by HELEN HARDT
Whether Lacey put my mind at ease no longer mattered.
I’d blown what might have been the best thing to happen to me ever.
4
Roy
I’d fucked up again.
There was a reason I didn’t do this. A reason other than the mindfuck I lived with constantly. I was attracted to Charlie Waters. More attracted than I’d been to a woman in a long time. Enough to let go of the mindfuck for a minute and take a chance.
And still I’d failed. Just because I’d had a hot one-nighter with a server in Montana clearly didn’t mean I’d magically transformed into a man who swept women off their feet.
I’d made a fool of myself.
Yeah. Back to having no luck with women. Great.
I kept my eyes off Charlie. If I looked her way, I wouldn’t be able to drag my gaze away. I’d never get her image out of my mind as it was. Until the day I died, those silver eyes would haunt me.
I ate, but not because I was hungry. I’d lost my appetite. I ate to save face. Stupid, but true. I ached to get out of this conference room, out of this building, out of…
Maybe I should pull a Riley and just disappear. My little sister was notorious for her escape routine. No one knew what would push her over the edge, but something would eventually.
She’d be back. She always came back.
Still, I worried about her while she was gone. We all did. She and I weren’t overly close. I wasn’t overly close to my brothers either.
I wasn’t overly close to anyone.
I preferred being alone. Not that I didn’t like a good fuck as much as the next guy. I just wasn’t sure a relationship was in the cards for me. The Montana fling would have to hold me for a while. I was the worst at picking up women, and I refused to join an internet dating site.
No way. Just no way.
I also refused to pay for sex, even though I could afford the best out there.
No way. Just no way.
Since little miss silver eyes wasn’t interested, I’d go it solo, as usual. I’d gone way out of my comfort zone to ask her to dinner, and I’d gotten shot down.
I work for the company. Your company.
What a dumbass excuse. What she really meant was I’m not interested.
Normally this wouldn’t be a huge issue. I’d just stay away from the office. Not an option at the moment, though. Until we figured out how and why all our prints ended up in our father’s penthouse that night, I needed to be involved. All of our lives were at stake here, even though I had no doubt that every single one of us was innocent. Rock hadn’t even been in New York that night.
Yet all of our prints had been found at the murder site.
I’d been at my loft all night.
Alone.
I was always alone.
Almost always, anyway, so the fact that I had no witnesses shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone. I had to find a way to clear myself, which meant it was a good thing I’d chickened out on confiding in Rock.
If he—or anyone—knew what I knew—what I kept so deeply buried—I’d be fucked. Really fucked.
Nine o’clock, and I’d just settled in for a night of painting. My brothers kept me at the damned office until nearly seven. Or rather, that was when I told them I was leaving. Another minute of avoiding that silver-eyed gaze would have driven me mad.
Mad with lust, that is.
The most ridiculous thing about the day was that nothing had been accomplished. Nine hours of discussion and strategizing, and we were no closer to proving any of our innocence. We’d been questioned ad nauseum, but so far not one of us had been arrested. The cops were apparently strategizing as well. We weren’t yet considered suspects, other than Lacey. The rest of us were merely “persons of interest.” Reid and Rock both maintained that we needed to stay one step ahead of the police. If we didn’t, we’d all fall.
I agreed with them in theory. In practice? I wasn’t sure. Yeah, we had the money to hire the best people, but we weren’t our father. We wouldn’t use our money to “get rid” of damning evidence.
At least I wouldn’t.
I barely knew Rock.
But Reid had been under the tutelage of our father.
Our father had been a bad man.
A very bad man.
I knew something my siblings didn’t, something that needed to stay embedded in my mind forever. I couldn’t even let myself think about it, for fear it would come out. I’d buried it so deep, I wasn’t even sure what it was anymore. All I knew was that it had to stay fossilized in the rock of my brain.
Or my life would be over.
I began mixing oil paints on my palette, when—
I jumped.
My intercom had buzzed.
Strange.
My intercom never buzzed except on the rare occasions I had food delivered at odd hours. I usually went out to eat or fixed a sandwich at home.
I clicked the button. “Yeah?”
“Hi.”
The voice was familiar. My groin tightened. “Who is it?” Though I knew.
“Charlie Waters. May I…come up?”
“What for?”
A sigh. “Never mind. This was a mistake.”
Let her go, man. Just let her go.
Yeah, right.
“You can come up.” I pressed the button to open the main door.
The loft was a mess. I wasn’t the best housekeeper in the world, and I didn’t let anyone come in to clean. I was afraid they’d mess up my supplies. I was wearing old jeans and a T-shirt with my painting smock over it. My hair was up in a messy man bun.
Fuck. No time. This was me. The artist. She’d have to take me as I was.
A minute later, she knocked softly. I quickly put down my palette and walked to the door.
She stood, still in her work clothes, looking worn and tired but still delectable.
“Hi,” she said meekly.
I held the door open. “Come in.”
She stepped in slowly, saying nothing.
I said nothing.
