Читать книгу Bedded for His Pleasure - Heidi Rice - Страница 14

AS JESSIE wrote out her third delivery slip of the day, she saw the Cranford Art Gallery’s owner, Mrs Bennett, approach.

‘Well done, my dear,’ she said. ‘I can’t remember the last time we sold three canvases in the space of a couple of hours.’ It was the first time Jessie had seen Mrs Bennett really smile. The gesture made her look younger and even a little carefree.

Jessie found herself smiling back. ‘Thank you, Mrs Bennett.’

‘You know, you’re a natural at this.’

‘I think I’ve been lucky with the sales,’Jessie said, cautiously.

‘I’m not talking about the sales,’ Mrs Bennett said. ‘Although, that is a nice side benefit. No, I mean, you know about art. You’ve got a good eye, my dear.’

Jessie found her chest swelling at the appreciation in her employer’s gaze. She’d been distracted since last night, thinking about Monroe and his artwork. Wondering if she even had the right to ask to see it. Would she really know if it was any good or not? But Mrs Bennett’s praise gave her a newfound confidence. Maybe her idea that she could make a career out of her appreciation of art wasn’t that ridiculous after all. ‘Thank you, that means a lot to me,’ she said.

‘I’m glad.’ Mrs Bennett leant forward. ‘Actually, my coming over to speak to you wasn’t entirely altruistic.’

‘It wasn’t?’

‘Ellen Arthur just rang to say she’s sprained her ankle.’

‘That’s dreadful.’ Jessie knew the other woman was the gallery’s chief sales assistant and part-time curator.

‘It’s not all that serious, but Ellen won’t be in for the next two weeks and I need someone to cover for her in the mornings. I wondered if you could come in?’

‘I’d love to,’ Jessie answered instinctively, then remembered her conversation with Ali that morning. ‘Oh, but I can’t—I’m supposed to be going to New York with my sister and her family tomorrow.’ After all, she’d come to America this summer to help out Ali and Linc. ‘But I suppose I could speak to my sister about it.’

‘Why don’t you call her, dear, and find out if she needs you there?’ Mrs Bennett sounded undaunted. ‘I’ll pay you Ellen’s hourly rate and it will be a good opportunity for you to look at the rest of our stock. I need some advice about what to hang now you’ve managed to sell ten paintings in the space of two weekends.’

It wasn’t until after she had confirmed with Ali it would be okay for her to stay in the Hamptons that it occurred to Jessie what else Mrs Bennett’s impromptu job offer would mean. She’d be spending a fortnight alone with Monroe. Okay, so he’d be in his garage apartment and she’d be in the house, but she had as good as issued an ultimatum to him yesterday evening at dinner. What would she do if he decided to take her up on it? That the thought was exciting as well as terrifying could not be a good sign.

Jessie was debating that fact when Mrs Bennett strolled into the gallery’s tiny office.

‘Is it all settled, then?’ she said.

‘Yes, I’m okay to stay.’

‘Excellent. Now, you’re needed out on the floor—a very attractive young man’s just strolled in. Either he’s penniless or he’s the first beatnik I’ve seen in twenty years, but, either way, it’s never wise to ignore a customer.’

Jessie was walking out into the exhibition space, contemplating what the next two weeks alone with Monroe could mean, when her mouth dropped open.

Monroe Latimer was standing staring at one of the gallery’s largest seascapes. His hands were tucked into the back pockets of ragged jeans, his head tilted to one side as he studied the work. He didn’t just look attractive. He looked mouth-watering—and ridiculously out of place in Mrs Bennett’s ritzy little art gallery. That combination of cute and dangerous could well be her undoing, Jessie decided as every nerve ending in her body stood to attention.

Taking a deep steadying breath she walked over to him. Challenge or no challenge, they were going to be the next best thing to room-mates for two whole weeks and she had to learn to deal with him. She also had the little matter of his artwork to work on, too. The perfect opening had just presented itself and she wasn’t going to be a coward and ignore it.

‘So, what do you think of it?’

As Monroe turned and saw Jessie standing behind him, his first thought was he’d made a big mistake. In the businesslike silk suit, her wild hair pinned up, she looked ridiculously prim and pretty. The urge to tug the pins out, feel the gilded flaming mass fall through his fingers, was almost uncontrollable.

He’d been offkilter, out of sorts the whole day, thanks to Linc and then Ali and even the unborn baby. It seemed the whole damn family was working against him, forcing him into a place he didn’t want to be. It made him feel trapped, but much, much worse, it made him feel wanted. He didn’t like it.

He didn’t know what impulse had sent him into town to see Jessie.

Somehow, the thought of seeing her had buoyed his spirits. Even when she’d messed with his emotions the night before, the tug of arousal had been there. That, at least, was familiar territory. Something he understood. But standing here looking at her he wasn’t so sure. He wasn’t in control here, either.

It had to do with that look in her eyes he had seen the night before. The same look he could see in them now. Awareness. Yes. Desire.Yes. But where before there had been irritation and annoyance, now there was understanding. It made him very uneasy. Unfortunately, that still didn’t stop him from wanting to drag her into his arms and muss up that pretty hairdo.

‘Monroe?’

He’d been staring at her blankly for almost a minute, looking dazed. It was so unlike the cool, confident guy she knew. It worried her. She could see then what she’d seen yesterday evening; the confusion in his eyes.

‘Right, the painting, sure.’ He gave it a quick glance. ‘It’s too flat.’

She looked past him at it and saw he was exactly right. The oils had been expertly applied but failed to capture the churning magnificence of the sea in full storm mode. ‘Gosh, you’re right, it’s rather cheesy, isn’t it?’ Jessie turned back to him. ‘Monroe, you’re staring at me again. What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing, nothing at—’ He stopped, seemed to collect himself. ‘I’ve been invited to a six-year-old’s birthday party.’

