Authors: Kate Perry
Project Date (20 page)
He grinned. “Told you that you wouldn’t guess.”
“The Pioneer Art Museum?” I asked again, inanely. I turned to gawk at him. What did a boxer know about art?
It was like he read my mind. “My mom is an artist. I was practically raised inside museums.” He started up the steps.
I followed his wordlessly, still in shock. Over the art and that he could read me so well. “An art museum?”
“They have an exhibit I wanted to see. Chagall.” He glanced at me. “I wanted to share it with you.”
I wasn’t sure I knew who or what Chagall was. “I don’t really know much about art.”
“You don’t have to know anything to appreciate it.” I must have looked disbelieving, because he slipped his arm around my waist and guided me up the stairs. “It’ll be fun. I promise.”
That I didn’t doubt; I just didn’t want him to think I was lacking in any way. I remembered all those times my mom harassed me to go with her and Daphne to the museum, telling me one day I’d regret not going with them, and mentally cursed. I hated when Mom was right.
Rio paid our admission and snagged a map. He opened it and studied it like it led to hidden treasure. “Let’s look at the permanent collection first.”
“If the Chagall exhibit is the highlight, then maybe we should hit it first.”
He grinned. “Sometimes it’s better to have dessert last.”
Pursing my lips, I pretended to think about it. “Nope. Can’t think of one occasion where that would be true.”
Laughing, he led me off on our museum adventure. Mostly, the paintings didn’t look any different than the paint-by-number pictures I used to do when I was a little girl, but I tried to pay attention to each and every one so Rio wouldn’t think I was bored out of my mind. Which I was. He wasn’t even holding my hand anymore, so I couldn’t even claim that pleasure. Instead, he walked ahead of me, stopping every now and than in front of a canvas.
I concentrated so hard that by the second room I’d developed an enormous headache. I guess it was obvious something was amiss by the way I was rubbing my temples, because the next thing I knew Rio walked up behind me, snaked his hands around my waist, and hugged me to him. “This isn’t going over as well as the carnival, is it?”
“Well—” I frowned at the painting in front of me “—I just don’t get why a picture of a bowl of fruit with a bird perched over it is so great.”
“It’s not.”
“It isn’t?”
“No.”
I tried to turn around to confront him, but his arms were like bands of steel holding me in place, so I settled for glaring at him over my shoulder. “Then why the hell are we here?”
“You’re approaching this all wrong.” He nodded toward the painting. “Art is subjective. Not everyone would find this painting intriguing.”
“I know. Only fruitflies and dogs with avian fetishes.”
He chuckled against my neck. “What you need to do is walk around until you find a painting that strikes a chord with you. That arouses your passions. Come walk with me.”
I would have rather had him arouse my passions, but I decided to humor him and try what he suggested. With his arm still around my waist, he led me through several rooms until we were in a different wing.
The paintings here were different; more naked women and less fruit.
“Don’t study all the paintings. You’ll go insane that way,” he cautioned. “Pick one that intrigues you.”
He let go of me and wandered off, drawn by a picture of a particularly robust nude woman. I hoped that wasn’t what he was attracted to, because compared to her I was a stick.
Instead of looking at more art, I studied Rio. Forget the paintings—the look on his face was absolutely mesmerizing. Like he was staring at an Alienware ALX computer with four NVIDIA GPUs and a liquid cooling system. He gazed at the blob of paint like it was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen.
I didn’t know whether to be jealous or in awe of such feeling. Feeling overwhelmed and needing breathing room, I headed off into an adjacent room.
“A lot of naked women,” I murmured, looking around at the other museum goers. You’d think more men would hang out here; it was a whole lot more tasteful than subscribing to Playboy. No articles though.
In the center of the room, there was a large painting of a young woman reclining on a white sheet, a bird settling on her hand. Something about her expression attracted me.
“Gustave Courbet was known for his nudes.”
I turned and looked at Rio, who had once again plastered himself behind me. This time I relaxed into his embrace as I faced the painting again.
“A couple of his paintings were banned for a long time because they were considered scandalous.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I could see that, I guess. She looks kind of—” I shrugged “—thoroughly debauched. Like he ravaged her before he painted.”
“She does look happy,” he agreed.
I wanted to be her. Limp, on a bed, with perky nipples. “There’s still a damn bird in it, though.”
He grinned. “Let’s go look at some modern stuff.”
Rio took my hand and we casually strolled through the galleries, stopping occasionally when he wanted to point out a famous painting he thought I might recognize or if he thought something would please me. He even told me interesting facts about the artists and how his mother educated him.
I watched him as he talked about his mom. His love for her shined through his eyes. “She sounds pretty great.”
“She is,” he agreed with a bright smile. “Talented too. She’s an accomplished painter herself.” He brushed my cheek with the back on his hand. “She’d love you. She’d say you’re the daughter she always wanted. She’d like your spirit.”
I cleared the lump that formed in my throat at that admission. “My mom tried to take me to museums too. But I stayed home to play with my computer. Daphne went, though.”
At the time, I didn’t think my mom and Daphne really wanted me there with them. Now I remembered Mom imploring me to go along with them. At least for a little while; after a while she didn’t bother asking anymore.
Hmm.
Rio led me to a series of paintings that were obviously from one artist.
“Oh, my God,” I exclaimed. “Talk about scandalous.”
He laughed and squeezed my hand. “These are by Georgia O’Keeffe. She’s known for her florals.”
“Um, Rio?”
“Yes?”
“These are
not
flowers.”
not
flowers.”
