The Genius and the Muse (3 page)

“She and I only went out a few times. Sam and Dee were roommates; that’s how we met. Honestly, I had a bit of a thing for Dee as soon as Sam introduced us. And then, when Sam met Reed… Well, it all worked out for the best. Sam was nuts about Reed, and I was nuts about Dee. I may have played up my heartbreak a little bit for sympathy, but I was actually pretty happy.” He winked at her shocked expression.

“Dee fell for that?”

“I tried my hardest to seem heartbroken and in need of comfort, but I’m pretty sure she saw through it.”

“So, who is this in the picture with O’Connor? Her name was Sam?” Kate cocked her head and studied it. “She looks… kind of familiar, now that I think about it.”

“Sam’s a nickname. I’m sure you’ve heard of her. She’s pretty well known in Southern California. A painter. Still works around here. Her professional name is Samantha Rhodes.”

“S. Rhodes.” Kate gasped in realization. “The hand…”

The hand that Sam Rhodes has sketched so many years before. The same hand in the mysterious O’Connor portrait. She looked between the photographer and the painter in the picture. The hand in the sketch and the photograph belonged to O’Connor. It had to. Was the woman in the photograph this painter? Kate couldn’t tell from the photograph, but suddenly she felt a spark of curiosity start to burn.

Chris leaned forward. “Hand? What hand?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. So they dated, huh? O’Connor and this painter?”

“Oh, yes. They were together for… about six years, I think. And they were magnetic, the two of them. So much talent. They just drew people around them. Dee’s the one that introduced them; she and Reed knew each other from when they were kids.”

“Wasn’t that weird?” Kate cocked an eyebrow. “I mean, when you broke up? Also, how did I not know that Dee was friends with the guy I’m writing about for my thesis?”

Chris shrugged. “It wasn’t, really. Sam and I were never serious. Nothing like she and Reed were. And he’s very private. Dee respects that. She doesn’t talk about their friendship much outside of our group of friends.”

“The people here?”

“Yes, that’s me and Dee, of course. Vanessa Allensworth, the painter. And… that’s Susan beside her.” Chris laughed. “I think she’d just finished firing the kiln they had at the cabin. She’s a potter. And then Sam and Reed, of course. So, yeah, that’s most of us.”

“Wow.” Kate frowned. “That’s so unexpected.”

“What part?” he laughed. “That I had friends or that I dated someone other than my wife?”

“No, not that!” She blushed, finally setting the picture down, though she faced it toward her on the desk so she could study it. “You never read about Reed O’Connor being involved with anyone. Or even friendly with anyone. He’s like this photographic mystery man. He kind of comes across as a hermit.”

Chris folded his arms across his chest. “Reed is… He had a lot of people he was friendly with, though not too many I’d say he really called friends. He was always pretty aloof except with a few people. He’s very fond of Dee. I know they still keep in contact. He’s close friends with Javier Lugo, the sculptor. Javi’s the one who took that picture, actually. And then… well, Sam was on another level entirely.”

Kate tore her eyes from O’Connor to examine the blond woman in the photograph, studying her dark eyes and open smile. She had dramatic features that wouldn’t be considered classically beautiful, but would probably photograph well. Her nose was a bit too long for her face, and her jaw was strong. She looked joyful and bursting with life, in complete contrast to the solemn man behind her. She sat on the steps in front of the cabin, and the lanky photographer sat behind her. She smiled as she leaned into him. Her head tilted in his direction, though her eyes stayed on the camera, and O’Connor’s legs stretched out on either side of her as his head dipped toward hers.

The two artists were both eye-catching, a study in contrasts. O’Connor’s hair was almost black, hers was a rich gold. His eyes were a vivid blue, and hers were a warm brown. Even their skin contrasted as they twisted their limbs together, and her warm sun-kissed tan glowed against his pale arms. Despite all that, the two seemed to meld together. Their arms and legs twisted in a way that made it hard to tell where he ended and she began.

“They’re gorgeous,” Kate murmured.

She caught her professor’s curious look out of the corner of her eye. “They were. Like I said, they were magnetic. Both of them were so brilliant. Very talented. They were… each other’s muse, I think.”

