“Offend?” Clancy’s feet barely touched the ground as he bounced around her, waving his arms madly again. “Offend? Why, simply having this…this…upstart’s work in the same…state as mine is offensive.”
Mattie banked another smile. “Now, Clancy, I think a seventy-five-year-old man with an international reputation in the art world can hardly be called…an upstart—”
“’Tis only because you’re a lass that I didn’t use anything stronger,” he cautioned through narrowed eyes as he rounded on the offensive painting again. “What on earth was the old girl thinking?” he wondered aloud, rolling his eyes toward the heavens as if they could provide the answer.
“I don’t know, Clancy,” Mattie said, taking his arm to try to steer him away from the wall before he did himself harm. “But you don’t have to worry. The piece won’t be here long.” She grinned with pride. “I sold Calhoun’s piece an hour ago. We’ll be packing it up and shipping it out later this afternoon.”
“Sold? Sold! How much did you steal for this piece of…of…trash?” He waved an arm toward the wall again, making Mattie sigh.
“Now, Clancy,” Mattie said, hooking her arm through his and leading him away from the wall and toward the back workroom, hoping to distract him. “You know I’m not allowed to give out those figures. They’re confidential.” But she’d sold the piece for enough money to make a handsome commission for herself and the gallery. Her portion would go into the bank toward her new car fund.
“Balderdash,” he scoffed, waving away her comments like an annoying fly. “Nothing is secret in the art world.” He thought for a moment, then brightened suddenly, looking like a mischievous cherub. “Did you perhaps sell it for less than me Rebellious Gardenias?”
“Perhaps,” she teased, still steering him toward the workroom. She knew once Clancy set eyes on the painting he’d left half-finished in the workroom last weekend, this latest fiasco with Calhoun just might be forgotten. Well, she could always hope.
“Perhaps?” Eyes gleaming, he must have sensed she was softening, and grabbed her hands in his. “Aye, lass, you know I adore you, and have told your aunt what a wonderful find you are.” With an elegant gesture, he brought her hand to his lips for a whisper of a kiss. “A treasure to be sure.” Still holding her hands, he drew her closer, eyes twinkling. “So tell me, lass, did you sell Calhoun’s albatross for less than me Gardenias?”
She laughed as she pulled free of him to open the door to the workroom. “Well, Clancy, I can only tell you that you’d not be…shamed by the figure.”
“Aye, lass, I knew it!” Delighted, Clancy did another jig around her, clapping his hands in glee. “Sold my Gardenias for more. I knew it. Calhoun will never hold so much as a flickering candle to me.” He grabbed her cheeks and pressed a loud, smacking kiss to her mouth. “That’s me girl, Mattie.” He kissed her again, then turned and came to an abrupt halt, his gaze narrowing on his half-finished painting visible through the now-open door.
“Clancy? Are you all right?”
“Aye, lass, now that I’ve looked at this with a fresh eye, me thinks it needs a tad more yellow for shade and shadowing.” Eyes all but glazed in concentration, Clancy moved another step closer to his painting. “Mmm…aye, that’s it. That’s it!” His feet bounced up and down as his eyes glittered. “I knew the problem would become clear with time.” His eyebrows drew together as he muttered to himself. “It’s a tad too…green is what it is.” His gaze never wavered from his work as he narrowed his gaze. “Off with you now,” he said, shooing her away with his hands as he stepped into the workroom. “I’ve work to be done.”
Satisfied she’d averted another artistic crisis, at least for the moment, Mattie sighed, and headed back through the gallery to her desk.
The gallery, which fronted Main Street with plate-glass windows, was divided into three distinct sections. The front was a showcase for artists’ work. The middle of the gallery was where her small desk, a file cabinet, her computer and other necessities to run a successful, thriving gallery business were set up, giving her some peace from the foot traffic that wandered in during the day. And in the back was the artists’ work room.
The space, small, but incredibly efficient, served as her office. There was a coffeepot—always hot and full—sitting on a small wooden credenza behind her desk. Under it, concealed by a wooden door in the credenza was a mini refrigerator where she kept fruit juice for the boys as well as soft drinks for others.
