IT TAKES A REBEL

by Stephanie Bond

  “Hello, Alex,” he said finally, smiling in her direction.

  “Hello, Jack,” she responded, just as if they had no carnal knowledge of each other whatsoever.

  “I brought a few drawings to leave with you,” he said, patting a portfolio he held under his arm.

  “You kids can chat,” her father said. “I’ll wrap up a few things on my desk.”

  “Ten minutes?” Jack asked him.

  Her father winked and clapped Jack on the shoulder. “You got it, son.”

  Jealousy gripped her stomach at the easy camaraderie between her father and this virtual stranger, something she and her father would never have. When Al retreated and Jack walked into her office, she swallowed hard. On the other hand, if she could sleep with this virtual stranger, why shouldn’t her father enjoy a mere afternoon of football with him?

  “Hi,” he said, with the smallest smile.

  She matched his expression. “I thought we got past that point already.”

  “I left my jacket at your place again.”

  Alex crossed her arms, glad for the comforting barrier of her desk. “Along with your teeth print on my leg.”

  His eyebrow shot up and for a split second he looked proud of himself, then recovered. “Sorry about that.”

  “That’s okay,” she said, anxious to put the lapse behind them. “It won’t happen again.”

  He scratched his temple, and nodded. “I agree.”

  She blinked. “Good.” She wasn’t sure what kind of reaction she’d expected, but meek acquiescence wasn’t on the list. Which obviously meant that he’d found their tryst less than remarkable. To change the subject, she pointed to the portfolio. “You have some drawings to show me?”

  He nodded, walking toward her desk.

  “Are you limping?”

  “Uh, yeah, I twisted it last night when I was leaving.”

  Alex bit back a smile as she took the portfolio. “Are you okay?”

  He looked a little sheepish. “I’ll survive. Listen, I overheard your father when I walked up. I didn’t mean to take him away from plans the two of you had already made.”

  “No problem,” she said, waving it off despite another pang. “I’m glad to see him doing something fun, and I’m sure he’ll enjoy the game with you more than some stuffy old gallery.”

  “You were going to the Bernard showing?”

  Surprised, Alex nodded. “Yes. You’ve heard of the artist?”

  “I own two of her originals.”

  She stared, agape. “How … interesting.” Interesting? More like “astounding.”

  A light rap sounded at her open door. “Ms. Tremont?”

  Alex looked up to see one of the fine jewelry salesclerks. “Yes, Carla?”

  “I brought the wedding ring sets you requested.”

  She motioned her inside. “Excuse me, Jack, this will just take a moment.” Alex lifted the lid on one of the two cigar-box-size jeweler’s cases, and smiled her pleasure at the dazzling array of gold, platinum and white-gold sets of wedding bands. “Yes, Carla, these are the exact cases I was interested in. Thank you.”

  Carla left and Alex set aside the open box, noting Jack’s pallor. She swallowed a smile, thinking maybe she shouldn’t tell him she was considering having him wear some of them in the commercial shoots Monday.

  “Have you ever been married, Jack?”

  “No.”

  The one clipped word, along with his shifted gaze, told her volumes. If the mere sight of the rings made the man that nervous, she would skip them. There was something to be said about portraying Jack as the free-spirited bachelor he was. After all, she had certainly found it appealing, hadn’t she?

  But art collector? She opened her mouth to inquire into this most intriguing bit of information, but her father returned to claim Jack for their afternoon at the stadium. Feeling like a little girl being left behind, Alex followed them to the doorway of her office and leaned against the frame. Hugging herself, she watched Jack as he walked away, talking easily with her intimidating father, and wondered how many other layers this man had to reveal.

  But her musings were derailed when Heath appeared in the hallway, walking toward her father and Jack. Her pulse stalled for the few seconds the men conversed, and she experienced the strangest sensation when Jack and Heath shook hands. Engaged to one, fooling around with the other.

