious circles on her sensitive spot.
“Joe,” she whimpered on a breath. Every nerve tingled with excitement. With a readiness to succumb to his assault.
“What do you think is next after touch and taste?”
A low humming filled her ears, the sound of her blood racing through her veins. His words broke through the noise, her mind zeroing in on his voice. Her intellect trying to process his meaning. “I…I don’t…know.”
“Look at me.” His fingers sped up, her hips rolled in time to match him, chasing the sensation he provided. “Look into my eyes when you come. I want to see what’s waiting for me when we return.”
Her mind started to lose the battle. How could she focus on what he said when her body screamed for relief? All she knew was the way his clever fingers danced on her flesh.
She tightened her grip, knowing she couldn’t stand it any longer. Her body would give out. She would collapse in his embrace. At the end of it all, she would die a sated, boneless death.
As she predicted, she melted when the first shockwave cascaded out, locking her vocal cords in place, shutting her mind and body down. She looked into his eyes, past the piercing blue and saw starbursts of silver and gold.
“Oh, Jesus, that’s beautiful,” Joe murmured. He stood stock-still, the muscle of his bicep the only movement between them except what her skirt hid. Her harsh breathing the only other sound. At last she could stand no more and her grip tightened, her lids fluttered closed.
“Joe,” she whispered. A deep sigh escaped when he removed his hand, her body still tingling in places from the echoes of orgasm.
He kissed her lightly, and the corner of her mouth pushed up in a self-satisfied smile. “I have something for you,” he said. He waited a minute when her hand tightened around his. If he left her to stand of her own devices now, no telling what might happen. “My legs are shaking so badly,” she admitted with a gasp.
“Ready?” he asked when she nodded a few minutes later and released another deep breath.
“Yes…and thank you.”
Joe chuckled. “If you can’t tell, I really like what you’re wearing.” He pointedly studied her body. “I just had to see that before we left. God damn the time. I wish we had more of it.”
Halloween colors or not, the ensemble just became her new favorite. Her racing heartbeat slowed to a trickle, a flush of contentment warming her through. If she wasn’t careful, she could easily find herself falling for one Mr. Joe Boyd. Perhaps she’d fallen already. “So what was it you wanted to show me?”
He backed away, keeping her hand clasped in his. “I’d almost forgotten it. I forgot why I’d come to your place the day before and then later, in the bustle of prepping for the art show, I still didn’t remember. But the minute I saw you in those colors, between your sense of style and knack for colors, it came to me.”
At once his face became boyish. Where went the man who pushed her to soaring heights only moments ago? He’d been replaced by someone whose self-confidence hadn’t quite matured, by someone who didn’t know how to behave around a woman.
He led her into his bedroom and if the change in his demeanor startled her, that he let go of her hand to rummage through a laundry basket in the master bathroom more than baffled her. “What are you doing?”
“I can’t believe I forgot about it,” he muttered. A pair of denim pants appeared in his hands a few seconds later.
“And I can’t believe I’ve let you distract me from the opening. We have to leave and you’re not even dressed yet. You are coming, right?” Had she asked him to come or just assumed he wouldn’t be left behind? His persistence got her exhibit in after all.
The look he gave her brought back an instant recollection of what staring into his eyes looked like deep in the throes of her orgasm. There was passion, and longing and something she didn’t—couldn’t—name below their surfaces. A mischievous smile played about his lips. The small package he held out in his hand distracted her from admiring it for too long. “Of course I am, but first, here. Take this. I bought it for you,” he said shyly. “If you don’t like it, that’s okay.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What is it?”
His shoulder lifted in response. “It’s not much. Open it.”
Damn if her fingers didn’t tremble as she fumbled with the taped crepe paper. Joe moved in closer to fold his arms around his waist. A distinct sensation of comfort and belonging washed over her, calming nerves that had no business in their agitation. Tossing aside the temptation to use her teeth to rip through the elastic tape, an e
ternity passed before she finally touched what had been trapped inside. She tugged on the cloth until the entire thing pulled free.
“Oh, Joe…” It wasn’t much as he’d said, she knew that, but looking at the pendant hanging from the velvet choker, basking in the warmth of Joe’s body, she at once felt loved. Stupid, but true. If he said the words right now, she’d have to feign surprise. Tension, maybe from the aftermath of the fire, from the frenzy of meeting Mr. Killian’s deadline, or perhaps from the growing sexual tension existing between them, melted out of her body until she just about sagged against him. So much happened between them in the past few days; it was dizzying…and special.
Joe stiffened at once. “You don’t like it.”
He sounded so crestfallen, she tilted her face toward his. “No, Joe, I do. I think it’s wonderful.” She brought her hand up. “Would you put it on me?”
A flare of hope lit his face. “It would be my pleasure.”
Tanya fingered the pendant often. While it felt foreign around her neck, stroking its twisted surface brought a measure of calm as they traversed the tile floor of the art gallery. Her heels tapped lightly across its surface, the sound of Joe’s sure footsteps in time with hers. They hadn’t yet run into Mr. Killian for news of any potential sales, but meeting him was inevitable.
“Do you know where it’s displayed?” she asked Joe in a hushed voice. Maybe viewing her art on the wall, the sense of pride it always brought, might bolster her courage.
“Uh, about that…Listen, I should have told you….”
“Tanya! Over here!” Mr. Killian’s voice cut through whatever Joe had been about to announce. She dropped her arm from within Joe’s folded one and turned to find Mr. Killian. He drifted between the small crowds gliding from show piece to show piece, wine glasses and dainty white napkins in hand. Most dressed well for the occasion, while artists like herself looked more relaxed in simple black outfits or jeans and sneakers. She recognized most of her peers on sight, a couple of them benefitting from Mr. Killian, too.
What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 7) Page 59
