Lucy sighed and stepped beside him. She studied the painting, but all he could focus on was the intriguing scent of her perfume and the glittering rubies at her ears. The sparkle drew his gaze to the long line of her neck. It was hard for him not to ogle, knowing the bare skin traveled down to the small of her back, exposed by the red dress she’d chosen from the personal shopper.
“This looks like something a child would doodle with crayons,” he said.
“This is a popular piece by Joan Miró.”
“Never heard of her.”
“Him,” she corrected. “This is part of his Constellation series from the early 1940s, and one of my favorites, actually. It’s called The Beautiful Bird Revealing the Unknown to a Pair of Lovers.”
Oliver forced his attention back to the painting and searched for whatever Lucy saw in it. He could find no bird, beautiful or otherwise, nor a pair of lovers. There was just a bunch of black circles and triangles scattered around a brown background with a couple random eyeballs. He turned his head sideways but it didn’t help. It didn’t make any sense to him. “Okay, Miss Art Connoisseur, show off your expertise and explain this piece to me.”
“Okay,” Lucy said with a confident nod. “This painting is well-known for its simplified color palette and line work designed to simulate a constellation in the night sky. What I’ve always appreciated about the piece is the sense of joy despite the chaos, which is a reflection of the artist’s life at the time, in war-torn Europe. He worked on the pieces during the Spanish Civil War and actually fled the German advance into France with little more than this collection of paintings. He said that working on this collection liberated him from focusing on the tragedy of war. They were a joyful escape and I see that in his works. You have the calm of night, the jubilant dance of the stars...”
Lucy continued to talk about the work, but Oliver was far more interested in watching her. It was as though she was finally comfortable in her own skin, but it had nothing to do with him. She was no longer the fish out of water amongst the rich, mingling crowds of the charity event. She was the contemporary art expert, finally solid in her footing. Her dark eyes twinkled and her face lit up with excitement for the beauty of what she was looking at.
It was transformative. The dress was pretty, the makeup and the hair were well done, but it was this moment that Lucy truly became stunningly beautiful in his eyes. His breath caught in his throat as she gestured toward the painting and the overhead lights cast a shadow across the interesting angles and curves of her face. Her full, red lips moved quickly as she spoke, teasing him to come closer and capture them with his mouth.
“Oliver?”
His gaze darted from her lips to her eyes, which had a twinkle of amusement in them. “Yes?”
“You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you? I’ve bored you to tears. You did ask me to tell you about it.”
“Yes, I did. And I was listening,” he lied. “I just got distracted by the beauty.”
Lucy smirked and turned back toward the painting. “It is lovely, isn’t it?”
“I was talking about you.”
Lucy’s head snapped to look in his direction as she gasped audibly. Her ruby lips parted softly as she looked at him without finding any words.
“You know, the last time I said you were beautiful, you kissed me. And hit me. But first, you kissed me.”
Lucy’s mouth closed into a smile. “Yes, well, I don’t intend to do either of those things here, no matter what you say.” She took a sip of her champagne and continued to stroll through the exhibit.
Oliver grinned and hurried to catch up with her. They’d just see about that.
* * *
“This section of the museum is dedicated to works of the sixties,” Lucy said as they rounded the corner. She didn’t want to keep talking about how beautiful he thought she looked tonight or about the kisses they’d shared at Emma’s baby shower. Nothing good could come of the way he was looking at her, especially on the mostly deserted upper floors of the museum where anything could happen without witnesses.
She hadn’t dated a lot, especially since she dropped out of Yale, so understanding men was not her strong suit. She got the feeling that even if it were, she would still be confused where Oliver was concerned. He didn’t seem outwardly to like her, and yet he was always around. He was insulting her integrity one moment and complimenting her so-called beauty the next.
His mood swings were giving her whiplash. There was one thing she was certain of, however—those kisses on the Dempseys’ patio had been passionate, tingle-inducing and toe-curling. Maybe the best kisses of her life. And yet his calm dismissal of the whole thing had left her uncertain of him and what he wanted from her.
Since Lucy couldn’t be sure where she stood with Oliver, she knew her best course of action would be to keep her distance physically. Truce or no truce, it would only lead to trouble. She might not be able to avoid him when he seemed determined to seek her out, but she didn’t need to encourage him. At least until the court case was decided either way, she needed to stay away from Oliver Drake.
She just didn’t want to.
On the wall ahead of them was the famous collection of Yves Klein. She’d studied his work extensively in college as his artistic techniques were quite the scandalous production back then, and even now, although for somewhat different reasons. She was relieved to have art to talk about instead of focusing on the unmistakable connection between the two of them.
“I think you’ll like this collection by Yves Klein. It’s called Anthropométrie de L’époque Bleue.”
Oliver stopped to study the first piece with a confused expression furrowing his brow. “I didn’t understand the other one we discussed, but at least I could tell it was an actual painting that took skill of some kind. This is a giant white canvas with blue smears all over it.”
Lucy smiled. “That’s the final outcome, yes. But Klein was more of a performance artist in his day than just a painter. He created all these works with live audiences and an orchestra playing music in the background. He was quite famous for the events he put on. His most well-known piece, Fire-Color FC 1, sold at auction for over 36 million dollars in 2012.”
