His By Design (12 page)

Jeff closed his eyes briefly and blew out a long breath. Then he dropped the bag of take-out in Jen’s lap and began wrapping the painting. It would be tricky carrying it on his bike but for once he’d go slow and avoid tight corners.

Jen took the paper sack to her room and called back through the doorway, “Don’t worry about dinner for me after all this food. I won’t worry if you’re late getting home tonight, so you won’t need to call.”

He heard his sister’s sly chuckle. No matter how much he loved his little sister, there were times when he wanted to throttle her.

Jeff let himself in the back door and made plenty of noise going up the stairs to Zoe’s apartment. He stashed the painting in the storage
area then knocked on her door. He’d put the peephole at eye level for her, which meant he had to stoop so his face would be visible instead of his chest when she looked out. He heard the deadbolt slide back. Good, she used it as he hoped she would.

“Hi,” he called before she even opened the door, “I’m selling magazine subscriptions to pay my way through bar-tending school. Would you be interested in a year’s—”

“Get in here, you idiot.” She cut him off and swung the door wide. “What brings you here? I thought you had stuff to do over at your place today.”

“I did. But I finished sooner than I expected and, since it is such a nice day, I thought you might like to go for a ride with me.” He presented her with a helmet he’d kept hidden behind his back. “On my bike.”

“I’ve never actually been on a motorcycle before. I’m not sure . . .”

“It’ll be a piece of cake, Zoe. All you have to do is sit behind me and hang on. I’ll do all the rest. After a few minutes you’ll see how much fun it is.”

She still looked less than enthused.

He brushed his thumb across her cheek. “Trust me, sweet cheeks, I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

He wanted to lean down and kiss her, but the last time they kissed it started a conflagration he still hadn’t recovered from. Until he got the okay to show “his” paintings at the gallery, he had to play it cool. Otherwise she’d think he used unfair tactics.

“Tell you what. We’ll do one spin around the town square and if you don’t like it, we’ll quit. What do you say?”

She took a deep breath. “Okay. One spin around the green. I can handle that much.”

“Put a warm jacket on. It’s cool out there.”

Down at his bike, Jeff showed her where to put her feet. You can hold on back here or”—he winked—“you can hang on to me.”

Once she was settled behind him, he started the bike. She immediately slid her arms around his waist and plastered herself against his back. There was a lot to be said for riding double.

He took it easy around the square and stopped back at the gallery. Her grip already looser, she shouted, “Hey, this is fun. More, please, but don’t do anything scary.”

He put his hand over hers and made a fist. “Any time you’ve had enough, just bang on my chest and I’ll pull over.” He demonstrated and felt her nod against his back. “Okay, here we go.”

The cool nights had turned the leaves into a riot of oranges and reds and the bright sunshine seemed to amplify the colors and keep the wind from feeling too chilly. The damp scent of already fallen leaves mixed with the salty tang off the bay to make a unique blend of autumn perfume.

He took her to the same cove he had taken Jen on their last outing, happy to find it empty of people. He parked and took off his helmet, then helped her off with hers. Her cheeks were apple-stained, her eyes sparkled, and the wind-tossed mass of silken tresses that slid down her back gave her the look of a woman well-bedded. How in hell was he going to keep his hands off her?

“I can’t believe I’ve missed doing this all my life.” She leaned up and kissed him lightly. “Thank you for introducing me to the joys of bike riding.”

“My pleasure.” He held her close for another kiss, then released her as his alarm bells went off. The feel of her pressed against his back had been sweet torture the entire trip and he wanted to lay her down in the bright sunshine and with a few strokes have her gasping his name.

Luckily she walked toward the water and he followed, trying to keep his erection from escalating any further. Maybe he’d have to take a dip in the cold Chesapeake, but just the thought of the chilling fifty degree water was enough to bring back some control.

They explored the shoreline together for a while but the October days were shortening and as the sun slid toward the bay, the breeze off the water got steadily colder.

“We’d better head back. It’ll be dark soon.”

Zoe took his hand as they walked back to the bike. “What a wonderful afternoon. Thanks for bringing me here, Jeff. I hope we can come back again sometime.”

“Count on it, sweet cheeks.” Alarm bells or no, he couldn’t resist capturing her lips one more time.