Since Mattie attended classes in the morning, she spent afternoons at the gallery, relieving her aunt of as much responsibility as possible. She’d fixed her schedule around the twins, and with the grade school just six blocks away, she’d arranged with Charlie, the school-bus driver, to drop the boys off right in front of the gallery every day. It saved her a trip to school to pick them up, and allowed them all to drive home together.
Moving through the gallery now, with the soft, soothing strains of Bach filtering through the quiet air, Mattie glanced out the front glass windows. A patrol car went by and she wondered, as she had several times this morning, if Joe was in the car.
Spending last evening with him had definitely left an impression on her, and considering the fuss she’d made about getting home at eight, the fact that she’d sat and chatted with him over coffee until almost eleven left her feeling slightly off kilter. It had been pleasant, she had to admit, to just sit and relax with a man, talking about her sons, her life.
She’d done little more than think of Joe all day. Mattie laughed at herself. She’d actually caught herself daydreaming about him in class today, an incident that embarrassed her no end.
Smiling at herself for such foolishness, she continued through the gallery, stopping here and there to appreciate a particular painting or to adjust the placement of a sculpture. In the three months since she’d taken over for her aunt, she’d grown to love everything about the gallery.
For as long as she could remember, she’d harbored a secret desire to draw, to paint, but circumstances and the realities of her life had prevented such selfishly frivolous pursuits.
It had been imperative for her to make a living, and she certainly didn’t have time to dabble in something that might take years to produce a viable income—if ever.
She’d been forced to be both prudent and practical, living on the little bit of life insurance money Gary had left to her, supplementing that with Social Security payments and part-time work at home so she could always take care of her boys. But it had been a struggle, and now, financially, she and the twins finally had some stability.
Working for her aunt provided not only an adequate income to support them, but she’d also been given her aunt’s coach house to live in free of charge. As a bonus, because her aunt was such a well-respected member of the art community, as well as the community of Healing Harbor, and taught classes at the local university, Mattie was allowed to attend the university tuition free. In another year and a half she’d have her business degree, and another year of business experience behind her. Hopefully, those qualifications would allow her to obtain consulting work that would forever secure her and the boys’ futures.
Working in the gallery was not all work though, Mattie had to admit. It also allowed her to indulge in the artistic fantasies she’d long held dear, and also to interact with artists, which at times seemed a blessing, and at others, a curse.
As she sat down at her desk now, she reached in the bottom drawer and pulled out the sketch pad she kept hidden there, as well as a small piece of charcoal. She just wasn’t up to tackling her homework right now. For some reason, today, she’d been both restless and easily distracted.
Pushing her macroeconomics textbook out of the way, Mattie began to sketch. Quick, short strokes flowed from her fingers, making her smile in pleasure. Knowing she only had a few precious moments each day to take this time for herself, she tried to make the best of them and not feel guilty.
Bright afternoon sunlight flowed in through
the plate-glass windows. Cocking her head, she studied her sketch from another angle, drawing from memory. The shape of the jaw needed just a tad more shading to make it a bit more realistic, she decided.
And the eyes, they were much larger, deeper, dominating the planes and angles of that gorgeous face. And then there was that mouth, Mattie thought with a long, heartfelt sigh. Oh, that mouth was incredible, she remembered. Thick and full, it was totally masculine, yet coupled with that slightly off-kilter once-broken nose, it gave the face both character and dignity as well as added interest.
Totally absorbed in her sketching, Mattie didn’t hear the tinkle of the bell over the door.
“Good Lord, Mattie, that’s wonderful.”
Joe’s soft, masculine voice right behind her ear startled her, and Mattie let loose a high-pitched screech. The charcoal went sailing one way and she nearly went the other. Gentle, masculine hands on her shoulders prevented her from flying off her chair.
