by Jaci Burton
“Or what? You’ll spank me for misbehaving?”
Goddammit! He’d just gotten his unruly dick under control. Now it sprang up heavy and hard. Images hit him without warning—his hand reddening her sweet ass with swat after swat, her pussy juices running over them both as he held her over his thighs, the sounds of her moans signaling she really loved the spanking he was giving her.
Shit.
She reached out and covered the top of his hand with hers. A jolt of searing heat shot through his body. “You can talk to me if you’d like. I’m a very good listener.”
He focused on her hand over his, on his erratic pulse, his painfully tightening balls. His mind, his body, was filled with her scent, the softness of her skin, the way she moved and talked. God, he had to get away from Kaitlyn and fast.
He’d never had a reaction like this to Amanda. That thought made him feel like shit because he’d never loved her the way she loved him. She’d given him her heart, her trust and her very soul.
In return, he’d destroyed her.
The memories were like a cold rain pouring over him, effectively dousing the searing heat threatening to set fire to his chair.
Never again. And definitely not with Kaitlyn. People like him weren’t meant to be with someone like her. He withdrew his hand and reached for his water glass, taking a long gulp in the hopes the ice would chill the remnants of the raging inferno coursing through him.
“What’s wrong, Brett?” she asked, her voice dropping to a near whisper as she leaned toward him.
She knew she affected him. The innocent batting of her eyelashes wasn’t fooling him one bit. Kaitlyn Storm was shrewd and calculating and what she wanted, she went after with all her might.
She wanted him. If he were a different kind of man he’d have already dragged her out of the restaurant and would most likely have her panties shredded and his cock buried inside her before they ever made it to the car.
But he wasn’t a different kind of man. He wasn’t the man who should be thinking about sliding his cock inside Kait’s hot pussy. He wasn’t the man who deserved her passion and her caring.
Cold replaced the once-surging heat inside him. Carefully placing the mask of indifference on, he looked directly in her eyes and said, “Nothing’s wrong.”
She cocked her head to the side and frowned. “That’s not true. There was heat when I touched you. Raging heat. Then, suddenly, an icy chill. I felt your pain. It goes deep and it’s raw. Let me help you.”
The Storms were a powerful family. Maybe he’d underestimated just how powerful. How the hell she could feel his pain was beyond his ability to understand. Yet she’d pinpointed exactly how he felt. Raw. The only way to fight her compassion was with anger and indifference. “You don’t know a damn thing about me, so butt out.”
“I know more about you than you think. I know you have an amazing talent you’re not using. I know that since Amanda died you’ve shut yourself off from your friends, from the people who love you. I know there’s a need inside you that isn’t being fulfilled and I want to help.”
He wished he could take what she was offering without a moment’s hesitation. She looked at him with a mixture of love and hot desire in her eyes. That look caused a stabbing pain in his gut. Guilt mixed with need and a war raged within him. A few carefully chosen words and he could lose himself inside her.
But that would only ease the pain for a little while. It would come back, stronger next time. And in the process he’d hurt Kaitlyn.
He might be a prick, but he liked to think he had a few redeeming qualities left. And one of those qualities was the ability to push people away. Better to hurt her now than later. “I don’t need anything you have to offer, Kait. I lead my life exactly as I want to. Take your bleeding heart and offer it to someone else. I’m not interested.”
Kaitlyn sucked in a breath, clenching her jaw tight to keep from blurting out the words that wanted to erupt. God, he could be such a bastard, his words cutting so deep they drew blood. But in her heart, she knew he was deliberately trying to push her away. He hurt so bad that he was afraid he’d hurt her, too. She felt it as if she could feel every one of his emotions inside herself. And she wasn’t going to let him do it this time.
Brett needed her. He may not realize it. No one realized it but her. Not Aidan, not Shannon, not anyone in her family. But she knew it. He was a part of her, his pain so raw it nearly drove her to tears. Brett hid something deep and dark inside, allowing no one else to reach in and help him through it.
Somehow she had to force her way past his defenses. If ever a man needed someone to love him, it was Brett. But she had to tread carefully, gain his trust slowly. Otherwise he’d crawl so far inside his shell she’d never be able to reach him.
“My apologies,” she said with a smile. “I have a tendency to meddle where I shouldn’t. Ask Aidan, he’ll tell you.”
Relief washed over his face, relaxing the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes. “Aidan says you’re a brat.”
She laughed. “I don’t doubt it. Something about little sisters and big brothers don’t mix well. He’s a stubborn pain in the ass.”
Brett’s lips curled into a smile. “I think I might have said those same words to him a time or two in the past.”
Once she’d effectively dissolved the tension between them, they made it through the remainder of dinner and the rest of her list for the auction.
“If it’s not too late for you, I’d like to stop by the gallery tonight,” she suggested. “I want to select a few pieces of art to showcase in the lobby of the hotel to promote the fundraiser,” she suggested, careful to keep her tone businesslike. If he had any inkling she had personal reasons in mind, he’d shut her out faster than she could blink.
He might be a top-notch player in the game of hide, but she was pretty damned good at the game of seek. And just competitive enough to be determined to win.