When I finally decided to speak, she spoke at the same time.
“Go ahead,” she said.
“No, you go ahead. You came here, remember?”
“Yeah.” A pink blush crept into her cheeks. “I wanted to apologize.”
“For what? If you didn’t want to have dinner with me, there’s no need to apologize.”
She squeezed her hands into fists. “You’ve twisted everything around.”
“How?”
“I was worried. I just started a new job today at your company.”
“I told you, it’s not my com—”
Her silver eyes sparkled with fire. “That’s bullshit and you know it. It’s Wolfe Enterprises. You’re a Wolfe.”
I stayed silent.
What could I say to that? As many times as I’d wanted to renounce my birthright, I was indeed a Wolfe.
“I talked to Lacey.”
“About what?”
“Um…about whether having dinner with you was an issue. She said she didn’t think it would be a problem, so…”
“So what? You’re here to accept the invitation I made hours ago? Sorry. It’s been rescinded.”
Asshole move, totally. I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth. I wasn’t an asshole. Either of my brothers might have made that move. Not me.
“Oh.” She looked away. “I guess I should go, then.”
“I suppose.” Another asshole move. What the hell was wrong with me?
“I’m sorry I bothered you.” She turned and walked out the door.
Was I really going to let that beautiful woman with silver eyes walk out of my loft?
Out of my life?
“Wait a minute, silver,” I said.
She turned, her eyes wide. “What?”
“The invitation was rescinded because it’s nine o’clock. I’ve already had dinner.”
“Oh.” Her eyes brightened. “Maybe another time, then.”
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“You mean you haven’t eaten?”
She shook her head. “I just left the office.”
“They didn’t buy you dinner for staying late?”
“They didn’t know I stayed. I wanted to unpack my personals and learn where everything is.”
“You’re a workaholic like the rest of them, huh?”
She let out an adorable little huff. “I believe in doing the best job I can at all times, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s something we share, then.”
“I don’t mean to change the subject,” she said, “but you really are a brilliant artist.”
Warmth crept through me. I’d had my share of compliments from those in the cultural elite, but this endorsement from a woman I hardly knew suddenly became the most important review I’d ever received.
She looked around the mess in my living room. “You don’t have any of your work on your walls.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“There are plenty of unfinished works in my studio.” I pointed down the small hallway.
“But why not in here? For visitors to enjoy?”
“Visitors?” I never had visitors. Even on the few occasions I’d gotten lucky, we’d always gone to her place except once.
“Yeah. You know. People who come over to see you.” She laughed teasingly.
“No one comes to see me,” I said truthfully.
“Well…I’m here.”
“You’re the first.” Maybe not the first, but close. “How did you know where I live, anyway?”
“I have access to all the personnel files at the company now. It wasn’t difficult to find your address.”
“Oh.” I felt oddly exposed. She was Lacey’s assistant, so this made perfect sense. Jarrod and Terrence had the same access. No one else, other than my brothers, did.
“And you changed the subject. Why don’t you have your work on the walls?”
“None of it fits.” A simple explanation that wasn’t even close to the truth. All of my work was so personal, and although I displayed it in galleries and in the Wolfe building, and though a lot of it hung in strangers’ homes, I never felt right displaying it in my own. I painted for myself, but still… If I couldn’t explain it to myself, I certainly couldn’t explain it to Charlie.
“Of course it would fit. You’re the artist.”
“Where would you like to go to dinner?”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“You’re the one who showed up here begging for a dinner invitation.” Man. Asshole move again. What the hell was wrong with me?
“You’re right.” She lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry. I’ll get out of your way.”
I was the worst with women! Here was someone who had piqued my interest, who had eyes I’d never forget, and I couldn’t stop being a douche.
She turned to leave, but I grabbed her arm.
“Wait.”
Her silver eyes met mine. She looked…bereft.
“I’m sorry. Please. I want to have dinner with you. Tomorrow?”
“Are you going to rescind the invitation?” she asked, her tone hurt.
“No. Not if you accept it.”
“All right. I accept.” She pulled a card out of her purse. “My work extension is on here. Call me with the details.”
“I’d rather call your cell.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to call the company. That was the issue you had in the beginning, remember?”
“Well, okay. I guess.” She grabbed a pen out of her bag, scribbled some numbers on the card, and then handed it to me. “I always have my cell on me. Except for when I don’t.”
I chuckled. “What exactly does that mean?”
“It means sometimes I forget my phone. But not usually.”
This woman was precious! She was beautifully flustered, and her hair was in disarray. The look in her eyes—I couldn’t even describe it.
But I knew one thing.
I wanted to paint it—paint her—right now, with that look.
5
Charlie
He grabbed my hand, not gently, and stared deep into my eyes. His dark eyes were burning, and I swore they melted me into a puddle of butter right in his entryway.
“Don’t go,” he said simply.
