by MK Schiller
I sucked in a breath, realising just how hard I was falling for him. I tried not to get jealous when a younger woman rubbed his arm and complimented his shirt after he explained the difference between oil and latex paint. Get your own Grey-Vila combo—this one is mine.
He extricated himself from the crowd, smiling sheepishly at me. He threw a large box into the cart when he approached. “I’m sorry, it’s easy to get distracted in here.”
“I can see that. You already have a fan club.”
He shrugged. “They just wanted some advice.”
A few of them wanted more than that, but I was just too smitten with him to let it dampen my spirits.
“What’s that?” I pointed to the box.
“Tools, you need them. A man can only use a pink screwdriver for so long.”
The clerk in the orange smock chased after us as we were leaving.
“Excuse me,” he said to Damien. “I wanted you to know we’re hiring managers. You should apply if you’re interested.”
I cupped my hand against my mouth, choking back the giggles.
Damien smiled politely. “Thank you for the offer, but I have a job I’m happy with.”
“Well, if you ever change your mind, we’re always looking for people who know what they’re doing.”
Oh yeah, he knew exactly what he was doing.
* * * *
Damien moved all the furniture out of the room. We draped linen drop cloths on the floor and taped off the baseboards. He went to work replacing my hot water heater while I started painting.
Of course, I need music to get me motivated. Justin Timberlake provided the perfect backdrop. I had successfully coated all the walls once and was working on the last one when SexyBack came on. I swayed my hips to it.
The low whistle from the doorway almost made me drop my roller. “Hey,” I said.
Damien leaned against the doorjamb, twirling the screwdriver in his hand, wearing a sexy smirk. “Hi there.”
“You’re all done?”
“Yep, I’ll call a guy later to help me carry out your old one.”
“Now you’re going to call a guy?”
“I’m not an idiot. It’s too heavy and awkward for me to do by myself.”
“I can help you.”
His sly smile took my breath away. “No, you can’t.”
“I’m stronger than I look,” I said, flexing my arms, hoping a muscle would pop out.
He just laughed harder in response. I turned back to resume my work, hiding my annoyance. Does he think I’m a weakling?
He sauntered over to me and wrapped his arms around me. He kissed my neck and this time I did drop the roller.
“You’re freakishly strong, but there’s no way I’m letting you help.”
“Why?”
“Because in this relationship, I do the heavy lifting.”
“And I do the light stuff, like painting?”
“Yeah, except you’re doing it wrong.”
“What are you talking about? I’ve always painted like this.”
“Then I guess you’ve been doing it wrong all your life. Let me show you.” He picked up the roller, dipping it and running it over the pan to get off the excess paint. He held my waist while applying the paint to the wall. “Painting is a lot like life.”
“I’m going to get a painting lesson and a philosophical primer at the same time?” I smiled. “Get it?” I elbowed him. “Primer?”
“You’re a funny girl. Now pay attention, you start out with an M. Some people do W’s. I’m an M man myself,” he said, painting a letter M onto the wall. “Then you fill it in. See? You get no streaks or splotches that way.”
I had to admit the small patch he’d done looked better than the walls I’d attempted.
“I have to know how this applies to life.”
“Allow me to extrapolate,” he said, drawing out each syllable of the word. Damn…it did sound super sexy. “Let’s do it again.” He placed the roller in my hand, but held it as we drew the M together. “You plan for the highs and account for the lows. That’s the M, but then you fill it in.” He guided my hand, filling in the space with colour. “All the small stuff that you later realise was the most important. The stuff you can miss if you’re not careful, because that’s what makes life so fucking awesome. It fills in all the empty spaces.”
“Like painting a room with your girlfriend?”
“Just like that.”
“Have I told you how much I fetish you lately?”
“Me too.” Then his hands were roaming under my sweatshirt, and his lips were against my neck. He spun me around pressing my back against the wall while gripping my ass. I heard the thump of the roller being dropped again.
“You’re wet,” he said.
“I sure am.”
“No, baby, I mean you have paint on you. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. It’s hard to think when I’m in the presence of kryptonite.”
He pulled—or rather peeled—me from the wall. I grimaced when I felt the tacky paint on my back.
“I guess we’re going to have to test out my new hot water tank sooner than we thought,” I replied, running to the bathroom.
He came right behind me.
Chapter Nineteen
Peter was late as usual. I checked the folder I’d bought once again, making sure I had the information to go over the finances for Billie’s tuition at our quarterly meeting. I set my shopping bags next to me, surprised by my own purchases. I decided to give Damien a call. I’d never called him on his office phone, but he didn’t answer his cell and I craved the sound of his deep, rich voice.
“Wolfe Industries,” the operator said.
“Damien Wolfe, please.” I repeated the request twice more, because it turned out there were a few transfers required to reach his personal receptionist. I don’t know why it surprised me that it would be difficult to reach him. He was an important and powerful man. He was also the sweet, considerate man who’d helped me paint my bedroom and had changed my hot water heater. He was all of those things.