“Really?” She frowned. “I’ve never heard of O’Connor using one model exclusively. Or even habitually.”

“That’s not exactly what I mean. Partly, but not exactly.” He paused before he continued. “I think, Kate, if you
really
want to understand Reed O’Connor, you have to understand Samantha Rhodes.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What are you saying?”

Chris smiled and offered an enigmatic shrug. “I’m saying you can learn a lot from history.”

CHAPTER THREE

Claremont, California

March 2000

“
C
ould someone tell whatever large person who is standing behind me to get the hell out of my light?”

The tall shadow didn’t move, but stayed, hovering behind her as she tried to smooth the sepia oil with her pinky finger. Annoyed, Sam finished the last sweep of the tree trunk she was working on and turned to glance over her shoulder. Meeting only a broad male chest covered by a Blink 182 concert shirt, she lifted her gaze to a pair of intense blue eyes and a cocky smirk.

“Beautiful,” he said.

“Really? There’d be more of it to like if you would move your ass out of my light.”

“I wasn’t talking about the painting.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Does that line actually work for you?”

The stranger stuck his hand out. “I’m Reed O’Connor, Deepali’s friend.”

Sam looked at his hand, but left it there hanging as she wiped her hands absent-mindedly on a dirty rag.

“I figured. Is Dee back already? I didn’t hear her come in.” Sam looked around the man’s shoulders toward the door, which was hanging open. Their whole building had a fairly open-door policy, but usually, only residents roamed the halls.

She squinted up at the tall man. “Did someone let you in?”

“I just came from downstairs. I crashed at my friend’s place last night; I’m stumbling up here now. Javier Lugo. Short guy. Grumpy, doesn’t talk much? He moved in a couple of weeks ago.”

She nodded and tried unsuccessfully to scrape the paint from under her fingernails. “Huh. Sculptor, right? Metals? Is he a mechanic, too? That’s a nice apartment, by the way. His name’s Javier?”

“He’s kind of all three. And call him Javi; he hates Javier. And I’m Reed. Like I said. Why didn’t you and Dee move into that place when it was empty? This building doesn’t have an elevator.”

She continued to measure him with a slight frown as she cleaned up around her easel. Sam finally pointed toward the large skylights that covered the ceiling. “Light.”

“Ah.” He nodded.

She moved toward the small corner kitchen to get a drink of water and drop her brushes in the old soup cans filled with turpentine that lined the back of the counter. “So you just moved to town? And you’re going to Foothill, right? What are you studying? You and Dee grew up together?”

“Sort of,” he replied vaguely. “And yeah, I’m studying photography. When is she going to be back?”

Sam didn’t answer, but grabbed a glass from the counter and filled it, taking a long drink and glancing at the man who had settled on the small couch. Between Sam’s art equipment and Dee’s camera gear spread everywhere, the actual living area was pretty small, and Reed more than filled it with his presence.

She narrowed her eyes, measuring him. Dee said he was good-looking, and she wasn’t exaggerating. If anything, she’d understated it. Reed O’Connor could have been a model. Sam guessed by the stretch of clothes over his body that he’d look pretty perfect without them. She squinted, mentally undressing him and posing him in different configurations.

“You know, if you want to just hop in bed, I’m perfectly okay with that.”

Sam looked at Reed, and her lip curled a little. “What?”

“Well, you’re kind of looking at me like you’re imagining me naked. So I thought you might be, well…” He grinned at her from the couch. “Imagining me naked.”

She continued frowning at him. “I
was
imagining you naked.”

“No use wasting time, then. Where’s your bedroom?”

Understanding finally broke through, and Sam scowled as she threw the paint-smudged rag at him. “Pervert. I want to sketch you. That’s why I’m imagining you naked.”

He shrugged. “No problem. You can sketch me post-coitally any time you like.”

“Excuse me?” Her eyebrows shot up.

“Of course, you might be too exhausted after…” Reed trailed off with a thoughtful look. “Want to do it before? That could be a real turn on, if you think about it.” He stretched out his long legs and posed. “
Very
extended foreplay. I like it. Fine. I’ll extend the sketching invitation to pre-coital nudity as well. Is pre-coital a word?”

“Wow. Dee wasn’t exaggerating about that part.”

