Rock Solid
Page 12
He turned as if he knew she was there and smiled. If she thought the image of Maximo Vega in a tuxedo was stunning, the sight of the man smiling was her undoing. Air left her lungs in a whoosh. She reached out and grabbed the edge of the workbench before her knees failed.
“Did I wake you?” He moved toward her.
She shook her head. Heat flooded her cheeks. Parts of her turned liquid.
With the tip of a clay-stained finger, he lifted her chin so he could kiss her. The music swirled around them as he slipped his tongue into her mouth. Emily laid a hand on his chest to steady herself. The dark hair tickled her palm.
Max didn’t pull her to him. He didn’t push her against the wall. He didn’t even wrap his arms around her, yet the tenderness of his lips upon hers, the gentle sweep of his tongue against hers made her tremble with a need so fierce it forced a whimper from her throat.
He whispered against her lips. “I can’t stop thinking of you.”
“Welcome to my world.” She smiled. “I think of you all the time. I’ve started humming Italian music in the shower.” She closed her eyes and let the music weave its spell. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s Andrea Bocelli.”
“He has an amazing voice.” She played with the hair on his chest. “But, I bet he doesn’t kiss like you.”
Emily ran a hand up to the hand holding her chin. She wanted to guide it toward the tie of the robe and past the lush fabric to find a breast. She wanted him to take her in his arms and crush her chest to his. Feel his skin against hers. Feel his hands on her. Only a robe and a pair of jeans were between her and what she truly wanted.
“Last night was wonderful,” she breathed.
“Si, it was perfect. I still taste you on my tongue. Smell the sweetness of your skin. It was just what the work needed.”
Wait. Work? Did he say work?
He kissed the backs of her fingers and released his hold. “I can feel you now in the clay. The heat of your body. The play of your muscles. Your passion. I captured it and put it into the piece. You are my inspiration. La mia ispirazione. La mia musa.”
“Your muse?” Warring emotions skittered through her. After the night they’d spent in each other’s arms, was he telling her she was nothing more than work to him?
He was smiling at her and then kissed her forehead and stepped back to his clay. “The work is good now.” He turned the piece toward her. “Si?”
Her heart sat like a lump of his clay in her chest. “It’s lovely.” And she was a lovely idiot.
Maximo smoothed a hand over the figure’s calf, into the slender narrowing of the ankle. His masterful hands created the bone of the joint in a few short manipulations. Had Emily not been so stunned by his dismissal, she would have marveled at his technique.
He paused to glance at her. “It’s almost morning. Dante will arrive soon. You should go.”
“Right. I need to get home.”
“Si. But you’ll come back. We finish tonight.”
Emily pressed her lips together and nodded. Finish. Dear God, yes, let’s finish this. The pull and tug of this insane emotional dance with him was tearing her to shreds.
The cold concrete of the studio floor radiated up through her feet and wrapped its chill around her chest as she walked to the model’s lockers for her things. Behind her, the music grew louder. Maximo Vega’s lyrical drawbridge had been raised.
Standing in the same place she’d stood the night before, she pulled her car keys from a pocket and stared at them. The rain had stopped leaving everything to sparkle in the first light of morning. The sun was streaking pinks and golds across a freshly scrubbed sky. Would she ever be able to start her damn car without remembering last night? She really was an idiot. What had she expected? That one amazing night of sex with her and Maximo Vega would fall under her spell and love her forever?
Maybe this was what he did. Had he lied to her about sleeping with his interns and models? Perhaps this was how he treated them all. What made her think she was any different? Oh, God, Crystal LeMar might be right. Was she just one of his “chippies”?
Em slipped into the driver’s seat of the Jeep. She closed her eyes as she inserted the key in the ignition and turned. An ache wrung out her heart. Putting it in gear, the Jeep splashed through last night’s puddles on the way out of the parking lot. Another car pulled sharply in front of her. It startled her and had her slamming on the brakes. Come on, Em, pay attention before you get in an accident. She waved the other car on. It wasn’t until it passed her that realization hit. Dante.
Chapter Fifteen
He was a real shit. Last night he only wanted to apologize for the way he treated her, but standing there in the rain with Emily in her see-through robe, hearing her want him in spite of everything, in spite of him, he’d lost his all-important control. What was he thinking? That was the problem—he wasn’t thinking. He’d lost his mind.
Her response to his kisses and the little whimper of surrender she made when he touched her had evaporated his resolve. The way she held him, giving him as much pleasure as he tried to give her. No, he’d never regret taking her to his bed. Max’s bed. What he regretted with all his heart was his urgent need to distance her once again from Maximo Vega before she saw him for the lying bastard he was, before he hurt her any more.
Max stared at the clay statuette. It was brilliant. Maximo had done it again. He’d captured all her honest passion in the figure. The pleading. The desperate desire. It was all there. It was his best work, and it took all his self-control not to hurl the piece across the room. Would the fame and fortune after the world saw this piece be worth the price of his heart? Was it worth her heart?