It was almost dark by the time they got back to the gallery. When she handed him his helmet, she looked up from under her lashes and smiled wickedly. “I don’t suppose you might want to stay for dinner?”

“If you’re sure you have enough?”

She laughed. “I may not but I’m sure Chang Lee does. Will Chinese be okay?”

“Sure.” He followed her up the stairs. “I’ve been wanting to ask you a favor, Zoe, and I guess this is as good a time as any.”

She looked over her shoulder as she unlocked the door. “Oh my, this sounds serious.”

Chapter 12

“So, what was your favor?”

Zoe used the time to hang up their jackets and pour them both a glass of wine to wonder what kind of favor Jeff could possibly want. He looked worried, so it couldn’t be something as simple as a reference, which she would gladly have given him. Did he need more money? Her dwindling bank account couldn’t be squeezed much more, but she could try to come up with a few hundred dollars. Did he have to leave town before all the work on the gallery was finished? That would be a major problem, but if he had to go, how could she stop him? She prepared herself for bad news.

He set his glass on the counter. “Hold on a sec. I’ll be right back.” He went to the storage room and returned with what had to be a painting wrapped in brown paper. “You’ve had that sign in the window looking for artists so I brought this with me in the hope you might accept it for the gallery. No pressure, but I decided what the heck, the worst you could do is say no, right?”

Zoe saw the undisguised hope in his eyes and prayed whatever he was going to show her was good enough to hang downstairs. She wouldn’t lower her standards no matter how much she liked him. She’d been in exactly the same spot herself. Holding a piece of her soul in her hands and hoping some gallery owner would say yes.

She took a deep breath and smiled encouragement. “Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.”

He cut the string and ripped the paper off, then went over and set the canvas on her easel, backing away slowly so she could see it.

She studied the painting, then shot him a look and went closer, examining it from several angles.

“This is yours?”

He nodded.

“You’re not trying to put one over on me?” she repeated, watching his eyes.

He shook his head. “Why? Doesn’t it—”

“What the hell are you trying to pull?” she exploded.

He flinched.

“Do you think I’m an idiot? This piece wasn’t painted by an amateur.”

“I can explain, I—”

“You can explain?” Zoe was incredulous. “Explain why you’re working as a handyman when you can create something as beautiful as this painting? Okay, this I’ve got to hear.” She folded her arms across her chest and tapped a foot, waiting.

“Well, I uh . . .” he began, looking everywhere but at her, “I wasn’t sure how good it was.”

She scoffed. “Jeff, modesty is all well and good, but surely you know this is better than a Saturday afternoon dabbler’s. You took art classes in high school, for pity’s sake. You must have learned something there. Did your instructors not tell you you had talent?”

“Well, they, ah . . .” He tilted his head and frowned at her. “How did you know I took art classes in high school?”

“Your father told me.”

“Shit.” He rolled his eyes. “The man can’t keep his mouth shut.”

“Of course he can’t. If I had a child with as much talent as you have, I’d be shouting it from the rooftops.”

Zoe walked over to him and put both hands on his shoulders. “He’s proud of you, Jeff, and I can certainly see why.” She pointed to the canvas. “It’s good, Jeff. It’s very, very good. I would be honored if you would let me show this, and anything else you have ready, in The Silvercreek Gallery.” A smile twitched the corners of her mouth. “I’m assuming you have more than one painting?”

He cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. I have more than one.” A smile spread slowly across his face. “You really like it?”

Zoe smiled back. Those same words were spoken by every artist at some point in their career and she loved that she got to say yes to his first utterance of them. She went back and sat on a stool at the counter, motioning him to join her. When he did she handed him his glass and tapped it with her own. “To your first showing. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

He seemed less thrilled than she would have been after any gallery owner had raved about one of her works. He looked relieved more than anything else. Could he really be that unsure of his abilities? Or was it merely that he didn’t think she knew enough to be a good judge. Well, whatever . . .

They drank in silence, admiring the painting, until Zoe narrowed her eyes. “Isn’t that the cove we visited today?”

“Yep. I’m glad you could recognize it. I go there a lot.”