His eyebrows shot up. “What? What part? Dee and I haven’t ever… you know.” Reed made an obscene hand gesture as Sam rolled her eyes. “Strictly friends. Anything else would be weird. But I’m glad to know my reputation precedes me.”

“No, she begged me not to kill you before she got back. She also begged me not to move out, since apparently you’re going to be around more,” Sam muttered, staring at him as he stretched out on the couch.

Reed frowned. “Oh, well that’s not nearly as flattering. I
am
very good in bed, though, if you wanted to do a more careful study. For artistic purposes, of course.”

His arms were long, but he was well-proportioned and his coloring was dramatic. If she painted him in color, would a neutral work best behind him? Maybe blue to compliment his eyes? She traced the length of his legs and wondered just how proportional he was before she caught herself.

“I definitely want to paint you,” Sam said.

“Getting messy with paint has definite possibilities, too; though the clean-up is something to consider.”

She shook her head. “Are you always like this?”

He gave a small, but surprisingly sincere, smile. “Honestly? No. Mostly I’m a moody asshole. But I just finished a big project, slept really well last night—which is unusual for me—and I’m really looking forward to seeing Dee, so this is me in a good mood.”

“You’re in some kind of mood, all right,” she said under her breath. Her old-fashioned upbringing finally kicked in when she realized she hadn’t offered her guest anything to drink. “You want some water or something?” She took a long gulp from her own glass.

He chuckled. “Are you always so polite?”

She felt a small, inadvertent smile try to make an appearance, but she shoved it back. “No, usually I’m much more polite to company, but I forgot you were coming to meet Dee, and I got started working on something. Plus, you’ve hit me with at least three pick-up lines since walking through the door.”

“I think it might have been four.”

“It’s impressive in an obnoxious way, I guess.”

He looked over his shoulder at the painting she had been working on. “Do you usually do landscapes? You’re good at them. I like the way you used the light in that one.”

Sam was working on a painting of an old cabin surrounded by soaring pine trees, set on the edge of a lake. The front of the cabin was shaded by an old porch, and a wooden dock stretched out into the water. A small boat bobbed in the foreground.

She answered as her eyes examined the painting from across the room. “No, not usually. I’m more interested in people. But I got an assignment to do a landscape in oils, so I decided to paint my grandfather’s cabin.”

“I’m sure he’ll love it.”

She shrugged. “He’s dead, so I kinda doubt he’ll care. My parents still live around there. They’ll like it.”

Sam caught him studying her out of the corner of her eye. “Oils are a good medium for you.”

She snorted. “Hardly. They take too much time. And I hate the smell. I like watercolors some, but acrylics are what I prefer.”

“I don’t actually know that much about painting. I sketch some.”

“Post-coitally?”

Reed grinned. “Of course.”

Hearing a commotion in the stairwell, they turned toward the sound of labored footsteps trudging toward the apartment. Deepali Mehra, loaded down with camera equipment, panted as she made it to the door of the third floor walkup. She took a moment to glare at Samantha.

“Light, my ass! Why are you my roommate, again?”

Sam shrugged and rinsed her glass out to set it in the strainer on the counter.

Reed jumped up and stepped over the coffee table. Dee spotted him. “Goliath!”

“You look like a miniature pack-mule, Deedee.”

The tiny woman puffed, her face red from exertion. “I missed you too. Well, I missed your strong back and ability to carry all my shit, anyway.”

He grinned at her, snickering as he helped her situate her tripod and camera case. When she was finally free of her equipment, Reed enfolded her in a long hug. Sam watched the friends as they whispered back and forth, laughing quietly as they shared some inside joke. She tore her eyes away to mix a pitcher of lemonade. Her roommate finally wandered into the kitchen with Reed trailing behind her.

“So, Sam, you and Reed haven’t killed each other yet. This bodes well.” Her voice was dripping with amusement.

Sam winked. “Give it time, Dee. He just got here.” She finished filling the pitcher. “Plus, he says this is him in a good mood.”

She stirred the lemonade and set it in the old fridge before she walked toward the door to grab her keys, purse and sunglasses. She looked down, absently noticing the paint splattered on her shirt and jeans. Whatever. She didn’t feel like changing.