Love in Paris (The Art Models Club Book 4) (9 page)

“Yes,” she said at last, trying to resist pressing her body immediately against him.

Hunter quickly freed her from the bra but she didn't pay attention to where he disposed of it. She found herself pressing against his chest, appreciating the roughness of his jeans on her bare legs. But then the need to feel all of him against her became too much.

“Finish undressing,” she said, groaning.

Hunter stood just long enough drop his jeans and briefs. Then he knelt in front of her again.

“Lights,” she mumbled. “Turn off the lights.”

Hunter quickly complied and then came right back to his original position.

The fire sent their shadows dancing on the walls.

“
Look me in the eyes and make love to me, control freak,” she said, wrapping her arms around him.

Amber started into this hypnotic green jeweled eyes, letting the dancing flames and his rhythmic rocking sweep her into oblivion.

Hunter insisted on taking a break from his internship the next afternoon so that he could accompany her in the cab to the office.

“
After this I can drop you off every day,” he said, waving away her concerns that it was too long of a commute for him.

“
Why would you want to deny me every minute I can be with you?”

“
I have a feeling it has more to do with your control freak issues,” Amber said, knowing that she wasn't going to win this battle.

And she couldn't really argue with spending more time with him. Especially since he would be returning to ridiculous working hours. Hunter had explained that it would be worth the long weekday hours to have the weekends off. And she couldn't argue with that either. It wasn't ideal but at least she was here with him instead of pining away alone in the United States.

Amber had dressed in her nicest black jeans, her new boots, and a soft gray sweater. She had asked Hunter for his opinion, worried about looking too casual even though she had been given permission for the jeans.

“
Nice choice,” he said. “I'm glad we got you the boots. Polishes up the jeans.”

He stared for a moment at her arms and she stared back perplexed. Oh! She finally realized that he was searching for the bracelet.

“Still here,” she said wryly, pulling it down closer to her wrist. “I told you I never take it off.

Hunter had the grace to blush. Then he bent to kiss her as though to apologize.

Amber thought that Hunter was simply going to drop her off at the office building entrance. However, he insisted on following her upstairs and introducing her to the receptionist.

Amber thought that the young woman stared a little too long at Hunter so she leaned against him protectively. She didn't want anyone mistaking their relationship.

“Jealous much?” Hunter murmured as he led her through the corridors to his mother's office.

Amber ignored him.

“Sweetie! I didn't know you were escorting Amber here!” Mrs. Webb gave her son a warm hug.

“
I can't stay,” Hunter said and then quickly switched to French.

Amber had a suspicion he was talking about her. Of course she had no way to tell for sure which meant she couldn't even accuse him of it without looking paranoid.

“Of course, Hunter, don't worry about it,” Mrs. Webb said. Then she shooed him from the room.

Hunter sent her an air kiss and quickly left.

“Now, Amber, let me show you where you'll be working and then let's get the tiresome paperwork out of the way. I have so many thoughts to share with you and can't wait to hear your opinions.”

Mrs. Webb showed Amber to a large room set up with several small cubicles.

“I'm afraid it isn't fancy, but we've gotten you a new laptop at least. Oh, and all all of our staff are supplied with cell phones. She reached into a drawer and pulled it out. Just try to keep it with you at all times. I have my number entered in the contacts for you already.”

Oh, wow! Well, that solved her cell phone problem since her own cheap phone wouldn't work internationally.

“It's great!” Amber said, admiring the office space. “I love the natural light coming in from the windows. And the view of the city is fabulous.”

Mrs. Webb smiled. “Thanks for being so understanding. Hunter told me that you were a simple girl after my own heart.”

Amber glowed, pleased that Hunter had talked her up to his mom. An hour later, all the employment paperwork completed, she was jotting down notes as she spoke with Mrs. Webb.

The Foundation, she quickly learned, was in its infant stage. Mrs. Webb had not been exaggerating when she said that she needed concrete ideas. The two spent a few hours together brainstorming how best to develop and run art programs for disadvantaged girls. How old would the students be? Would they apply via a lottery system or was it more fair to look for developing talent in less affluent schools? Should they concentrate on the younger pupils or try to attract high school students who might be able to work towards scholarships for college?

A large part of Amber's independent work would be to contact various school districts and universities in the United States. Mrs. Webb was very thorough in her work. She wanted to know what was already being done in this particular field and if she was duplicating existing efforts.

Amber suggested aiming the resources at girls in poorer school districts who were taking at least one art course in junior high school. She explained that many of these girls couldn't afford art supplies and often had to rely on the classes at school for any materials beyond pencil and paper. However, she suggested that even middle school girls could benefit from after school programs. By the time the meeting was over, Amber was excited to be on board and felt that she was truly contributing.

Once the regular meeting was over, Mrs. Webb escorted her through the office to introduce her to the rest of the staff.

“
You'll just be working for me,” she explained. “But I'm sure that everyone will be helpful if you ever need anything.”

A major surprise was meeting Kayla's father. Of course, Amber had known that he worked for the company in some capacity but had not realized that he had recently been transferred to the Paris office. Well, that certainly explained Kayla's presence here.

However, Mr. Ross was certainly not the type of individual that Amber would have expected. He was a short, nervous man with a pallid complexion. A swath of oily hair was combed over in a sad attempt at concealing a large, glistening bald spot. His suit was also noticeably inferior and his shoes were quite shabby looking and in need of a good polishing.