“Easy, Mattie,” Joe whispered, his voice warm and soft against her ear. The heat from his hands seemed to melt the material of her cotton sweater, sensitizing her skin, making her feel as if he was caressing her.
“Joe!” Gasping, she pressed a hand to her rampaging heart, more startled and embarrassed than she believed possible. She turned to face him, caught up short by the fact that his face—the face that she’d just so painstakingly drawn from memory—was right there.
He’d gone down on his haunches so that they were eye level, and she blinked at his closeness, then licked her dry lips, realizing if she moved forward just a little their lips would be touching. It took all her willpower not to move a muscle, nor an inch.
“You…you…scared the life out of me.” She wished she didn’t sound so flustered and breathless. It was hardly the professional image she wanted to project.
“I’m sorry.” He flashed her one of those glorious smiles. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” His eyebrows drew together a bit. “I thought for sure you’d heard the bell. I just stopped by to drop off the papers you need to sign.” He laid the sheaf of papers on her desk, trying not to frown. She had that same wonderful perfume on again today, he realized, resisting the urge to bury his nose in the soft crevices of her neck and lose himself in the scent, knowing he’d probably scare a few years off her if he did.
He glanced at the sketch pad still clutched in her hand. Impressed, his eyebrows went up in astonishment. “You didn’t tell me you were an artist.”
“I’m…not,” she stammered, wondering where her charcoal had landed as she tried to close the pad. “Not really.”
“No, don’t.” He covered her hand with his, preventing her from hiding her drawing. “That’s not the way I see it,” he said, gently prying her hands from the pad and turning it around. “The sketch is really wonderful. And a very good likeness of me.”
“Thank you.” She resisted the urge to push back away from him, to put some distance between them so she could breathe. He was still too close and it was still too hard to breathe with him so near.
“And I’d say you were an artist, Mattie, in spite of your protests to the contrary, and a very good one at that.” His gaze met hers and she felt her pulse leap and dance.
Embarrassed beyond belief because she’d been caught drawing him, which meant she’d actually been thinking about him, Mattie licked her dry lips, wondering when her heart was going to stop galloping like a runaway horse.
“It’s…it’s just something I dabble with,” she commented, feeling foolish. Why on earth hadn’t she drawn a bowl of fruit or a basket of flowers? Perhaps because neither had been on her mind as much as Joe had been for the past twelve hours.
“Now, why do I get the feeling that you’ve never shared or showed your work to anyone?” She’d acted as if he’d caught her with her hand in the till. Instead of just…drawing.
“I…I…” His face was so close, she could feel his warm breath flutter across her skin, raising goose bumps and sending her already speeding pulse into overtime.
She glanced at her sketch pad, which he still held in his hand. The temptation to snatch it from him, to hide her private, precious secret was nearly overwhelming.
“I’m…I’m…” She shrugged helplessly, unable to draw her gaze from those mysterious dark eyes. “I guess I’m just not ready to show anyone yet.”
“You’re just not accustomed to sharing parts of your life with anyone,” he said softly, touching her face. Her eyes went wide as saucers, and deliberately he softened his voice, pressing his forehead against hers to calm her. “You’ve done so much alone, I think that perhaps you forget there are people in the world to share things with, people who will be interested, and who will care about what you care about.”
If she could speak, she was certain she would have been able to think of plenty to say. But she couldn’t. He was far too close.
“Joe.” She swallowed, lifting a hand to his broad chest. She could feel his heart galloping in time to hers. It brought little comfort that apparently he was just as affected by her closeness as she was by his. His mouth was so close, she couldn’t seem to think of anything else. The ache of wanting seemed to loom large, nearly smothering her. She just wanted to taste that mouth, taste it just once. Her throat had gone so dry she was certain she’d never swallow again.
“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Her voice was soft, shaky, and she struggled to find some dignity.
His smile was slow and his gaze never left hers. She looked so wide-eyed terrified, it brought out all his protective instincts, and he tightened his hands on her shoulders.
