MisMatch (A Humorous Contemporary Romance)

by Nana Malone

  Sam shrugged. “What? We're not going to talk about the fact that I went to jail for grand larceny because I was accused of forging artwork? C'mon. I've paid my debt. I can help you, if you want.”

  Eli needed the help but he hesitated. Asking Sam to go back to that dark place wasn’t something he was willing to risk. And his brother’s line of questioning had his mind working overtime. Sam certainly had the skill. But would he risk everything again? “I don’t think it's a good id—”

  Sam rolled his eyes and sauntered into the living room. “If you haven’t been able to find the signature then start looking for what isn’t there. Look for an uneven patch of paint or inconsistencies in the canvas. It'll look like a water mark or something somewhere in a layer of paint or on that canvas. The artist has marked it. He wouldn’t have been able to resist.”

  Eli nodded. “Thanks. I’ll have to go back and examine the originals.”

  “Also, whoever’s doing this has probably been doing this for a while. Once you start, and you know you’re good enough, you can’t really stop.”

  Eli pinned a narrowed eyed gaze on his brother. “What the fuck are you saying? You still do copies of pieces?”

  Sam shrugged. “Relax, E. They are only for me, and I burn most of them after they’re done. But I need to keep the skill active. I need to know deep down that I’m still good enough. When I was using, it’s one of the things that kept me going. To know I was still capable. I would never throw away the chance you’ve given me or try and pretend that I had the real thing again, but once you have the skill, it’s a skill acquired.”

  Eli shook his head, incredulous. “Sam, do you know the kind of risk you’re taking? How stupid it would be for you to get caught?”

  “Like I said. They’re just for me, and I burn them. You don‘t have to worry. I swear, Eli.”

  Eli didn’t like it, but at the end of the day there was nothing he could do to stop it. “Sam, you’re going to be the death of me.”

  Sam chewed thoughtfully. “You know, you should be the artist instead of chasing after criminals. There would have come a time when you admired the work of these forgers.”

  “What they are doing is wrong, Sam. It’s my job to catch them.”

  “I know it’s wrong. I’m only saying, you can’t help but admire the skill. I mean to pull off a Picasso forgery—that takes some talent.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  At least Eli had something to go on now, but taking Sam’s help still didn’t sit well. It wasn’t the way of the world. He was the one who took care of his brother. Or at least he’d tried. He also didn’t need Sam’s past finally catching up with them.

  “That’s okay, I don’t need any thanks. As long as you keep me fed in fettuccini.”

  Chapter 9

  The following morning, Eli rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He’d only managed four hours of sleep. After Sam had left, he’d spent the rest of the night going over every inch of the case again. Then Sam had called at an ungodly hour with his latest emergency. So, of course, Eli had dragged himself out of bed and gone to the studio with nothing more than four hours of sleep.

  “Hey, Sam, can we get this show on the road. What do you need me for that’s so urgent?”

  “You know what your problem is, Eli? You’re too wound up. Can you let a guy have his coffee first?”

  “You called me, remember? You said it couldn’t wait. Everything okay?”

  A lithe brunette walked out of the half bath to the side of the studio. “Hi, Eli.”

  “Hey, Jocelyn. How’s it going?” He managed a small smile for her. After all, she was helping keep his brother clean.

  “Can’t complain.”

  Eli wasn’t sure if he should worry about Sam spending so much time with Jocelyn. Did this mean trouble on the horizon?

  Sam stalked over and clapped him on the chest. “You have to change.”

  “Why? I’m dressed fine. I’m not the trendy one.” Eli rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Let’s go ahead and get this done. I don’t have all day. I assume you and Jocelyn want to get going.”

  “Well, that’s the thing. I have a meeting with Jessica today to show her my work. But you’re going to take it.”

  A chill chased up Eli’s back as adrenaline kicked in. “She’s coming here to meet you. She wants to see your art.”