He needed one more night to finish the work and make sure Emily was safely outside his circle of deceit. He’d protect her from caring too much. He’d put an end to it all tonight, no matter the ache that decision brought to his heart. Better to lose her now than watch her come to hate him.
The studio door slammed. Probably Dante. Max ignored it and kept working. The music turned off suddenly.
“I’m working.” Max didn’t turn around.
“And I’ll let you get back to it as soon as you explain to me what the hell you think you’re doing!” Dante’s voice reached an octave it rarely saw. “Tell me that wasn’t Emily Baskins I just saw pulling out of here in the same Jeep I noticed here last week. Tell me she isn’t the new model you were so secretive about.”
Max said nothing but turned and revealed the face of the bozzetto.
“Son of a bitch!” Dante looked from the statue to Max. His hand swept his view of Max’s lack of clothing. “You slept with her!”
Max wouldn’t deny it, but he wasn’t about to discuss it with him. “That’s none of your damn business.”
“Like hell it isn’t! I know she’s a gifted artist, but the girl’s a walking disaster area.” He paused a second, then added, “Does she know?”
“Of course she doesn’t know. I’ve got it all under control,” Max lied.
“Doesn’t look like it from where I’m standing. You have too much riding on this, Max. Let me get rid of her before she screws everything up.” Dante rubbed the spot between his eyebrows. “She should have been gone last week.”
“I told you, it’s under control. I’m dealing with it.”
“Emily Baskins?” Dante shook his head. “I don’t get it. Why now? Why her? You’ve had hoards of women who’d do anything to get into your bed, and nothing. But ‘Penis Buster’ Baskins? I’ve had a perpetual headache since the day she arrived.”
“Enough. You won’t talk about her like that. She’s better than both of us combined.”
Dante was examining the bozzetto. Shaking his head, he gestured to the piece. “You may be hopeless when picking woman, but you’re still the consummate artist. She’s incredible. You’ve outdone yourself on this one. It’s exquisite.” He cocked an eyebrow at Max. “Maybe you should sleep with more of your models.”
; “One thing has nothing to do with the other.”
“If you say so.” Beyond the curtain, the door slammed again, followed by the voices of other studio workers arriving for the day.
They exchanged a quick glance.
“You’ll say nothing.” Max pointed a dirty finger at Dante.
“Don’t I keep all your secrets?” Dante lowered his voice to a whisper.
“I mean to her.”
“You don’t have to worry about me.” Dante raised a hand.
“Good.” Max dropped a burnishing tool into his wash sink. A tiny sense of relief settled some of the tension in his shoulders. He could trust Dante. The man was as loyal as a St. Bernard and had just as much to lose as he did.
Max dried his hands and pushed his fingers through his hair. “So, what did you find out about my contract with Beverly Lavender?”
“You’re not going to like it. My lawyer friend says unless a tornado drops a house on her or she agrees to the dissolution, she has you locked in for the next twelve months, solid. She has complete authority to book appearances, press conferences and events on your behalf with or without your consent, as long as she can state the booking was done to improve your standing in the art community and enhance your career.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to show up.”
“She’s going to be tough to ignore. She called six times yesterday. I don’t know how far I’d risk pushing her.” Dante shrugged. “She’s aggressive. Could be good for your career.”
“Not if she digs too deep. She could ruin everything. This could turn into an absolute nightmare. If it’s true I’m locked into this deal, it’s going to be a long year of trying to keep her contained.”
“I’ll do what I can from this end, but sounds like from what the attorney says you’d better play nice or she’ll sue your ass quicker than it takes her nail polish to dry.”
“When have I ever played nice? Maybe she’ll decide I’m too much to handle.”
****
By three that afternoon, Beverly Lavender had increased her messages to an even dozen. She might have him in a bullet-proof contract, but she didn’t own him. He’d get back to her when and if he chose.
Maximo was leaving Dante’s office with her latest messages balled in his fist. Before he could file them in the nearest trash bin, the door to the studio slammed open and the woman marched in his direction.
Damn! He headed in the opposite direction.
“Maximo!”
“I’m busy.” He continued to show her his back as he moved toward his private area.
“We need to talk.” Her heels clicked on the cement floor like a bulldog chasing a mailman down a sidewalk.
“Make an appointment.”
Her hand clutched at his arm and tugged him to a stop. She was quick to move in front of him to block his escape. “Stop.” She put a palm on his chest. “I know you’re upset.”
He plucked her hand off and crossed his arms.
Beverly lifted both hands in surrender. “Things got off to a bad start. I take full responsibility for that. But you have to understand, I did it for your own good.”
He released a string of carefully chosen Italian expletives. “My own good?”
“Yes.” She mirrored his stance. “You hired me—”
“Now, I fire you!” He pushed past her.
She called to his back. “You can’t fire me, and you know it.”
He wasn’t listening.
