The Jewel of His Collection

by Fae Mallory

  * * * *

  Violet had enough time to devour three scones and dash off a first draft of a “help wanted” ad before having to open the museum for the day. As she waited for her first customer, she picked up a pen and sketched out a few possibilities for paintings, her heart racing. Even in college she’d never been this feverishly inspired, and if having her heart broken was all it took to reignite her creativity, Violet wished she’d met and thrown herself at Ian years ago.

  When the bell above the door chimed, she put down her pen, but instead of a customer, Xavier stepped into the lobby, followed by two men carrying a large, flat package wrapped in brown paper. “Miss Fabre, I have a delivery from Mr. Carlisle.”

  “Geminids,” she said, her voice flat. She’d thought she was beyond embarrassment, but having Xavier walk into her museum bearing Ian’s payment for the sexual services she’d rendered made bile rise in her throat.

  Ian hadn’t even bothered to deliver the painting himself, trusting his lackey to pay her off. No doubt Xavier had plenty of experience at getting rid of Ian’s discarded lovers. “Leroy!” she shouted.

  When the burly man appeared, Violet requested, “Please help Mr. Xavier put his delivery in the vault.” Pleased with how steady she sounded, she deliberately turned her back on the proceedings, feigning a rapt interest in her computer screen.

  Even though she was very careful not to watch anything the men did, she could feel Xavier looking at her when he paused by her desk. “I have the paperwork,” he said, sounding uncertain.

  She turned just enough to snatch it out of his hand and shove it into her bottom desk drawer without looking, slamming it with her foot. “Thank you.”

  Although she’d relieved him of his burden, Xavier seemed disinclined to move. “Mr. Carlisle promised to visit you as soon as he can. He’s dealing with a company crisis.”

  Clenching her fist, Violet resisted the urge to jeer at him. It was amazing how crises always seemed to spring up right after they had sex. “Tell him not to hurry on my account.”

  “It’s good of you to be so understanding.” Xavier was looking at her as if he expected her to say something, visibly deflating when Violet ignored him. “I’ll relay your gratitude?” he suggested.

  “Yes, do that,” she said, her voice thick with sarcasm. What woman wouldn’t be grateful to be paid so handsomely for her services? Maybe she was supposed to be thankful that Ian paid his debts promptly.

  When the bell rang to admit actual visitors to the museum, Violet devoted her full attention to them, turning up her charm to an almost overbearing degree as she asked the pleasant family all about their hometown and their visit Owensport, relieved when Leroy showed the deliverymen to the door. With a final, searching look, Xavier followed them out.

  “I suppose you’re going to want me to hang that,” Leroy grumbled as Violet waved the family into the Madden exhibit.

  The question brought her up short. Geminids was a masterpiece that would draw a crowd all by itself. The curator in her recoiled at the thought of leaving it locked away where no one could enjoy it. The painting deserved to be seen and appreciated. At the same time, she couldn’t bear the thought of hanging it in the gallery where she’d have to look at it every day and be reminded of her broken heart.

  “Not today,” she answered finally. “I have to figure out where it will look best.”

  Leroy accepted the excuse without protest since it meant less work for him. Having bought herself some time, Violet threw herself into her work, greeting her guests and sketching during her downtime, doing everything she could to banish the existence of Geminids from her mind. She was in love with a man who thought he could buy her sexual services with the loan of a painting. At least her muse was getting some good material out of it.

  By the time the end of her workday neared, Violet had ideas for two dozen paintings, a shopping list of art supplies as long as her arm, and a final draft of her help wanted ad that she e-mailed to the local paper with the hope that Paul had nothing to do with the classifieds section. After a moment’s consideration, she also forwarded a copy to the art departments of every college in a fifty-mile radius. For an art student, the opportunity to work in an actual museum would be experience worth an uncomfortable commute.