  “And you want to see her. Besides,” Samson shrugged. “I’m not in the right frame of mind to show my work. I’m going to take a little walk with Jocelyn.” He looked Eli up and down again. “You might really want to change your clothes. She’ll never buy that you’re an artist if you’re wearing slacks on a Saturday. And do something about your hair, too. It’s too neat.” With that, Samson stalked out the back door, his sponsor in tow.

  Watching his brother ride off without a helmet as the heavy fire door screeched to a close, Eli felt like he’d been hoodwinked. Samson had no intention on fixing the mix up. Ever since they were kids, his brother had taken pleasure in torturing Eli by forcing him into situations with girls. He’d thought it would cure him of his shyness and awkwardness. And it had—somewhat. But this was something different. If he didn’t fix this mix up, somebody was likely to get hurt. And he had a sickening feeling it would be him.

  He wasn’t going to change his clothes. He was going to tell–except Jessica thought she was meeting Samson. She was here for business. Like it or not, she had the connections and the love of art to take his brother into the stratosphere. He’d tell her later. He’d take her to a nice dinner somewhere public, so he wouldn’t end up pawing her, and he’d tell her then.

  Checking the security cameras again, he cursed. He saw her coming from half a block away. Her hair was blue today, but he knew how her body moved. That was her, all right. He climbed the stairs two at a time and dragged off his shirt, replacing it with a T-shirt out of Sam’s top drawer. He took off his slacks and laid them neatly on the bed, then scanned the room frantically. Where the hell did his brother keep his jeans? He would have picked up one of the pairs off the floor, but knowing his brother, he was uncertain of the level of cleanliness. Sam was a slob.

  Eli dashed into the closet and dragged a pair of dark jeans off the hanger and yanked them on. He heard the doorbell ring and muttered, “Fuck.” He ran for the door, nearly slipping, and hopped on one foot as he dragged off his socks. Before heading down the stairs, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. Shit, he was the spitting image of Sam. Disheveled hair and everything. Thanks to the hasty dressing, his hair was mussed. And, as his brother had woken him up with his little emergency, Eli hadn’t had time to shave, so stubble dusted his jaw.

  Eli sprinted down the stairs and made a mad dash for the front entry. Dragging the steel door open, he tried to calm his nerves. Easy does it. He could do this. He’d do this, and take her out some place. That would guarantee he’d see her again at least. Immediately, he calmed down, feeling instantly at ease.

  “Am I too early?” She asked as soon as she saw him. “When you said to come at 8:30, I wasn’t really sure if I should believe you or not. I know how you artist types can be.”

  Eli took a second to take her in and steeled himself against his body’s instant reaction.

  Blue hair, feather earrings, and a lip piercing. All paired with a fifties-inspired, prim, white dress. She wore that perfume again. The one that smelled liked spiced flowers. Without thinking, he mumbled, “What perfume are you wearing?”

  She blinked at him with wide eyes. “Givenchy, Play. Why?” She frowned.

  He flushed as he stepped by to let her in. “It’s distinctive. I recognize it from the other night.”

  Her pale skin flushed pink. “Shit, it’s back.”

  He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

  “The chemistry. Can’t you feel that?”

  Eli watched her, hyper aware of the way she moved, light on her toes, like she might sprint out of the room at any moment. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I fe
el it. Best we can do is ignore it.” This was why pretending to be Samson was a bad idea. Instead of kissing her, he was stuck. And of course, his brother was nowhere to be seen.

  She exhaled. “Maybe this was a mistake. I don’t think I can represent you. Because I can almost guaranteed that this”—she pointed between the two of them—“will get in the way.”

  He shot his hand out and took hold of her arm. “Okay. I hear you. But just come and see my work. If you’re not interested in working with me, I understand. But look at my work first. And remember we have a contract.” It didn't matter how attracted to her he was, he'd promised to help Samson move his career forward. His little brother could use a break for sure, and Jessica Stanton was the one to give it to him. For that, Eli could ignore their attraction.

  She stared down at his hand, and the two of them remained locked in that frozen pose. Eventually, Eli let her go and took a large step backward. “Sorry. Right this way.”