  And what did that make her? Alex exhaled a shaky breath as several unflattering adjectives whirled through her mind. Her engagement ring winked at her, mocking her. She couldn’t simply dismiss her betrayal to Heath—she needed to talk to him, the sooner, the better.

  Heath gestured to the men’s backs when he walked up, fresh-faced and unaware of her turmoil. “I thought you and Al were taking in the gallery today.”

  “We were.”

  He scoffed. “He stood you up for a lousy football game?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you know I’m not much on this Bernard guy’s art, but I’ll go with you,” he offered.

  “She.” A feeling of loss stabbed her as the two men walked onto the elevator and the door closed behind them.

  “Excuse me?”

  Alex looked back to Heath. “Bernard—the artist is a ‘she.’”

  She visualized giving back his ring, a teary goodbye. “Um, no,” she said, suddenly changing her mind. “I think I’ll take some flowers out to my mother’s grave this afternoon.” She needed the comfort of being close to someone who had loved her unconditionally. Perhaps she could sort out all of the mess in her head in the serenity of the shady cemetery.

  As expected, Heath backed off immediately, even as he followed her into her office. “I’ll let you have some private time, then. Hey, what’s with the wedding rings?”

  Alex sat in her comfy leather seat and unzipped the portfolio Jack had left, eager to see his new drawings. “I’m trying to work the rings into the new ad campaign.”

  “Hmm. Any of these you like well enough for me to wear?”

  Her head jerked up when his words sank in. “What?”

  “Why not?” Heath said, gesturing to the rings. “We’ve put this off long enough, don’t you think?”

  *

  Chapter 14

  « ^ »

  “What did you say?” Lana asked.

  Alex sighed into the phone and hooked her legs over the arm of her faithful chair. “I agreed to go away with Heath next weekend to talk about where our relationship goes from here. His timing is uncanny.”

  “Maybe he senses another buck sniffing around his doe.”

  “Oh, now that’s romantic. If you don’t buy the coffee shop, maybe you should start writing greeting cards for a living.” At the sound of a distant ping, she turned her head toward the balcony door. Seeing nothing, she dismissed the noise. “Any big Sunday plans?”

  “I’m working this afternoon. How about you?”

  “Cleaning, I guess. Heath left again this morning for Cincinnati. How’s your roommate situation?”

  “Intolerable. We’re not even speaking now, we leave notes. I write mine in pig Latin just to piss her off.”

  Ping. Alex frowned at the noise, standing this time. “Hold on, Lana, I think I hear something.”

  “What?”

  Ping.

  “I don’t know.” She moved toward the glass door and slid it open just in time for a peasized pebble to bounce off her forehead. “Ow!”

  “What happened?”

  “I have to go.”

  “Don’t leave me hanging—”

  Alex disconnected the call and stepped out onto her balcony, barely dodging another pebble before she leaned over the railing.

  Jack stood on the ground, two stories below, one hand pulled back in preparation to launch another pebble, the other loaded with enough ammo to pester her for a week. He stopped when he saw her and gave her a boyish grin.

  Alex’s spirits lifted absurdly. “You almost gave me a concussion,” she yelled.

 
“That’s my secret weapon,” he yelled back. “Women with concussions are much easier to persuade.”

  Wary, she crossed her arms. She couldn’t imagine what the man might say that would provide the slightest bit of enticement. “Persuade to do what?”

  He held up two pink slips of paper. “Tickets to the Bernard showing this afternoon.”

  Okay, she was enticed.

  “Including a reception for the artist.”

  Alex pursed her mouth. “I … need to change.”

  He grinned. “Wear riding clothes. The weather is great.”

  Telling herself that this was not a date, this was not a date, and this was not a date, Alex scoured her wardrobe for something casual and funky. She settled on a pair of black corduroy overalls, a heavy silk coral long-sleeve blouse, and suede slip-ons with a heavy sole. She dumped the contents of her leather tote into a hand appliquéd canvas bag, then dropped in a handful of hairpins so she could twist back her helmet hair once she reached the gallery. At the last minute, she remembered his leather jacket and grabbed it on the way out the door.