“
Mr. Ross is not much of a conversationalist,” Mrs. Webb whispered as they moved down the corridor. “We just transferred him here from the States and I'm afraid he seems to be having a hard time adjusting. You probably won't see him much because he's the head of accounting. They rarely emerge from the back offices.”

Finally, the two women circled back and made their way back to Mrs. Webb's office.

“Hunter told me that he's working late tonight,” she said. “Please say that you'll have dinner with Mr. Webb and me.”

“
I don't want to be a burden,” Amber murmured, wondering if that was what Hunter was setting up before he left.

“
Nonsense, dear! If we can't see Hunter, at least we can share your wonderful company,” Mrs. Webb said warmly.

“
We're having dinner at home this evening. I've got a simple stew in the crock pot as we speak. Nothing fancy but we would love to share it with you.”

“
In that case, count me in,” Amber said. “What time should I join you?”

“
Why don't you come home with me now? These days I mostly come in just to work with the Foundation.”

She leaned forward conspiratorially. “I don't mention it to Mr. Webb of course, but I find the details of the general business world rather tedious.”

Amber laughed. “I won't tell anyone,” she promised. “I'm not overly fond of the business world myself.”

“
Then we shall get along so well,” Mrs. Webb said happily, linking her arm in Amber's.

“
Let's just grab your coat and I'll have the car meet us downstairs.

As they continued through the corridor, Amber saw Kayla's dad sneaking a glance in her direction. What was it with that family? Amber had avoided checking her e-mail the last week or so but now wondered if there would be further postcard style pictures from Kayla. Perhaps she should check later tonight. There was definitely something weird going on there. Kayla had acted as though her dad was some big shot in the company, but he certainly didn't act like one. And Mrs. Webb certainly hadn't acted as though she was overly friendly with either him or his family. If anything, Amber was now even  more confused.

But she put all thoughts of Kayla behind her as she slid into the private car with Mrs. Webb. She was offered a drink but only accepted a bottle of water as the car made its way through the packed streets and eventually led to a quiet tree-line avenue of beautiful homes. The driver opened the door and Amber followed Mrs. Webb into a large, spacious apartment.

Although the Webbs were clearly wealthy, the personal touches in the home made Amber feel warm and comfortable. The walls were covered in paintings. As Mrs. Webb excused herself to check on the stew, Amber wandered around and studied them. She wasn't surprised to see several by Hunter. She was startled, though, to see several by Mrs. Webb. Had Hunter mentioned that his mother was also an artist? She couldn't remember.

She was studying one of the paintings when Mrs. Webb returned with two glasses of wine.

“
I know you're not a big drinker, dear, but please at least pretend to sip so I don't feel embarrassed to have a glass.”

Amber giggled. “You shouldn't feel embarrassed. It isn't that I don't like wine. It's that two glasses is enough to get me drunk.”

“I see you've found some of my few attempts at painting,” Mrs. Webb said. “I wasn't very good but Mr. Webb insisted that we put it up. I think it reminds him of our early dating days.”

Amber smiled. “I didn't realize that you painted at all. I don't think that Hunter ever mentioned it.”

“Oh, that was a part of my life before he came along,” she said. “I was one of those aimless students who couldn't decide what they want to do in life. I flitted from major to major like a honeybee trying out different flowers.”

“
It's rather good,” Amber said. “It radiates a happy feeling.”

Mrs. Webb laughed.

“My instructor liked that particular one as well. Perhaps it's because I had just fallen in love. I remember feeling as though I was simply floating most of the time. I suppose it made its way into the painting.”

“
And then you stopped painting?” Amber asked. “For good?”

Mrs. Webb smiled. “Oh, I played around with drawings when Hunter was younger because I wanted to expose him to art at a young age. But I ended up getting a degree in Literature when I graduated. And then we had Hunter and I was simply busy with having a child.”

“Hunter said that you had him a bit late in life?”

Mrs. Webb patted the sofa next to her.

“Please have a seat, dear. And, yes, it seems almost miraculous that we had him at all. I was already in my mid thirties when we married and it took us a couple of years before he was conceived.”

She laughed. “Perhaps that was why he grew up so serious minded. All of our friends had much older children. It wasn't until we moved to the United States that he started hanging around children his own age more regularly.”

Amber took a large sip of wine, not sure she should even be asking her next question.

“
Has Hunter ever had any negative experience that might make him more . . .um . . .protective than the average guy?”

Mrs. Webb smiled wryly. “You mean beyond you being kidnapped at gunpoint?”

Amber swallowed. “Uh, yeah. And that was horrible but he doesn't even want to discuss it.”

Mrs. Webb shook her head. “I'm afraid that's more of a guy thing,” she said. “Or I should say more of a guy thing in my experience.”

She put her hand on Amber's knee. “When we were trying to conceive, I had three miscarriages.”

Amber's hand flew up to her mouth.

“Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that.”

Mrs. Webb squeezed Amber's hand reassuringly.

“It was a long time ago and I've mostly healed from it.”

She took a sip of her wine.

“The only reason I brought it up is to say that I think that women and men deal with things so differently. Most women I've encountered instinctively know how to grieve properly and move on. But men are . . .”

She shrugged her shoulders helplessly.

“If something bad happens they seem to take it personally. With the miscarriages, it was almost as if my husband thought that there was something he could have done to avoid it. He didn't want to talk about my experience so much as he simply wanted to eliminate it altogether.”