  He led her down the hallway to the large, open studio. Suddenly, he worried whether he should be covered in paint. If he'd been Samson and had been working, shouldn't there be paint everywhere? Luckily she didn’t seem to notice, because immediately, she gasped.

  “Your work is extraordinary.” With brisk steps, she found one of Eli's personal favorites, a dark painting with bold lines of a woman's profile. There was just enough of a hint of her to see that she was beautiful, but not enough to be able to recognize her. Blood smeared her cheek.

  Eli knew it was their mother, but like hell he was going to tell Jessica.

  “God, this is stunning. Who's the model?”

  Eli smiled, trying to think of something to say. “I never reveal my muses.” Great, now that sounded cliché.

  But she nodded absently as she'd already moved on to the next painting. The canvas, with smearing bold colors splattered every which way was Eli's least favorite painting of his brother’s. It reminded him too much of what an acid trip must be like. A constant reminder of how he'd almost lost his twin.

  She wrinkled her nose. “I hope you don’t take it personally, but I'm not a huge fan of this one.”

  “Fine by me. It takes a lot to offend me.” At least that was the truth. Since he'd been clean, nothing bothered Samson these days. He was perpetually high on life. Maybe it was time to cut him some slack. But as much as Eli would love to, it didn’t make sense to ease up on someone he loved.

  Jessica wandered around, examining each painting. She paused at one of the exhibition pieces. “This is amazing. Literally amazing. I don't know how you do this.” She flushed. “Never mind. I do know how you do this. I just uh...”

  Her voice trailed off, and Eli coughed out a laugh. “What’s the matter? You’re not a fan of my performance art?”

  “Oh, I’m a fan. It’s riveting and evocative. I just prefer these quieter ones.” She moved excitedly from one painting to another. “Oh, Samson, your work is exquisite.” She moved briskly from piece to piece, only pausing to lean in and examine a few. “Honestly, I'd heard of your work, and I’ve obviously seen how you make some of this, but this is amazing. You should have no problem getting a gallery opening.”

  Eli coughed. Pride welled in his chest. He wasn't responsible for his brother's masterpieces, but he knew what Samson had battled to accomplish them. If Jessica could get Samson a big gallery opening, he'd be a household name in no time. “I'm glad you like them.”

  “I more than like them. These are raw. I like it. They need a specific clientele though. I might have the contacts to help, but you never know.”

  “From what I’ve heard about you, you have the contacts I'm looking for.”

  She stalked toward him slowly. She looked like a fairy on a mission with her blue-streaked hair. “Can I ask you a question?”

  She paused right in front of him, and he had to fight the instant temptation to inhale. If he did, he'd smell that tempting perfume. Then he'd think about the last time he smelled her perfume and what had happened as a result. Then he'd definitely kiss her and do all manner of inappropriate things with her. She was going to be Samson's agent. For now, he had to keep his pants on.

  Clearing his throat, Eli leaned away from Jessica as much as he could. “Shoot. Ask me whatever you want.” As long as it's not to kiss you. Or to fuck you. Then I'm good.

  “I uh...” Her voice trailed off as she mirrored his action and cleared her throat. “I want to see the paintings from the exhibitions. The orgasm paintings as someone called them. Will you be putting those on display as well? If you’ll let me, I'd like to see them.”

  Eli's cock stood at attention. She wanted to see Samson’s personal collection. The orgasm paintings. Geez. He couldn't show her those.

  He shook his head. “No. I don’t think it's a good idea.”

  “I get it. But look, we can both be professionals. I won’t jump your bones. I promise.”

  He grinned. “Those images are intense. I also don't want to get you all hot and bothered.”

  “I'm a professional, Samson. I want to see them. I promise you, those will be your real sellers, despite what uptight Middle America will tell you. Where are they?”

  He frowned. “They're upstairs, but—”

  She twirled away toward the elevator. She paused with a hand on the iron gate and pulled it back. “You coming, Samson?”

  “Jessica, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “One way or another. I want to see those paintings. Either I’ll see them now, and you can put your sensitive artist sensibilities away, or I’ll see them when we do prints and display, and that would really be awkward. At least I know I'm not one of your…subjects.”