His jaw dropped as he turned to look at her in disbelief. “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to sit and watch a man paint for hours, much less pay that much for the sloppy outcome.”
If that was all he’d done, it wouldn’t have been interesting, that was true. She couldn’t help leaning in and sharing the critical tidbit about Klein’s methods into his ear. She pressed her palm on his shoulder and climbed to her toes to brush her lips against the outer shell. “He painted with nude women.”
The lines in Oliver’s brow deepened as he turned to her. “So he painted with nude women standing around? A little distracting and gimmicky, don’t you think?”
“No. He didn’t use paintbrushes. He didn’t even touch the canvas, actually. He used what he called ‘living brushes.’ He literally used the bodies of beautiful nude women smeared in paint. Or he traced their naked bodies onto the canvas and burned the image into the fabric with a torch.”
“Seriously?”
Lucy nodded. “I’ve watched video recordings of his exhibitions and they were quite the spectacle. Just imagine all these well-to-do art lovers coming to a museum, and when they get there, they’re greeted by a man in a tuxedo and maybe six young, attractive and very naked women. They sat there and watched as the women smeared the paint all over their skin, then pressed their bodies into the canvas, just as the artist guided them. He was more of a director, really, coaching the women into creating the shapes and images he wanted to portray. With the music and the lighting...it was such a sensual experience. To capture that kind of feeling in a work of art is amazing, really.”
He squinted at the canvas, but Lucy could tell he needed help envisioning it in
the peculiar shapes left behind.
She stepped between him and the closest painting. “So picture me naked,” she said with a smile. “There’s buckets of blue paint and plastic tarps all over the floor. Even some canvases on the floor. I rub the paint all over my skin, covering everything as Yves directs, then position my body just so and press into the canvas.” Lucy stood in front of the painting and tried to situate her body to mimic the imprint. “Can you see it now?”
He didn’t answer. Finally, she dropped her arms and turned back to where he was standing. He was looking at her, but the expression in his eyes was not one of a casual appreciation for art. It looked as though he’d taken her far too literally when she’d told him to imagine her naked. A desire blazed in his blue-gray eyes as he watched her. So much for a distraction.
“I see it now,” Oliver said, but he still wasn’t looking at the painting. Instead, he took a step closer to her, closing the gap between them.
Lucy was suddenly very aware of her body. Despite the pleasant temperature of the museum, a blanket of goose bumps settled across her skin and made the hairs prickle at the back of her neck. She could feel the heat of Oliver as he hovered ever nearer, yet not touching her. The scent of his cologne made her long to press against him and bury her nose in his throat. All that talk about Klein’s work had been the last thing they’d needed.
His hand reached out and his fingertips brushed across hers, sending jolts of electricity through her whole body. A warm rush of desire settled in her belly, urging her not to pull away from him this time. They’d both danced around this moment and she found she was desperate to see what would come next if they let things just happen.
Oliver leaned in, his face close enough to kiss her if either of them turned just right. “Lucy...?” he whispered.
She might be on a long celibate streak, but she knew what it meant when a man said her name like that. She wanted to say yes and throw her arms around his neck, but she wouldn’t. This simmering passion just beneath the surface was dangerous, and she knew it. Did she dare give in to it? Could she trust the man who had previously been determined to call her out as a manipulative crook?
He certainly didn’t seem interested in talking about his aunt’s estate right now.
“Yes?” she replied, her voice trembling as her body ached to reach for him.
“Would you mind if we left the party a little early?” His breath was hot against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine.
“It just started,” Lucy argued half-heartedly. It was a charity event and neither of them had been very charitable so far. “What about the school?”
Oliver leaned back and pierced her with his blue-gray gaze. “How about we go back downstairs, I write a check to make everyone happy and then you and I go back to my place. To talk about art,” he added.
“A big check,” Lucy suggested. He could afford it, even if she couldn’t.
“Of course. You’ll learn that with me, it’s go big or go home,” he said with a sly grin and a wink that promised more big things to come.
Seven
“Nice place,” Lucy said as they stepped into his penthouse apartment.
Oliver just shrugged off the compliment. “It works for me. It’s not a Fifth Avenue apartment overlooking the park or anything.”
“Most people don’t have that. Just because your aunt did doesn’t make your place any less fantastic. If I hadn’t been living with her all these years, I’d be renting a place the size of your entryway.”
Lucy looked around in curiosity, taking in every detail of the place he’d paid to have professionally decorated. Oliver didn’t really care about things like that. This was just a place to sleep at night. He did what was expected of him in this case because his apartment needed furniture and things on the wall. Thanks to all the money he’d spent, he now had expensive glass bowls that appeared to serve no real purpose and tiny statues that gathered dust. Thankfully he also had a cleaning service that came in to deal with that.
Oliver slipped out of his suit coat and threw it over the arm of the leather sofa. In his pocket, he found the receipt for the painting he’d just purchased at the charity event. He folded it neatly and tucked it away before Lucy could see it. She thought he’d simply made a donation to the high school before they left, but he’d actually gone in and placed a ridiculously high bid on the student painting she’d admired earlier. It ensured he would win the auction. Once the piece was assessed by the art department for the senior’s final grade, it would be delivered anonymously to Lucy’s apartment.