“Mr Wolfe is not taking calls, however, I’d be happy to take a message,” she said in a cold albeit professional tone that conveyed she was not happy at all.
“Just let him know Emmie Mason called. He has the number.”
Her voice instantly lightened up, as if we were best friends. “Oh hello, Miss Mason. Mr Wolfe said if you should call to patch you through to him straight away. Just one moment, please.”
He answered right away. “Jessie, are you okay? Is something wrong?”
Maybe calling him at the office was a bad idea. “I’m fine. It’s not an emergency. I’m sorry if that’s what you thought.”
He exhaled. “Good. What can I do for you then?”
His anxiety had shocked me so much that I’d almost forgotten why I’d called in the first place. “Oh, I just wanted to tell you I went shopping.”
“And?”
“I bought something I think you’ll like.”
“That’s nice,” he said, in a distracted tone.
I dropped my voice to a husky whisper, “Allow me to extrapolate.”
His low growl followed the word, urging me to continue.
“It’s foxy, fab, feminine and I want you to fantasise about it all day because I’m going to flaunt it for you all night. I think it’s enough to turn a wolf feral. I guarantee the friction between us will make fornication furiously ferocious.”
“That’s a lot of F-words, baby,” he replied, in that deep Damien voice that made me melt like chocolate.
“I love alliteration, don’t you? It makes everything sound so much more—”
“Freaking fantastic. You’re not the only frisky one. For my part, I promise you some flagrant freaky fucking that involves my tongue against your flesh, my fingers fondling you, and a great deal of flirtatious foreplay.”
Wow, I hadn’t expected him to be so good at this—he was better at F-wording than me.
“The one
thing I can promise you is…fellatio. The likes of which you’ve never known.”
He inhaled sharply. This conversation was getting out of hand. My legs were crossed so tightly, I knew I’d need a good stretch.
“Fuel my fantasies. Give me a hint,” he said in a half-whispered growl.
“Not yet. It’s for me to know and you…to rip off me later.”
“Fuck…I have to hang up now.”
“Am I not turning you on?”
“You’re torturing me, and you know it. I’m about to go into negotiations on a hotel I want to buy in Mexico. You’ve managed to succeed where so many others have failed.”
“What did I do?”
“Throw me off my game.”
“Sorry,” I said, unable to hide my smirk. I didn’t want him to be off his game by any means, but knowing that I could do that with a mere suggestion made me feel desirable.
“I forgive you as long as you promise I’ll see you and that foul, filthy mouth of yours tonight. The outfit is optional. Five o’clock sharp.”
“It’s a date,” I said before ending the call. I took a giant sip of my water, wishing to turn off what he had turned on in me. Then again, what had I expected? He always did that.
I looked over the menu again, surprised Peter had picked such a nice restaurant for lunch. We usually met at a cheap diner somewhere. I saw him stroll in and had to smile. He looked like an artist with his blond mane coming down to his shoulders and his ill-fitting suit. I was willing to wager there was a splotch of paint on it somewhere.
“My dark haired Brigitte Bardot, let me drink you in like a glass of the finest claret and get drunk off the vision.”
I tried not to roll my eyes at his typical greeting.
“You know what happens when you get drunk, so it’s probably a good idea to stop the flirting, Casanova.”
“Seriously, how is it you always look the same age, Emmie? In fact, I’d say you are even prettier now than when I met you.”
I smiled with his compliment. “Clean living, I guess.”
“My apologies for being late,” he said, taking the seat across from me.
I shrugged, too happy to even be annoyed. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the wedding. It was nice of Marley to send me an invitation, but I had a gallery opening that night.”
“I saw the painting you sent them. I can’t believe how detailed it was. I don’t even remember you painting her at that age.”
“I did it from an old photograph.”
“It was lovely. They both love it. They hung it in their living room.”
He gave me a pleased smile, deep enough to show off the dimple on his right cheek. “I hear he’s a very nice man. At least, that’s what Billie says.”
“He’s the best.”
“I’m glad she found someone who’s good to her.”
“He’s good for her.”
“Is the someone you’re with good for you too?”
It was such an unexpected question that I almost dropped my water glass. “How did you know I was seeing someone?”
“Maybe it didn’t work out between us, but I still remember all your expressions. I’ve studied them, whether I was painting you or not. You’re glowing, Emmie. And you’re wearing pink, a colour that takes you from beautiful to breathtaking. And you’re not pissed at me for being late. I guess the evidence is pretty clear either way.”
I smiled, unable to hide my joy. It was a physical force. Force…there was a good F-word. “I have been seeing him for a few months.”
“I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be dating again. It’s funny, Billie didn’t mention it when we talked last.”
“The kids don’t know yet.”
“Why is it a secret? Are you having a clandestine affair?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. That was never your style.”
“It’s like you said, I haven’t been with anyone in a very long time. I have to make sure it’s real before I introduce him to the family.”
“Whatever it is, he’s a lucky man. A prince among peasants, I’d say.”
“Thank you, Peter. What about you? Anyone in your life?”