  Telling herself she was hurrying because Jack was waiting rather than because she was excited, Alex jogged down the hall, slowing when she reached the corridor before Lana’s apartment. Hopes that she would make it past without notice were dashed when she rounded the corner to find Lana leaning in her open doorway, filing her nails.

  “Got a date?” her friend asked innocently without lifting her gaze.

  Alex sighed. “It’s not a date. Jack is taking me to the Bernard art show that Dad and I missed yesterday so they could go to a football game.”

  “Mmm-hmm. One man, one woman, and a place to go. Sounds like a date to me.”

  “It’s not a date,” she insisted. “We both happen to have an interest in this artist, that’s all.”

  Lana glanced up. “Jack the Attack is a contemporary art connoisseur?”

  “He has two Bernard originals.”

  Her friend stopped filing. “For real?”

  Alex pursed her mouth and nodded.

  “Holy husband-hunting, Alex, I’m starting to think there’s more to this man than meets the eye—and what meets the eye isn’t too shabby.”

  She shook her finger. “Oh, no, don’t read anything into this. We’re going to an art gallery, and that’s all.”

  Lana shrugged. “Okay. Just remember you’re supposed to set a wedding date this weekend—to marry a different man.” She blew on her nails, then stepped inside and closed the door with her hip.

  Alex shook her head, then turned toward the exit, although her steps were somewhat more hesitant.

  This was not a date.

  *

  “So, Jack, who’s your date?”

  Alex nearly choked on her champagne, but extended her hand when Jack introduced her to Bernard Penn, the artist whom she’d admired since the woman’s first Lexington show nearly six years ago. Jack explained that his father had mentored the unknown local artist before she moved on to make her name in Chicago and Los Angeles. From the looks the quirky young woman was giving Jack, Alex wondered if he himself had mentored her in other areas.

  “Jack gave me my first tattoo,” Bernard announced, pointing to her bikini area, confirming Alex’s suspicions.

  “A trade for one of her paintings,” Jack added.

  “Made you earn the other one, too,” the young woman said slyly before moving on to mingle.

  Alex lifted her eyebrows over her champagne glass. “Just how large is your art collection?”

  A slow grin spread over Jack’s face. “I stopped counting canvases in ninety-three. Come with me. There’s a piece in the atrium I’d like to show you.” He clasped her hand and she didn’t pull away, casting sideways glances at him as they walked, marveling at how comfortable he seemed in a cultural environment, and how little she actually knew about him.

  “Where is your collection?” she asked.

  “My place.” They moved into the atrium, and Jack pointed out an abstract of musical instruments, commenting on the composition, the striking use of color and light.

  “Nice,” she said, nodding. “Where do you live?”

  “Derek and I turned an older home in Lansdowne into a duplex, but since he and his wife will be needing more space, I’m giving him my side when they return from their honeymoon.”

  “That’s generous of you.”

  He shook his head. “Derek has carried my weight around the agency more than once. He’s a good man, and it’s the least I can do.”

  “So where will you live?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll find a place—I mainly use the duplex as storage for my art collection.”

  Alex angled her head. “So you weren’t kidding about having a large collection that you, um, traded for?”

  Jack nodded and gave her a crooked smile. “Not in the way you think, though. I’ve traveled a lot and picked up local pieces for a few bucks, and I’ve bartered an odd job here and there.”

  “I’d like to see it sometime,” she murmured.

  He shrugged. “Why not now?”

  “I wasn’t fishing for an invitation,” she said, averting her gaze and extracting her hand from his.

  Jack laughed. “I didn’t think you were. Let’s go. But I have to warn you, the place isn’t exactly a penthouse loft.”

  She hesitated. The thought of going to his place seemed much too intimate in light of their recent encounter. “I shouldn’t,” she said, shaking her head. She didn’t realize she was fingering her engagement ring until his gaze cut to her hand.