He stood and pulled out her chair. “Good idea. I have some paperwork to pick up before I go home, anyway.”
The gallery was only a few blocks from the hotel. The night was warm, that first teasing glimpse of spring just beginning to ease its way into the air. Walking along the sidewalk with Brett at her side reminded her of the scenes she’d viewed from her office earlier today. Only they weren’t linked arm in arm like the couples she’d watched. Their heads weren’t touching while they shared intimate secrets. And he sure as hell wasn’t dragging her into a secluded doorway to slide his fingers up her dress and cop a feel, no matter how much she willed it to happen. A few inches of personal space separated them, but it might as well have been a mile-wide chasm.
Somehow she’d have to bridge the gap between them. Whether he knew it or not, whether he liked it or not, Brett needed her.
Kaitlyn waited while Brett slid the key into the lock on the front door, punched in the codes for the alarm, then flipped on the lights. She stepped in and waited while he closed and locked the door behind them, then followed him through the doorway into the back of the gallery.
“I have several pieces in storage that haven’t been put out yet. Those would make good advertisements for the auction since they’re on the list of items anyway.”
He stepped to a door at the far end of the gallery, unlocking it and turning on the overhead lights.
The storage room was filled with paintings and sculptures, all covered with thick, white dust cloths. Brett began to pull the covers off while she examined each revealed piece.
He’d uncovered two rows and stood there waiting while she looked them over. She looked to him and shook her head. “None of these have what I’m looking for. They’re either too modern, their colors too dull or way too abstract. Keep going.”
His lips curled in a half-smile before he turned away to pull more covers. She followed along, stopping at each piece and scanning it, imagining how it would look set up on an easel or table in the lobby.
One piece caught her attention and she studied it, movi
ng from one side to the other and then directly in front of it.
“You like impressionist paintings,” Brett said from behind her.
She stilled. His breath caressed the side of her neck. Her fingers curled into her palms and she had to force herself to concentrate her gaze on the painting instead of turning to him. “Yes, I do. This one in particular strikes my fancy.”
“Why?”
“The blending of colors. The flower field here—” she pointed, “—evokes vivid images of spring when the crocuses and tulips begin to bloom in tandem. It’s fresh and exciting and reminds me of my favorite season.”
“You have an eye for color,” he said. “Mark Algiers is a great artist. New and a little raw, but with amazing natural talent. It’s a great choice.”
“Thank you.” She took a deep breath, intending to whip around and force him to acknowledge the attraction between them. But when she turned to face him, he had already slipped away to remove more coverings.
Slippery bastard. He was avoiding her. That had to mean something. Surely if he didn’t care one way or another about her, he’d have no problem standing close. He felt the same sparks of attraction she did, and because of that he didn’t want to get close to her.
But why?
Too many questions, not enough answers. She needed a plan. A plan to get them together and keep him close. In the meantime, she viewed several more rows of art and selected a unique sculpture made from wood and copper. The base looked like a flowing stream, then both the wood and copper had been twisted together into a rising spiral to form two lovers in an embrace.
“Like that one?” he asked.
This time she wasn’t surprised to feel him behind her. She’d always gotten completely lost in art and tuned out everything around her. “Yes, I do. The lines are sleek and sensual, the lovers abstract and interpretive. It calls to me on an emotional level. I could look at this for hours.”
“You do know your art, Kait.”
She smiled at the compliment. “As the old saying goes, I just know what I like. When it touches something inside me, I know it’s good.”
He was silent for a moment, then said, “How many more pieces would you like to select?”
“Probably one more should do it.”
She turned around when his cell phone chimed. He slipped it out of his pocket, and spoke briefly. “Client,” he said to her. “I need to get something from my office. Keep looking and I’ll be right back.”
She nodded and turned back to the paintings, slipping along the rows quickly until she reached the end. Or at least the end of what had been uncovered. A row in the very back of the room sat still covered. Curious, she walked over and pulled the cover off one, instantly realizing why he hadn’t uncovered it. She pulled the other six sheets from the paintings, recognizing Brett’s work instantly.
He worked in both oils and watercolors. She’d never seen these pieces of art before and wondered how long ago he’d painted them. Studying each one carefully, the last one captured her like an arrow to her heart.
It was a woman. Nude and seated facing front, her knees were drawn up toward her chest and her ankles crossed over each other. The side swell of each breast was visible on either side of her legs. Her long dark hair draped over her shoulders and down her arms. Her head was bent so Kaitlyn couldn’t see her face.
It was magnificent. The background was a light blue wall, plain and without adornment. A cream-colored sheet lay crumpled on the floor underneath her, making the woman herself the focal point of the painting.
The woman’s arms were crossed over the tops of her knees, her delicate fingers pointing down toward the floor. She looked relaxed and utterly beautiful.
She’d always loved paintings of nudes. They were so free, so part of nature and their surroundings, uncaring that their bodies were bared for all to see. Kaitlyn would love to feel that free and unrestrained. The right artist could paint a nude and capture the subject’s very soul. Brett’s work was like that.