  No, she certainly wasn't. But if by chance she'd met Samson instead of him, she would have been.

  “Come on, Samson, show me your private collection.”

  As the doors of the elevator closed, Eli sucked in a breath. All he had to do was remember to breathe. How hard could that be? It’s not like Jessica sucked the air out of the room physically.

  “Relax.” She smiled. “I’ll only be a minute. I just want to see your other work. Then we can get to business. I need to figure out a gallery opening with the right clientele. I need to get you some high-profile buyers, and lucky for you, I have one or two in my contacts. Then we PR and market the hell out of you. But I need to see the work. All of it. You can’t hide part of yourself from me. It won’t work if you expect me to sell you. The two of us are going to need to be closer than this.” She twined her index and middle finger together.

  Oh, shit. Eli recognized the compulsion to do something stupid, but he couldn’t do anything to stop the inevitable pull. Or maybe he and Samson had this in common too—the magnetic pull toward utter and total destruction.

  Eli stepped in close behind her and swept an arm around her waist. Her head rolled back and lay on his shoulder. “You know this is all kinds of a bad idea right? Like all kinds of a walk-of-shame bad.”

  He inhaled deeply. Right now he didn’t give a shit. He wanted her. And just once he wanted to fall into oblivion instead of doing what was expected.

  Pulling her around by the waist, he tucked her against him. “You don’t have to do this. I can open this elevator door, and you can go if you want.”

  Wide blue eyes blinked up at him. “You see me pulling a prison break?”

  “Your funeral.” He didn’t allow his brain a single thought as he leaned in to kiss her. Pausing right before their lips met to savor the feeling of holding her. When he lowered his lips to hers, electricity zinged through his body. She jerked in his arms. All it took was one split second, and the fire that blazed between them erupted to five alarm status.

  He dragged her as close as humanly possible without actually being inside her. She tugged at his clothes. Mewling sounds erupted from her that drove him mad with need. Harder, faster, naked, inside her. As their tongues met, her hips began a slow grind that reminded him of dancing with her. His cock strained against his borrowed jeans.


  Irritated, he yanked at the button until it popped. He wanted her in a bed, but if he was honest with himself, he knew he wouldn’t make it that far. Eli yanked up the yards of fabric that was her dress, and satin smooth skin met his fingertips. God, she was so soft. He could spend an eternity doing nothing but touching her legs.

  Jessica dug her hand in his hair and tugged. In a hurry, he wasted no time; his hands traversed the toned expanse of skin toward her heated center. When he reached the line of her thong, he muttered a curse against her lips. “God, I’ve been thinking about you since I met you in the club. I haven't been able to get you out of my head.”

  “Damn it, Samson. Hurry. I need—”

  Every nerve and cell in Eli’s body shriveled as if they’d been doused in liquid nitrogen. She’d called him Samson. That’s right, dumbass. She thinks she’s with your brother.

  Jessica rotated her hips against his previously questing fingertips, but he withdrew.

  “Shit, you’ve got to be kidding me. You can’t just wind me all up then leave me like this.” Unfocused, wide, blue eyes stared at him. “What did I do wrong?

  “I—” What the hell was he going to say? You called me by my brother’s name, who you think I am, even though I’m only pretending to be him? Yeah right. “I’m sorry. I just have a rule about when I’m working. I should never have—”

  Her back stiffened. “You’re serious?”

  His cock wanted to throttle him, but he nodded. “Yeah. I’m sorry. We can’t.”

  She swiped a lock of blue hair out of her eyes. “Fanfuckingtastic.” She drew in one long breath. “Since I’m here, I might as well see the work. Lucky for you, I’m genuinely interested in your talent, or you realize I’d be out the door already.”

  Eli bit the inside of his cheek. “Yeah, I got you.”

  Chapter 10

  An hour later, his brother came home to find Eli on the stairs. Jessica was long gone. Before she’d left, she kept things crisp and cool. Nice and professional between them. Hell, she even shook his hand. The physical contact hadn’t helped matters. His body had just gone into another cardiac arrest. Damn.