  “Still wearing that thing?” he asked lightly.

  Her defenses rallied. “Yes.”

  He made a sympathetic noise. “I never understood the allure of marriage myself.”

  “Call me old-fashioned,” she said, lifting her chin. “But I like the idea of spending the rest of my life with one person.”

  One side of his mouth drew back. “Okay, Ms. Old-Fashioned, humor me. Let me show off my art collection to someone who actually knows a little bit about the art world.”

  “I’m sure I don’t have your eye, or your expertise,” she protested.

  “Really? Did you select the Lenux hanging in your bathroom?”

  She nodded.

  “I have the companion piece.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Nope.”

  “What is it?”

  “Come and see for yourself,” he urged.

  The knowledge that they shared an interest in the same artists left her absurdly pleased. And she had to admit, she was curious to see the man’s living space. “Just a tour?”

  He held up his hands. “Just a tour. We’ll leave whenever you want to.”

  She wavered.

  His eyes sobered. “Alex, I don’t have an ulterior motive here to get you alone.”

  Alex squirmed, feeling foolish.

  Jack pressed his lips together, then shifted his weight to his other foot. “I’m sorry our … mistake … Friday night left you in such an awkward position with your fiancé. We both got a little carried away.” His color heightened, but his expression remained serious. “And Reddinger won’t hear anything from me about what happened.”

  Alex exhaled, feeling relieved but also a little foolish for thinking that just because they would be alone, they would end up in bed again. Jack seemed as contrite as she about their lapse. They were adults who had learned from their “mistake.” Besides, she suspected that for a man like Jack, the lure ended with the conquest. She was safe now. “Let’s go,” she agreed.

  His grin buoyed her, sounding a little alarm in the back of her mind, which Alex ignored.

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  “A little.”

  “We can grab some fish sandwiches to go on the way. Sound good?”

  She nodded, caught up in his excitement

  “Great. Let’s ride.”

  During the drive across town, Alex tried to concentrate on the sweet-scented a
utumn air and the delicate orange and yellow leaves that swirled around them, but her senses were keen, making her ultra-aware of Jack’s flat stomach muscles moving beneath her hands, of her thighs cradling his, her sex cupped against his buttocks. She told herself that once they arrived at his place, she’d maintain a room’s distance from the man. At last he wheeled into the driveway of a large flagstone ranch home, and shut off the engine.

  “I think you were more relaxed today,” he teased as they removed their helmets.

  She smiled, remembering her drive back from the cemetery yesterday, top down, hair flying. She hadn’t reached any monumental conclusions during her trip, but she’d felt a little better upon returning. “It’s kind of fun once you get the hang of it.”

  After they stowed their helmets and retrieved the bag of sandwiches, she followed Jack to a side entrance. The grass needed to be mowed, but its deep emerald color was a pleasing background for jewel-toned leaves that had settled around the base of trees and the house itself.

  Jack moved casually, obviously much more at ease than she. After opening an aged beveled glass door, he swept his arm for her to precede him. Thrumming with curiosity, Alex stepped inside.

  They entered through a tiny retro kitchen with hardwood floors, charming red tile counters, and white porcelain fixtures. And while the room was stripped bare of furniture and bric-a-brac, she received an immediate introduction to his art collection. Paintings of all sizes, framed and unframed, lined every inch of the anchor wall from floor to ceiling, stretching into a hallway beyond her vision. No theme or color scheme was observed, but each of the pieces was intriguing—landscapes, portraits, abstracts.

  “Let’s eat outside,” he suggested. “Then I’ll give you the full tour.”

  He retrieved a couple of beers from the refrigerator, then elbowed his way through a glass door that led to a brick patio in the backyard. Alex followed, admiring the simple wood table and chairs, also littered with bright leaves. Jack set their food and drinks on the table, then cleared a chair for her and raised the faded green umbrella to shield them from the sun.