An unwanted thought surfaced, though she tried to force it back down. How many other women have you taken there, Jeff the artist? I’m one of many, I bet. He was very good at keeping secrets. How many more did he have?

She still couldn’t get over how he kept this amazing talent from her all these weeks. Regardless of the fact that he’d mentioned he painted, he’d been so offhand about it, she’d always thought of him as Jeff, the handyman. He claimed he was an amateur sculptor, and merely a novice as far as painting went.

“I thought you said that you were better at sculpture than painting?”

“Well, yeah, I think so . . .” His voice trailed off as his insecurity surfaced again.

“If that’s really the case, you’d better bring some of those pieces in too, they must be fabulous.”

“They take me longer so there’s not as many of those,” he apologized.

She merely shook her head at him. “Why did you wait so long to bring this to me? You know I’ve been beating the bushes all over the area to find pieces for downstairs.”

“At first I was afraid you might think I’d taken this job to get an ‘in’ with the owner and get my stuff hung because you felt obligated in some way.”

Zoe snorted her opinion of that. “Not a chance. Not even for you, Studley.”

“Yeah, well, after we, uh . . .” He glanced toward the bedroom, then leaned over and kissed her lightly, as if to jog her memory. “I worried that you might think I was faking the attraction between us as a ploy for the same thing.”

“Ah, I see.”

“After today, I knew I couldn’t wait any longer, because the attraction is only getting stronger and keeping my hands off you since last Friday has been torture.”

He kissed her again, slowly and thoroughly. She felt her insides go liquid. He smelled so good. Like fresh air, and fallen leaves, and salt. But mostly, like a man. Unadorned, unadulterated maleness. He tasted like wine and made her every bit as giddy as two quick glasses would. She threaded her fingers through his hair and sighed into his mouth.

He broke the kiss and gazed at her with such desire, all her doubts vanished. He wasn’t faking his attraction, unless he was an even better actor than he was a painter.

He took her hands in his. “I do have one more favor to ask.”

“What?”

“Would you pose for me?”

She sat back in surprise.

“Naked, I mean,” he clarified.

She went slack-jawed then closed her mouth with a snap.

“Right now?” He wanted a model? How disappointing. Her thoughts had gone in a completely different direction.

“No. Of course not.”

He heated her entire body with the intensity of those blue eyes. “If you were naked now, I certainly wouldn’t be doing any sketching.”

“Oh?” Zoe grasped the hem of her shirt and lifted it up over her head. The lace of her black bra barely covered her nipples, though they tried to poke through. “What would you be doing then?”

He slid off the stool and stood between her legs. “You know, I’m much better at showing than telling . . .” He reached around and unhooked her bra, then leaned in to suckle her.

“Yes. You. Are. Ahhhh . . .”

He lifted her easily and she wrapped her legs around his hips, snuggling against his hardness. She reached under his shirt to feel the warm, smooth skin of his back and revel in the play of his muscles as he carried her into her bedroom.

He took his time to undress, which was a delight. Watching him peel off his shirt, then slowly unzip his jeans brought her to full boil and she licked her lips in anticipation. He rolled her jeans down her legs and hooked a finger under the slender thong beneath.

“I do love it when you invite me to dinner,” he growled, as he slid it off and settled between her legs.

Zoe placed the last piece of Marjorie’s jewel
ry in the case and slid the door closed. She looked around the gallery—her gallery—and smiled. The refinished floors gleamed, the glass in the antique oak display cases sparkled in the new track lighting and the white walls held some amazing works of art, several of them Jeff’s. There was an old chest overflowing with painted silk scarves and shawls, their vivid colors reminding her of a pirate’s treasure chest full of gems. Her own works had a niche all to themselves, introduced by a prancing unicorn on a tall pedestal—another of Jeff’s works.

Tomorrow was Thanksgiving and Amanda had invited them for dinner. Jeff’s dad couldn’t join them, but she hoped he’d make it down for Friday’s opening. The holiday paled to insignificance as she prepared for the soft opening of the Silvercreek Gallery. The retailers called it ‘Black Friday,’ why she never knew, since it was the busiest shopping day of the year. Zoe hoped it would be a glorious day full of good omens for the future. She’d spent every last dime on ads in the Baltimore, Washington, and Annapolis newspapers to bring in as many critics and buyers as possible.