He grinned. “Sure they are.”
I blinked a few times and then let my eyes go unfocused, like those 3-D pictures where dolphins and boats pop out if you stare at them just right. After a minute, I shook my head. “Nope, I only see womanly parts.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “That’s why you like art, isn’t it? Because of its pornographic qualities.”
He laughed. “These
are
erotic.”
are
erotic.”
I raised my brows hopefully. “Do they give you ideas?”
He closed the distance between us, his hands gripping my hips. “You give me ideas.”
I tipped my head back and flirted with danger. “What kind of ideas?”
“Of the floral variety.”
I pictured myself spread open for him like the flowers in the paintings, bared to his touch. I grabbed the museum floor plan out of his hand and fanned myself.
His grin was dark and knowing, like he had a line straight into my mind. “Let’s go see the Chagalls.”
I nodded, but remained in a sexual fantasyland. I didn’t snap out of it until we stood in front of a painting that took my breath away.
It was love personified, sexy and innocent at the same time. The man sat on a chair with the woman sitting on his lap, their figures entwined, his hands suggestively and protectively on her. At first glance you knew the couple in the painting were soulmates.
There was a depth of emotion in this one that I didn’t see in the other works of art. It was exactly what I wanted, and it brought tears to my eyes.
“This one,” Rio said, holding me tight against him. “This one attracts me. Because of how deeply it’s making you feel.”
I rested my head on his shoulder and stared at the painting until it was time to go.
The trip home was silent. You could have heard a pin drop (except for the purr of the engine). I was still dazed by the last painting.
Thrilled, disturbed, and confused, I glanced at Rio. He specifically wanted to show me that painting. What was he saying?
I turned, folded my left leg under me, and stared at his profile. I tried to will myself to see beneath the surface, but all I saw were the beautiful sharp planes of his face. It was a face I could see waking up next to for, oh, the next sixty years or so.
He threw me a quick glance before returning his eyes to the road. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” No. I sighed. I wasn’t sure. I opened my mouth to ask him what our excursion meant to him. Then I wondered if I really wanted to know, because once you have knowledge, there’s no going back.
And what would it mean? Say Rio admitted he believed he was my soulmate. After I got over the jumping up and down screaming phase, what then? Take him home to my parents? Right. I could just see it.
Hi, Mom and Dad—I dumped my well-off, successful boyfriend and hooked up with a boxer who was in the military, but he gets me even if he isn’t socially conscious and has little means.
Hi, Mom and Dad—I dumped my well-off, successful boyfriend and hooked up with a boxer who was in the military, but he gets me even if he isn’t socially conscious and has little means.
Like I said, right.
I was better off not knowing what showing me Chagall meant to him.
To hell with it—I wanted to know. “Why did we go to the museum?”
Rio pulled over to the side of the road, turned the car off, and faced me. “Why do you think we went?”
“I asked you first.”
His lips quirked a little but he refrained from smiling. “Don’t you already know?”
“No.”
He raised a brow.
“Okay, maybe I do know.” I rubbed the tip of my nose. “But I want to hear it from you.”
“I’m not entirely sure you’re ready to hear it,” he said as he took my hand.
“Oh, I’m ready,” I reassured him.
He studied me as if he were probing beneath the layers of my psyche. I opened my eyes wide so he could look inside me easier and see I meant it. Only I held my eyes open like that for so long, they dried and I had to blink furiously.
Rio laughed softly and cupped my face with his free hand. “God, I love you, Philomena Donovan.”
I stopped blinking, thankful I was sitting down because I would have toppled over at the admission. As it was, I almost slid off the seat onto the floor.
His smile turned wry. “See? I didn’t think you were ready.”
“No! No.” I shook my head. Then I nodded. “I’m ready. Really.”
He didn’t look like he believed me.
“Well—” I frowned in confusion “—how do you know? We’d barely talked until a couple of days ago.”
“Phil, I knew the first time I met you. I’ve just been waiting for you to realize Barry wasn’t the one for you.”
“Really?” I tried to stay logical, but the excited girly part of me inside wouldn’t sit still. “From the first time?”
He tipped his head, his gaze direct and revealing. “Didn’t you?”
I pursed my lips. “I’m not sure.”
His eyes called me a liar.
Okay, so if I really thought about it, yeah, there was something there from the beginning. I’d thought it was just sex. Guess I was wrong.
I scrunched my face. “But we haven’t even kissed yet.”
“No. We haven’t.” His thumb was a slow drawl on my lips. “I should get you home.”
The nerves in my lips had never felt so alive. If a finger could do that, imagine what his lips could do. I bet they were really talented. I bet they could perform any number of tricks. I stared at them and imagined.
“Now I know I should get you home.” He dropped his hand but I could tell he didn’t want to by the sex-laden tone of his voice.
Without thought, I lowered my gaze to his lap.
Gulp. Talk about sex-laden.
He put both his hands on the steering wheel, took a deep breath, and restarted the car. We got to my house too quickly, and I was still at a loss as to what to do when we got there.
Rio came around the car and opened my door for me. I stepped out and he plastered himself against me, his gaze full of longing and want. He pressed forward and lowered his head.
This was it. This was when I’d finally find out how he kissed, how he tasted. This was the time for action. I wanted to lean into him, grab him, and hold him close.
But I couldn’t. Barry and my parents and Daphne’s party loomed over me. Not to mention the little four-letter word Rio had bandied about earlier. Which was huge. Exciting, but in a life-flashing-before-my-eyes kind of way.
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