I opened my mouth but had no idea what to say. I hadn’t eaten. Did he want to have dinner? Or did he want to…
I had the feeling that Roy Wolfe wasn’t either of his brothers. Reid was a known womanizer, and Rock… Well, Lacey hadn’t confided in me about their first encounter in her office, but I had ears. They hadn’t exactly been quiet. I was thankful no one else had walked by during their little interlude. Her partnership at the firm could have been jeopardized.
Didn’t matter now. She no longer worked there.
“Are you going to say anything?” he asked.
“I…have work in the morning.” God, what an idiot! This was far from my first encounter with a handsome man, but I was acting like a shy schoolgirl who just got asked out by the football captain.
“I know. I wasn’t asking you to spend the night.”
Warmth crept up my neck and into my cheeks. “Of course not. I knew that. So…dinner?”
“If you want. I’ll order something for you. You don’t want to be thinking about food while you’re posing.”
My heart fluttered. “Posing?”
“Yeah. In fact, I’m sorry, but dinner will have to wait. I promise you a gourmet feast if you let me paint you right now, with that faraway look in your eyes. I’ve just got to capture that on canvas.”
“Posing?” I echoed, sounding like a complete imbecile.
“Yeah. Please. I’ve got to paint you, and it has to be now.”
My heart thundered so loud I thought he might be able to hear it. He wanted to paint me? Charlie Waters? Plain Jane? My appetite no longer seemed important. This man—this extraordinary artist—wanted me to be his next subject.
Me.
Me.
“Sure. I guess so.”
“No ‘I guess so.’ Yes. Be absolutely sure. We both need to be all in.”
His dark eyes were burning with fire. Passion. For me.
But not for me, really. For something I represented. Something he wanted to immortalize on canvas.
It was a start.
“Yes. Yes, Roy,” I said, trying to sound confident. “I will pose for you.”
“Thank God. Follow me.” He led me through the living area. A small kitchen sat on the other side, and then a short hallway where two doors stood. One was open. The studio. I inhaled, expecting to smell the piney resin scent of turpentine or mineral spirits.
Hmm. Nothing.
The other door was his bedroom. It had to be.
He raked his gaze over me. “I wish it were daylight. I could capture you so much better in natural light, but this will have to do. You’ll have to change.”
“Change? You wanted to paint me as I am.”
He smiled. “I mean change clothes. That crisp suit is too businesslike. I want to see you as you truly are.”
“You mean…naked?”
“I was going to give you a robe, but if you’re offering…”
“I’m not,” I said quickly, though the thought had merit. If I got naked…
No. This man was an artist. He’d asked me to dinner, but that didn’t mean he wanted to take me to bed.
He opened a closet. This was obviously another bedroom that he used for a studio. “I don’t paint here often. I have a studio a couple buildings over where I have more room to move around.”
“I don’t smell any paint,” I said.
“Contrary to popular belief, oil paints have no odor. You’re probably thinking of turpentine or other solvents. I use a different method to clean my brushes.”
“How?”
“Raw linseed oil.” He smiled. “Doubles as a nutritional supplement too.”
“What?�
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“Linseed oil is another term for flaxseed oil.”
“I didn’t know that. My mother takes flaxseed for her cholesterol.”
Roy nodded. “It has a nutty smell, much better than the noxious odor of turpentine or mineral spirits. A little of the oil will remove the color from the brushes and help keep the bristles from becoming dry. That plus a little castile soap and water does the trick.”
“Oh.”
“Plus, it’s summer, so I can have the windows open, which creates a nice cross breeze if the nutty odor bothers you.”
“It doesn’t. I actually don’t smell anything.”
“This is the master suite, but I sleep in the other room. I need the space here for supplies and—” He pulled out a plush white robe and handed it to me. “Here.”
I took it from him, my hands sinking into the silky chenille. “Where should I change?”
“You can use the bedroom.”
I warmed all over. Roy Wolfe’s bedroom. What might it look like? He wasn’t the rugged mountain-man type like Rock, or the sleek businessman type like Reid.
Roy Wolfe was a combination of both, plus something more special.
His bedroom was a mystery to me, one I’d solve as soon as I opened the door and entered.
“All right,” I said finally. “The closed door?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Be right back.”
I walked out, trying not to go too quickly, even though curiosity about Roy’s bedroom was killing me. When I opened the door to the other room, I dropped my mouth open.
It was nothing like I expected. The thickest mattress I’d ever seen sat on a black steel bedframe that could have come from IKEA. The bed was covered in plain white sheets and a chocolate brown comforter. Against the other wall was an antique highboy and chest, made out of walnut was my best guess. IKEA and antiques. Roy’s decorating style was truly eclectic, which was strange, given his artistic talent.
But he showed that in abundance on the other wall facing the window. He’d painted—or I assumed he’d painted—an abstract of the New York City skyline, complete with ghostly images of the Twin Towers that had collapsed years ago. A soft cloud of light swirled above them, seeming to encase them. I sucked in a breath. I had no words. It was truly stunning. Roy wouldn’t display his work in his home where others could see it, but here, in his bedroom—his sanctuary—he’d created a masterpiece.