  Pleased with her accomplishments, she was just packing up for the day when her phone rang. Looking at the incoming number, Violet winced, wondering if she could get away with ignoring Ian’s call.

  If she did that, he’d only call back. Worse, he might show up as Xavier had threatened, and more than anything, Violet wanted to avoid being in the same room as Ian. He had a way of destroying her self-control, and her dignity would never survive the humiliation of sleeping with him a third time. “Violet Fabre.” She spoke as though she had no idea who was on the other end of the line, her voice brisk and businesslike.

  “Sweetheart, I’m sorry,” were the first words out of his mouth. “I meant to come see you, but I’m swamped.”

  After her complaint about him not calling her after their encounter in the Madden gallery, Ian was no doubt trying to keep her sweet so she’d be willing to put out again the next time he had an itch to scratch. “Think nothing of it. I didn’t.”

  “Did you like your present?” he asked hopefully.

  Violet rolled her eyes at his description of the loan as a present for her. “Absolutely. I appreciate your prompt payment,” she bit out.

  “What?” Ian’s voice was a growl, and she cursed herself when it made her shiver. Even after everything, she still wanted him.

  Irritated with her lack of self-control, Violet went on the offensive. “Now that I’ve gotten what I wanted from you, I see no reason that we need to have any further communication.” The words hurt to say, but it was better if he thought that she’d used him to get his paintings than if he knew she’d fallen in love with a man who was completely out of her league.

  On the other end of the line, Ian sucked in a sharp breath. “You don’t mean that.”

  “Indeed, I do, Mr. Carlisle.” It was unfair of him to sound hurt when he was the one who’d insulted her.

  “So, that’s it?” he demanded. “Now that you have Geminids, I can pound sand?”

  “The museum thanks you for your contribution,” she said sweetly before jamming her thumb against the button to end the call, refusing to blink for fear that the tears in her eyes would fall. Just to be on the safe side, she turned her phone off completely. If Ian called back, she didn’t want to talk to him, and if he didn’t call back, she didn’t want to know that he’d written her off.

  Her throat aching with unshed tears, Violet locked the museum and headed for home, feeling too fragile to bother stopping at the art supply store. She still had one canvas left, and that would have to do for tonight because if she had to talk to anyone, she was certain that she’d break into a million tiny pieces.

  She stopped at the drive-through on the way home, telling herself that she’d feel better once she got her blood sugar back up, but the hamburger didn’t help. It wasn’t until she was dressed in her pajamas and standing in front of her easel that she finally allowed herself to cry, sobbing for the dream that had been almost within her reach. For a moment, she’d actually believed that Ian could love her, and the reality that he saw her as no more than a willing body was almost more than she could bear.

  Her heart felt like it had been dipped in saltwater and wrung out, and suddenly even the rebirth of her muse wasn’t enough to justify the pain. Like Icarus, she’d flown too close to the sun, and like that waxed-wing boy, she was paying the price for her hubris. She had nothing to offer a man like Ian, save for ready access to her body, and she couldn’t live that life. She couldn’t bear to let him fuck her and leave her only to return whenever it was convenient for him. She had enough self-respect to demand more for herself.

  Before she left the museum, Violet had sketched a dozen different paintings, but now there was only one image in her mind. Cursing hersel
f, she applied brush to canvas, bringing Ian’s face to life with tiny strokes.

  Her style didn’t lend itself to portraiture, but Violet’s hand moved ceaselessly. With her heart in her throat, she recreated the strong line of Ian’s jaw and the tiny dimple that appeared next to his mouth only when he was intently focused on something. She’d most often seen it when he was focused on her, and Violet stifled a sob. She was never going to see that dimple again.

  Her hands were steady as she painted, belying her inner turmoil. This was an exercise in masochism. She was torturing herself by painting the face of a man who would never return her feelings. Still, she painted him, bringing all her talent to bear on getting the look in his eyes exactly right—that heated, teasing expression that even now made her go weak at the knees.