“Just give me a chance. I’m great at what I do. I can make us both millionaires.”
He spun around at her. “By turning me into one of the animali dello zoo!” He threw up his hands. “Do I look the elefante?”
“I don’t speak Italian.” She pursed her lips.
“Elephant, elephant! I’m not a trained animal you can shove a brush up my trunk and force me to work!” His raised voice echoed. Work around the studio stopped as workers stared toward the heated exchange.
Beverly gasped and planted her hands on her hips. “We never force Babu to work! He loves to paint. And I’ll have you know, thanks to me, he pulled in six figures last year for the wildlife reserve in San Diego.”
They glared at one another. Beverly gave a little huff and put her hands into some meditation pose, palms up with her thumb and index finger touching. She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Om…” She continued in a quieter tone, “Listen to me. It doesn’t have to be this hard. Let me help you.”
“I don’t want your help.”
Her calm was short-lived. She jammed her hands onto her hips again. “No,” she snapped, “what you don’t want, is me as an enemy. We have a solid contract, and I won’t be bullied into submission, not even by the great Maximo Vega. I’m good at what I do. I can get you and your work the attention it deserves. You signed the papers. You’ve already given me the authority. If you’d only cooperate with me.”
“You know nothing about me or my work.” He shook his head and turned away.
“So you’re not the least bit interested in the fact I secured you an exclusive premier showing at the Bruce?”
That stopped him. The Bruce Gallery in Boston was a prestigious one. The owner and director, Daniel Bruce ruled the art scene in the northeast. He had six other galleries scattered all over the country, with strong connections overseas and a wealthy worldwide clientele.
“Three weeks, Boston, four weeks, New York, three weeks, San Francisco. First-class travel accommodations, full transportation, promotion, and exclusive invitation-only black-tie opening in each city, the works.”
He turned back. “I don’t believe you.”
Her perfectly shaped eyebrows reached for her hairline. “Why do you think I’ve been calling you every hour on the hour? Daniel Bruce loves you. Says he’s been trying to get you into his galleries for the last two years. He’s willing to give us anything we ask for. Whatever we want. You want plaid orchids from Istanbul at every opening, you’ve got them. Anything you could ever want or need.”
She lifted her ridiculous purple briefcase and patted its side. “I have the initial paperwork outlining his proposal right here for your approval.”
Behind Beverly, Max caught sight of Emily coming into the studio. Her pale hair was the spiky mess he remembered from her first day. A backpack hung from one shoulder. The baseball jersey, jeans and heavy boots screamed college intern, but he knew better. He saw beyond it all to the passionate woman beneath. The soft swell of blushed lips he had spent the night kissing. The faint smudges beneath her eyes that told him she hadn’t gone home to sleep. The falter in her step when her eyes met his. He noticed all that, too.
Emily held his gaze for one slow-motion stride before looking to the floor and hurrying past them. When he glanced back at a now-silent Beverly, her eyes were drilling smoking holes into Emily’s back. “What was that?”
“What was what?”
She turned her glare on him. “Don’t be obtuse. I caught the way you stared at her. What exactly was that?”
“That was none of your business.”
“Wrong. You are my business.” She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. “Now I remember. She’s the student. The intern from Stoddard. What’s going on with you and her?”
“Arresto. Drop it.”
Beverly’s eyes bore into his before shifting back to Emily and back to him. “Fine. I’ll drop it, on one condition. You give me twenty minutes to go over this paperwork with you and you stop fighting me.”
“I don’t respond to ultimatums.”
“I’m not giving you an ultimatum. I’m giving you a brilliant future. Twenty minutes. I’m not beyond begging.”
“Then you’ll leave me in peace?”
“For today.”
Chapter Sixteen
Emily was beyond exhausted. She’d gone home and managed to get past Trixie without raising any alarms. The shop opened early on Tuesdays and Em didn’t have any classes at the school, so Trixie always let her sleep in.
At least as Emily ran the four-minute mile wrestling with the covers in her bed, she came to a conclusion. She was foolish to not have trusted her initial instincts. Last night, while being the most amazing sex she’d ever had, it was also the biggest mistake she’d ever made. She had to end it. Tonight. She’d just explain to Maximo that…that…What? That he was the most amazing lover, but she was over him? Thanks for the best night of my life, but I’ve decided to join a convent?
By the time she arrived at the studio, she’d decided it didn’t matter how she said it or what words she used. She couldn’t let things continue. Then she saw him talking to Beverly Lavender. Emily tripped and fell heart-first into the deep well of his eyes. From halfway across the room, the caress of his gaze reached her.
He flustered her so much, she raced through the studio and forgot the door to the locker room was a “pull” not a “push.” She damn near broke her arm when she hit it at full stride. Son of a biscuit! No. Stop. She was stronger than this. Where was her self-respect? She would not fall for him. Not anymore. It had to end before he shredded her heart into party confetti. She’d be fine just as long as she didn’t look at him.