She looked up at the tinkling of the bell over the front door to see Amanda, rosy-cheeked from the cold, pull off her gloves.

“I’ve got a present for your opening, but I’m going to need some help getting it in here. Do you have any he-men around?”

“Aw, Mandy, you didn’t have to do that,” Zoe said with a hug. She craned her neck to see outside. “What is it?”

Amanda looked mysterious. “You’ll see. The delivery truck should be here in a minute.”

“Delivery truck? Mandy, what did you do?”

“I bought you a tree.”

“You bought me a tree. I see.” She didn’t, really, but how do you decline a tree, especially from your best friend?

“Jeff, come out here and help Amanda with her tree,” she called to the back as a flat-bed truck pulled up out front.

“I don’t think I heard you right,” Jeff said, coming toward them from the back room. “It sounded like you said to help Amanda with a tree.” He looked Amanda up and down. “Hi, beautiful. You got a tree stashed under your coat somewhere?”

She merely pointed to the front door.

“Holy cow. You really did bring a tree. Well isn’t that a kick in the pants.”

They all piled outside as Jeff and the deliveryman unloaded an eight-foot ficus tree.

“Good grief, Amanda, it’s huge, and beautiful. Thank you so much. It will add a lot of class to my space and I have a few handmade wind chimes that will look perfect hanging from its branches.”

“Wait,” Amanda cautioned. “Let me get the pot for it out of my car, so we only have to lift it one more time. Then we won’t get dirt all over the gallery floor you guys worked so hard to refinish.” She wrestled a crackle-glazed celadon green pot from her trunk and put it on a small wheeled platform. “Okay, put it in here. Then you can move it around without having to pick it up.”

Jeff complied and with a bit of tilting, managed to get it through the doorway.

Zoe scanned the interior, trying to pick the perfect spot.

Jeff rubbed his forehead and complained to Amanda, “And we’re off. I’ll be shuffling this thing around for the next hour and a half while sweet cheeks, here, decides where she wants it. I’m glad you brought that dolly.”

“Oh stop the moaning, Studley.” Zoe sent him a coy look from under her lashes. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

He brightened and returned a sweeping bow. “In that case, my lady, your wish is my command.”

Amanda wandered through the displays while the decision-making went on. Finally satisfied, Zoe joined her at the jewelry counter. “What do you think?”

“Zoe, you and Jeff have worked miracles with this place. It looks amazing and you’ve managed to get a lot more artisans than I expected, too.”

“Quite a few are friends from my days at the D.C. gallery. I just hope we sell a few of their things this weekend so they don’t think showing their wares here is a waste of time.”

“You’ve done all that you can for now. Try to relax and enjoy the holiday tomorrow. Friday will come soon enough for you to start worrying again.”

“I’ll try. What time do you want us over for dinner tomorrow? I’ll bring some wine and Jeff is providing dessert, compliments of Olivia’s Bakery.”

“Oh, thank you. You didn’t have to bring anything, but I’ll never turn down something from Olivia’s kitchen.”

“Well, you know I can’t cook worth a damn, so there was no point in offering to bring the traditional green bean casserole or candied yams.” She grinned.

“I plan on dinner at four, though you all can come any time after lunch. It’ll be nice to sit and chat with you and Jeff, too.” Amanda slipped her coat on and headed for the door. “See you tomorrow.”

Zoe nodded. “And thanks for the tree, Mandy. I think I’ll dress it up with some tiny white lights for the opening. It will be lovely.”

Zoe sent a silent prayer heavenward.
Please let me have a decent turnout on Friday. That’s all I ask. Well, it would be nice if someone bought something, too. And it would be even nicer if the something was one of Jeff’s paintings . . .

Her prayer list was getting longer by the minute, but she felt redeemed by the fact that she hadn’t asked for one of
her
paintings to be sold.

Though her bank account could sure use the help.

Zoe paced.

She’d reviewed all the preparations multiple times. The windows sparkled, t
he floors gleamed, the lighting washed the paintings to bring out their true colors, soft music played from speakers discretely hidden in the rafters, and trays of crystal flutes awaited the champagne chilling in buckets in her office.