He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d done it. Oliver wasn’t exactly known for making flashy donations to charities or giving extravagant gifts. Most of the people in his life didn’t need anything, so he quietly supported a few causes. In this case, however, he just knew he wanted to do something nice and unexpected for Lucy. She would appreciate it in a way few women he knew would. He hoped he’d be there when it was delivered so he could see the smile on her face when she saw it. That was enough for him.
“I see now why it’s so easy for you to show up at the apartment unannounced,” she said, pulling him from his thoughts. “You’re only a few blocks away.”
He approached her from behind as she stood in his living room and reached up to help her slip out of her coat. The night had grown chilly, but his apartment was very warm. He sighed as his eyes took in one inch after the next of her exposed back as the coat slipped down her arms and into his. The movement brought the scent of her skin to his nose, urging him to lean in closer. He longed to run his fingertip along the curve of her spine and follow the path with his mouth. Every time he looked at that outfit, he liked it more.
With the coat in his arms, Lucy turned to look at him expectantly. What had she asked about? Where he lived. “Yes,” he responded. Oliver took a deep breath to push aside the building desire for a little while longer. He had no intention of attacking Lucy the moment he got her alone, as much as he might like to. “It’s convenient to my offices and such. It’s nice to live close to my father and sister as well. Dropping in on you so easily was just a bonus.” He laid her coat across his own on the sofa. “Would you like a drink?”
“I would,” she said with a polite smile. “Do you have a patio or a balcony where we could step out and enjoy it?”
He hesitated for a moment, not sure if he wanted to share that part of his life with her. At least not yet. It was one thing to want to seduce Lucy, another entirely to open up his most private place. His apartment didn’t have a traditional balcony; it had something much nicer that was very personal to him. He’d actually never showed it to a woman he was dating before, and he wasn’t even sure he’d call this situation with Lucy dating. “Not exactly,” he replied as he disappeared into the kitchen to stall his response.
“What does that mean?” Lucy asked as she turned the corner to join him.
He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he’d always kept that part of his life very private. Maybe it was watching his father give over everything to Candace, only to have her ruin it. Maybe it was just keeping something for himself that he didn’t have to explain to anyone else. Harper had only seen his garden once.
And yet, he wanted to show it off to Lucy.
He’d never felt that compulsion before, and it unnerved him that he wanted to show her, of all people. “I have a large rooftop patio,” he explained. “It’s more of a garden, really. That’s where I go when I want to...get dirty and unplug.” From life, from stress, from all the drama of his family. He found his center when he was up to his elbows in potting soil. It was hard to explain that to the other rich CEOs who preferred racquetball, cigars and fine scotch to unwind.
“That sounds wonderful,” Lucy said. “I’d love to see it.”
Oliver worked on opening a bottle of wine and pouring two healthy glasses of chardonnay. He tried not to appear nervous about taki
ng Lucy to see his handiwork. Surely he could manage to show it to her without letting her know how significant it was to him. “Sure. There’s some great views from up there.”
He handed her a glass and she followed him to a door in the hallway that looked like a closet, but actually hid a staircase up to the roof. Oliver took a soothing breath as he stepped out onto the patio with Lucy in his wake. “This is my retreat from the concrete jungle,” he said.
Lucy’s reply didn’t come right away. Instead, when he turned to see what was wrong, he found her slack-jawed and wide-eyed. She looked around his garden as though she’d never seen anything like it in her life. And maybe she hadn’t. He knew immediately that there was no way to hide how important this place was to him. It was obvious just by looking at it.
“I don’t know what I was expecting,” Lucy said at last. “Maybe some clay pots with petunias in them or something. But nothing like this.”
That’s probably because there were few rooftop gardens like this in the city. He had trees and shrubs in huge planters along the edges of the roofline that made the garden feel private and secluded. There were twinkle lights wrapped through the branches and strung overhead, mixing with the stars. Pea-gravel pathways made a complicated pattern around raised flowerbeds where he was growing all manner of flowers and a few vegetables he donated to the food bank. Many of the plants would soon die back for the winter, but most were still showing off their foliage and brightly colored blooms.
“I had no idea you were a gardener. Harper never mentioned it. How did the CEO of a computer company get into something like this?”
“Few people know about it. Harper knows, she just doesn’t mention it very often because she’s afraid I’m going to make her come up and pull weeds or something.” Oliver stuffed his free hand into his pants pocket and slowly strolled along the gravel path.
“It’s funny you should ask how I got into it... When I was very young, my mother had a garden like this on their rooftop, and I helped her from time to time. I guess I got my green thumb from her. After she died, my father basically let her garden run wild. He didn’t want anyone up there messing with her things. Years later as a teenager, I got the stupid idea to go up there and grow some weed. It was such a mess that I didn’t figure anyone would notice, but my dad saw me sneaking out there once or twice and eventually busted me.”
Rags to Riches Baby Page 8