  By the time she finished, Violet was shaking, exhaustion and emotion getting the best of her at last. The portrait on her easel was easily the best work she’d ever done—a beautiful tribute to the man who’d stolen her heart. Ian looked like he could simply step off the page, and for a moment she wished he would do just that.

  From a technical standpoint, the painting was brilliant, but Violet knew she’d never be able to show it to anymore. Every brushstroke sang with her love for him. Even a quick glimpse would tell the viewer everything there was to know about her feelings for a man who saw her as little more than a willing body to be used.

  On numb feet, Violet turned her back on the painting and shuffled off to bed. It was after midnight, and she had a full day of work ahead of her. Tomorrow was the first day of her post-Ian life, but if she could get through it, maybe every day after would be a little easier until the memory of him became a distant ache instead of the crushing pain she was experiencing now.

  The following morning, Violet refused to let herself even look at the painting, keeping her back to it as she got herself ready for work. The few hours of rest she’d gotten had left her feeling more tired than she’d been when she went to bed, and she felt like she was sleepwalking as she headed for her car.

  The brisk pace of her workday woke her up a little. Every time the bell above the door chimed, her heart leapt with the fruitless hope that Ian would show up to demand Geminids back or to ride roughshod over her objections and claim her again, and she tried to consider herself lucky when only strangers walked through the door. She’d gotten the last word, and even though she had a broken heart, she still had her pride.

  Her pride was cold comfort, but it was better than nothing. Now all she needed to do was put all of this behind her. She’d stick her three most recent paintings in the back of a closet where she could forget about them and start something new. She’d move on with her life, and someday Ian would just be a distant memory.

  In order to move on, she had to do something about Geminids. With the indecision of what to do with the painting hanging over her head, she’d be rooted right where she was. She’d have Leroy hang it somewhere, and then it would just be another part of the exhibit.

  As soon as the museum closed for the day, Violet steeled herself and opened her bottom desk drawer to find the paperwork Xavier had handed her yesterday, meaning to put it with the rest of the documentation regarding the Madden exhibit. The papers had gotten rumpled from her rough handling, and Violet laid them flat on her desk to smooth them out when the header caught her eye.

  “Transfer of ownership,” she read aloud, her lips shaping the words like she’d never spoken them before, her body going numb with horror as she read over the paper.

  Violet jerked open her desk drawer and pulled out the Madden folder, flipping it open to compare the two documents. The original paperwork stated clearly that the paintings were being loaned to the Owensport Museum, but the paper Xavier handed her yesterday looked very different indeed.

  Ian hadn’t lent Geminids to the museum. He’d given it to her.

  Chapter 10

  “Oh my God.” Violet breathed hard through her nose as she read over the document. There was no possible misunderstanding. The painting was a gift, not a temporary loan. Ian had given her Geminids.

  The first day she met him, he’d told her that the painting was special to him, so special that he refused to loan it to the museum. What could have possessed him to simply give it to her like another man would hand her a box of chocolates?

  There was only one possible explanation, and Violet pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob. Ian wouldn’t give up his prized possession just to thank her for a sexual encounter. If he was giving her Geminids, he could only be doing it because she meant more to him than the painting. Ian loved her.

  He loved her, and she’d thrown his gift back in his face because she’d assumed the worst.

  Tears spilled down her cheeks as she thought back over their last conversation. She’d been horrible to him, implying that she’d only slept with him to get the painting and telling him that she wanted no further contact now that she had it. He must think she was a complete mercenary who’d been using him for her own gain. She had to apologize. Somehow she’d make him understand that she’d just been defending herself.

  Lunging for her phone, she dialed Ian’s number, trying to control her breathing when Xavier picked up. “It’s Violet Fabre. I need to talk to Ian.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Fabre. Mr. Carlisle cannot be disturbed at this time,” Xavier told her, his voice politely distant.