“Actually, Mattie, I think it’s the best idea I’ve had today.” Without another word, he gently brushed his lips within scant centimeters of hers. She felt the whisper touch of his sweet, warm breath, and could almost feel the warmth of his lips touching hers.
Her breath caught in expectation as she waited for the first touch, the first feel of that warm mouth on hers. Unconsciously, her fingers tightened on his shirt, gripping the material in her fingers, drawing him closer.
“Joe,” she whispered, knowing she should stop him, but also knowing she couldn’t. She couldn’t remember ever wanting anything this badly. Wanting to just feel his touch, his taste.
“Mattie.” His breath feathered against her lips, making a rushing ache of yearning twist inside her. Anticipation had her fingers curling tighter on his shirt as his mouth gently, lightly teased hers.
“J-Joe.” Her voice was half plea, half prayer. And then his mouth covered hers, firmly, tightly, possessively, and Mattie forgot everything as her head emptied of all thought. Desire hit like a quick-fisted punch, nearly knocking whatever thoughts, and all of the breath, from her as his mouth expertly caressed hers, seducing her lips until she was nearly senseless with shock.
Her fingers curled instinctively, tightening on the material of his shirt, holding on to him, drawing him closer, seeking more of this mindless pleasure that made her forget everything but the man holding her, kissing her.
Her heart seemed to somersault, whirling over and over inside her chest as need blossomed, grew, then exploded in a dizzying blaze of heated desire.
She heard a low-throated moan of pleasure, desire, and was stunned to realize it had come from her. Her body grew warm and weak, needy with a longing she’d never realized existed before, so strong, so powerful, it was all that consumed her, the urge, the need to extinguish the blaze of need and desire that Joe’s kiss, his mouth, had ignited.
Frightened by her own feelings, Mattie wanted to stop him, to pull away, but knew she couldn’t. Wouldn’t. She had never felt any of these wondrous feelings before, had never felt this kind of need, desire for anyone before. The newness was intoxicating and addictive and she wanted to savor the feelings, to bask in them and let them carry her to a conclusion that would hopefully dull this terrible ache of need and yearning burning inside.
Need.
It scared her; she couldn’t need anyone, not
ever. Especially a man. Especially Joe. It was far too dangerous.
The thought brought her reluctantly to her senses and she forced her shaking fingers to slowly uncurl from his shirt. Pressing the flat of her hands to his chest, she slowly drew back from him, breaking their kiss and contact, embarrassed because her hands—her heart—were far from steady.
“Joe.” Her voice was breathless, but the need to say something was urgent. “I’m sorry.” She struggled to take a breath, to do something with her shaky hands so she wouldn’t reach for him again. Lifting a hand, she touched her lips. They were still warm from his and she felt her pulse kick up again at the mere thought of kissing him.
“I’m not.” Stunned by her wildfire response, and his own intense craving to have more of her, to taste more of her, Joe slipped his hands in his pockets, fearing if he didn’t, he’d touch her again. And start the wildfire all over again. But she was looking far too fearful and fragile, like a cornered puppy about to get a beating.
The urge to soothe, to protect, was so strong, he wanted to gather her into his arms and simply hold her closely and gently until she calmed down. But he didn’t, knowing it would only distress her further.
Instead, he framed her face with his hands and brushed her hair back. It was as soft as silk, as soft as he’d imagined all night long as he lay in bed, thinking of her, dreaming of her, wondering what she’d feel like, taste like. Now he knew, and knew, too, that the knowledge would only make him need and desire her even more.
“In addition to being a fabulous artist, you’re a great kisser.” He tried to bank the smile at the sharp look she aimed at him. One eyebrow rose in surprise. “Do you always scowl when a man pays you a compliment?”
“Men don’t compliment me,” she snapped, still shaken to the core.
“Obviously idiots, the lot of them.” He flashed her a smile that set her pulse racing once again. “You’re far too beautiful and talented not to compliment.”
“And you’re far too smooth and practiced to take seriously.” Deliberately, she made her voice cool, then rubbed her damp, shaky hands over her jean-clad thighs.
Daddy Patrol Page 7