She reached out to lightly trace Brett’s signature gracing the bottom right corner of the painting. His work literally took her breath away and yet filled her with a sadness that moved her to tears. She sighed with a mix of contentment and melancholy, desperately wishing she could reach him, to bring him out of whatever shell he hid underneath and open his heart enough to use his gift again. Her magic flowed from her and kicked up a light spring breeze that blew through the closed room. The smell of lavender filled the room.
Damn. Sometimes she had difficulty reining in her magic, especially when she got emotional.
Why wouldn’t he paint any longer? More importantly, what would it take to get him to take a brush in his hand and create again?
“How the hell did it get windy in here?”
She whirled around, forcing the breeze to dissipate. “Have no idea. Maybe a gust blew in when you opened the door.”
He frowned and entered the room. “There aren’t any windows open in…”
He stopped and looked behind her, obviously realizing she’d uncovered his work. When he looked back at her, anger sparked hot in his eyes, turning them nearly black. Instead of speaking, he sidestepped her and jerked the covers back over the canvases.
“Have you decided on a third painting?” he asked, obviously choosing to ignore what she’d done.
“Yes. The nude you painted.”
He didn’t even turn around. “No.”
“It’s breathtaking, Brett,” she argued, moving with him and helping him drape the sheets over the easels in each row. “I don’t understand why you don’t want your work shown.”
“I’m not having this conversation with you again.”
Yes, he most certainly was going to have this conversation again. She’d touched a nerve. Granted, not a happy nerve, but any reaction was better than indifference.
Finishing up the last painting, they came together again at the back of the room.
“Choose another item, Kait. You wanted three, you selected two.”
“No, I selected three.” She walked away, moving toward his paintings in the back, uncovering the nude again. “I love this painting. I want this one at the fundraiser.”
His lips set in a firm, straight line, he shook his head. She felt the temper boiling within him, knew she’d made him angry. But she wasn’t going to back away. “You can’t hide forever. And you can’t walk away from your talent.”
Wrenching the cloth from her hands with a violent jerk, he re-covered the painting. “Stop trying to psychoanalyze me, Kaitlyn. I don’t need or want your attention. Do you understand?”
Oh, she understood more than he realized. If he thought he’d hurt her feelings by pushing her away, he was wrong. But an idea had formed. Risky, but still might work. “Fine. I’ll abide by your wishes.” She turned away and selected another painting that had caught her eye. “I’ll take this one for the lobby.”
His brows knit in a tight frown as if she gave him a headache. She hid her smile. She probably did give him a headache. She’d rather give him a hard-on. Why shouldn’t he suffer like she did? Even at his worst he made her wet, made her nipples tingle and her pussy clench with the need to feel his hot shaft stabbing inside her until she screamed.
“I’ll have these delivered tomorrow.”
“Fine.” Now it was time to put her plan into action. Praying it worked, she grabbed her purse and waited outside the storage room door while he locked it and led her down the hallway. Before they stepped through the doors and back into the reception area, she turned to him, halting his progress. “I have a question.”
His gaze wary, he nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Who else paints nudes around here? A good local artist.”
“John Grayson and Mitchell Walker do the best contemporary nude artwork in the state.”
“Good. Can I get their phone numbers?”
Arching a brow, he said, “I can arrange to have some of their nudes brought in here. You don’t need to
contact them directly.”
Here’s where she hoped her gamble paid off. “This isn’t about the fundraiser. I’ve fallen madly in love with that nude you painted in there.” He opened his mouth to object but she raised her hand. “Don’t bother. I understand you don’t want to sell it, but I’ve always wanted to own a nude. So I’ve decided I’d like to have one specially created for my own personal gallery.”
“I can arrange that for you. Do you have a particular model in mind, or does it matter?”
“Oh, I definitely have a model in mind.”
Brett frowned, dread sending his heart plummeting to his feet. He’d had control of this conversation a few minutes ago, certain he’d steered Kait away from dangerous ground. Right now, he had the feeling an earthquake was about to hit. “Who?”
Smiling, she said, “Me, of course. I want to commission an artist to paint me.”
He went rigid at the thought of someone painting her nude. Someone besides him. Another artist looking at her body and immortalizing her on canvas. Tension filled every muscle, his headache pounding harder by the second.
Why the hell hadn’t she asked him to do it?
Because you’d refuse and she knows that, you moron. Still, she’d specifically asked for someone else. Then again, he hadn’t given her any reason to think he’d even contemplate the idea.
Jealousy reared up and filled him with irrational anger he had no business feeling. Nevertheless, there it was and he couldn’t make it go away. “Why in the hell would you want to do that?”
She arched a brow and crossed her arms. “Is there something wrong with my body? Is it hideous? Deformed? Do you think some artist will lose his lunch if I stripped naked in front of him?”
God, she left him tongue-tied and unable to say what he really felt. He wanted to grab her arms and wrench her against him and tell her in no uncertain terms that no fucking way was another guy going to see her naked. “You know damn well that wasn’t what I meant. Quit playing these games, Kait. You don’t really want to…well, you just don’t want to do that.”