  “Xavier, please. It’s very important that I speak to him.” Violet braced her free hand against her desk, the cool touch of wood keeping her grounded.

  “I’ll relay your message and have him call you at his earliest convenience,” Xavier promised.

  She’d run face-first into the brick wall of Xavier’s professionalism, and as she mumbled a good-bye and hung up, Violet feared the worst. Was Ian actually busy or had he told Xavier not to put her through if she called? After what she’d said to him, Violet could hardly blame him for not wanting to talk to her.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” she whispered, her voice tiny in the still air of the museum’s deserted lobby. She’d been so blinded by her own insecurities that she’d jumped to all kinds of strange conclusions, putting the worst spin possible on Ian’s words and actions. When he tried to explain, she’d refused to listen, going so far as to kiss Paul right in front of him in an effort to show him that he meant nothing to her.

  She’d hurt him, and he’d still given her Geminids. Violet’s heart ached when she thought about the risk he’d taken. He’d given her his favorite painting, and what had she done? Told him to leave her alone now that she’d gotten what she wanted from him.

  “I’m an idiot.” She slumped forward to rest her head on her desk.

  “Who are you talking to?” Violet didn’t bother to sit up when she heard Leroy’s voice.

  “Myself,” she admitted.

  She could practically hear him roll his eyes. “Right. Did you figure out where you want that new painting to go yet?”

  Geminids was hers now to do with as she pleased. She could add it to the exhibit or hang it in her own apartment. It was all too easy to imagine it hanging at the head of the bed she shared with Ian, the two of them making love under it, a reminder of the exhibit that had brought them together.

  However, her dream was just that. She would be going home to an empty apartment, and there was no guarantee that Ian would ever speak to her again, much less accept her apology or want to share a life with her. Yesterday, he’d cared about her, but love was a fragile emotion. Her stubborn pride could have easily killed it.

  “Not yet.” Leroy grunted and left her in peace. If Ian didn’t forgive her, she couldn’t keep the painting. It was the height of unfairness to accept such a gift. Maybe if she returned it to him, he’d realize that her motives weren’t mercenary at all. Of course, if she returned it, he might think that she was rejecting him along with his gift. There seemed to be no way to win. For the time being, Geminids would stay safely locked in the vault until she could hav
e a proper conversation with Ian.

  All she had to do was get him to talk to her, and with Xavier running interference, Violet wasn’t sure how to accomplish that. She couldn’t exactly force Xavier to relay a message saying, “I’m sorry I said I only slept with you for the painting. I love you. Please talk to me.” Her pride rebelled at the very thought.

  What was more important—her pride or her future happiness? It was an easy question to answer. Ian had taken a risk by giving her Geminids. She couldn’t do less just because she was afraid he’d reject her.

  Suddenly the answer was obvious. Violet all but ran for her car, paying only scant attention to traffic laws in her haste to get home. Ian’s portrait was sitting exactly where she’d left it, and she examined it with critical eyes, afraid that upon reflection, it wouldn’t be as revealing as she’d thought.

  She needn’t have worried. The emotion radiating from the painting was palpable, every brushstroke a testament to her love for Ian. If he looked at it, he’d know how she felt, and then the ball would be in his court. He’d be free to accept or reject her love. Violet couldn’t begin to guess which he’d choose, but she had to try. At least then she’d have the comfort of knowing that she’d done all she could to ensure her own happiness. She’d foresworn risks, but if she didn’t take this one, she’d regret it for the rest of her life.

  With shaking hands, she signed and dated the canvas, and then wrapped it in butcher paper to protect it for transport and from Xavier’s eyes. The painting was private, intended for Ian’s viewing alone. Now all she had to do was get it past his gatekeeper.

  Although she’d only made the drive to Ian’s house once, the route was engrained on her mind, giving her plenty of time to think as she drove. The last time she made this trip, she’d been prepared to bare her body. This time, she was going to bare her heart and soul, and she could only hope that he would be receptive.