He shrugged. “When a man’s had the finest Monet in his grasp, everything else is like a paint-by-numbers kit in comparison.”
“Peter—”
He held up his hand. “It’s okay, Emmie. I’m sorry, I know it makes you uncomfortable.”
I took out the folder I’d brought with me. “Are you ready to discuss the expenses?”
Peter nodded, his smile conveying an eagerness I hadn’t been expecting. He always procrastinated before these discussions. I understood in part. Money was tight for both of us, but at least he paid his share, most of the time. “She’s taking some advanced classes this semester, so it’s going to be more. The student loans she’s taken will cover at least half. I want us to pay the other half, though.”
“I agree. She should have whatever she needs. She’s a smart kid, just like her mother.”
“Is there vodka in your water glass? Or are you lying about not seeing anyone? I was prepared for more of a fight.”
“I came into some money recently. I won’t have any trouble taking care of these bills.”
“Good, so you’re not pulling starving artist on me this time? Did you sell a painting?”
“Better, I sold many and I have you to thank for it.”
“I don’t understand.”
The waitress came then and we placed our order. When she finally left, he tucked his long hair behind his ears. A sign of his eagerness, which would be followed by large hand gestures.
“An anonymous admirer of my work purchased the Beloved portraits I had. The ones featuring my muse.”
They were the paintings of me.
“His agent has also solicited me to track down the ones I’ve sold over the years in exchange for a generous finder’s fee.”
It didn’t take a sleuth to figure out who Peter’s admirer was. The flurry of emotions raging inside me were baffling. Was I mad? Not really. I didn’t regret the portraits, but I was never comfortable with the idea of my nakedness being on display in a stranger’s house. Damien owning them was better, but it was strange too. Was I happy? I wasn’t sure.
“What’s wrong, Em?”
“I think your admirer is also my prince.”
Peter’s smile tightened. “I see. He must be very wealthy.”
“He is. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. Of course, it might not be true. Your work is very good, after all.”
Peter placed his elbows on the table, leaning his chin against his conjoined fingers. “You were always very sweet. You feel bad because you think I’m disappointed that I don’t have a true fan?”
I nodded.
“I’m disappointed because a man who would make such a grand and costly gesture cares for you a great deal. I would love to sit here and extol the dangers of such a relationship. To tell you he sounds controlling and obsessive, but I wouldn’t be doing it with a clean heart. I’m jealous, Emmie. That’s all.” He dropped his hands, smiling sheepishly.
I put my hand over his. “Peter, we will always be friends. I forgave you a long time ago. Any man who could give me a daughter like Billie would receive no malice from me. You will find someone and I know you won’t make the same mistake twice.”
“I shouldn’t have made it the first time.”
I was trying to think of something encouraging to say when I heard the unmistakable click of a camera. Peter and I both turned to the entrance where a grinning Kelly Harris was doing some type of Miss America pageant wave at me.
“Did that woman just take our picture?” Peter asked.
“Yep.”
“Maybe I do have fans,” he said, smiling eagerly.
I didn’t want to tell him that Kelly Harris was no fan of his, but rather an enemy of mine. As if it wasn�
��t brazen enough to snap the photo, she walked towards us, clicking her heels with exaggerated grace that was so unbecoming it was downright annoying.
“Hello, Emmie, I thought that was you. I was walking by the window and thought this was such a cute restaurant. I just had to take a photo to show Damien the layout. I think he’d be interested.”
“Well, look at you, always on the clock.”
“I’m Kelly Harris,” she said, extending a hand towards Peter.
“Peter Price, it’s a pleasure.”
“How rude of me, I should have introduced you. Kelly works for my boyfriend.” I added extra emphasis on boyfriend.
“Oh?” Peter’s amused smirk said it all. Yeah, I was acting a bit like the very girls I despised. I couldn’t help it that Damien brought out a possessive streak I hadn’t even known existed.
“Well, I should go. It’s always good to see you, Emma,” she said, pivoting on those heels.
“It’s Emmie, you got it right the first time,” I said too loudly to her back.
“What just happened here?” Peter asked.
“My prince has a secret admirer of his own.”
Chapter Twenty
It took forty-five minutes for the text messages and phone calls to come. Enough time for Damien to get out of his meeting, and Kelly to deliver the photos. I was getting my nails done, and I didn’t want to have the conversation in the middle of the salon. I’d made the appointment over a week ago, and I didn’t want Kelly Harris affecting my life any more than she wanted me with Damien. I watched the texts come through…each one progressively worse.
Who is he?
What’s going on?
Call me…now.
I left too early and damaged my nails. I called his cell this time, and he picked up right away.
“Extrapolate,” he said in a cold voice.
“That’s no kind of greeting.”
“I’ve been imagining all kinds of things since Kelly showed me the picture, and none of them good.”
“It’s not what you think. She’s trying to sabotage us.”
“Of course she is! I’ll fire her for that. You think I don’t know that? But are you trying to tell me you weren’t holding another man’s hand today?”