Jessie grinned. ‘You’re going to come?’

‘Ali didn’t give me a choice.’ He sounded a little annoyed, she thought, and grinned some more.

‘We don’t call her the stormtrooper for nothing.’

‘It’s just that—’ he pinned her with his eyes ‘—I don’t know what to get Emmy. For a present, I mean.’

‘You don’t have to get her anything, Monroe.’

His gaze sharpened. ‘Yeah, I do.’

It occurred to Jessie, even if he was down to his last dollar, he would get Emmy a present. And she had once accused him of being a deadbeat. How wrong could a person be?

‘There’s a lovely little toy shop on Main Street,’ she said, feeling guilty, desperate to make amends. ‘You’re bound to find something perfect in there.’

He gave a furtive glance round, took a step closer. ‘No way am I going in there alone.’ The words came out on a strained whisper.

‘Let me get this straight,’ Jessie said, enjoying the look of horror in his eyes. ‘A big, bad guy like you is scared of going into a toy shop?’

‘Right down to my toes.’ He gave a mock shudder. ‘When do you get off here?’

Jessie looked at the clock on the gallery’s wall. ‘In about half an hour.’

‘Great, I’ll meet you over at the diner. Don’t even think about skipping out on me. I’ll hunt you down.’

Jessie couldn’t imagine why the threat excited her. ‘Okay, but you’ll owe me.’

‘No sweat.’ Monroe tapped his finger on her nose. ‘See you later, Red.’ He sauntered out of the shop.

Jessie grinned, already anticipating an afternoon of toy shopping with the most intriguing, desirable man she’d ever met.

She’d revised her opinion somewhat, ninety frustrating minutes later.

‘What is this? A severed head?’ Monroe grumbled.

Jessie grabbed the hair and styling doll out of his hands and put it carefully back on the shelf. ‘Shh. It’s a hair-dressing kit. What about these dolls? She loves them.’

‘What the hell?’ He stared at the gaudy toys a moment. ‘I’m not buying a little kid a doll that looks like a hooker.’

Jessie tried to quell her irritation. After all, it was touching that he would want to get Emmy something really special—but also that he would worry that he might get it wrong. She wondered if he knew how hard he’d fallen for the little girl.

‘Don’t worry, Monroe.’ She laid a hand on his arm. ‘We’ll get the right gift, even if it takes us all afternoon.’

He dragged his fingers through his hair. ‘Thanks. It’s important.’

‘Yes, it is.’ She never would have guessed how important until now.

Jessie studied the row of fussy little boutique shops across the street as they left the toy shop. Her eyes lighted on something at the end of the road, nestled between a cookware emporium and an expensive leatherwear shop. It made a slow smile spread across her face.

‘I’ve just had a fantastic idea.’ She grabbed Monroe’s hand and pulled him across the street.

‘You’re a smart lady.’ Monroe tucked the small toolbox under his arm. Full of handy little car maintenance accessories, it was just what any budding mechanic could wish for.

‘Now all you need is a card and some wrapping paper and you’re all set.’

‘Great.’ The relief in his voice made her smile. ‘I owe you big time, Red. How about we grab a beer down by the marina? My treat.’

‘That would be lovely.’ She looped her arm in his, feeling more relaxed and comfortable around him than she ever had before. His arm felt solid and warm against hers, the hair on it soft and yet very masculine. The awareness between them was still there, but, having seen him agonise over Emmy’s present for over an hour, she didn’t find it nearly so threatening. Now would be a good time to bring up the request that had been nagging at her for nearly twenty-four hours. ‘Actually, I wanted to ask you a favour, too.’

‘Sure. What is it?’ He pulled his arm out of hers and rested his hand on the small of her back. Hefting the toolbox under one arm, he drew her close to his side, guiding her through the Saturday shoppers on the raised clapboard sidewalk. His palm seemed to sizzle through the thin silk of her work suit, the possessiveness of his gesture making her feel light-headed.

‘I’ll tell you when we get to the marina.’ Maybe she needed a little Dutch courage after all, Jessie thought.

‘Okay, shoot. What was the favour?’

As they settled on the deck of the waterfront bar, two icy beers on the small table between them, Monroe waited for her answer. What could she possibly want from him?

Jessie took a sip of her drink. ‘I’d like to see what you’ve been painting for the last week and a half.’

He paused, the bottle of beer halfway to his lips. ‘How do you know about that?’ He put the beer back on the table.

‘You mentioned it. When we were in the diner that time. Is it supposed to be a secret, then?’

‘No.’ He picked up a few peanuts from the little dish on the table, cracked them in his palm and then studied them as he removed the shells. ‘It’s not a secret.’

It wasn’t, not really, but he didn’t know if he wanted her to see his work. Which was weird. He’d never been bothered about anyone looking at it before. He didn’t paint for anyone but himself. He didn’t have to justify or prove himself to anyone. But he couldn’t help feeling that her opinion would matter to him. What if she hated his stuff? What if she thought it was trash? And why the hell did he care what she thought?

She tilted her head to one side, watching him as he popped the peanuts into his mouth, chewed. ‘I only wondered because you’ve never mentioned it,’ she said. ‘To Linc or Ali, I mean.’

He swallowed, stretched his legs out under the table, and tried to look relaxed. ‘Why would I? It’s not important.’

Jessie knew he wasn’t telling the truth. His artwork was important to him. He’d been working at it all afternoon and well into the night, every day since he’d arrived.

‘All right.’ She lingered on the words, could already see the refusal in his eyes. ‘If it’s not important, you won’t mind me seeing them, will you?’

He lifted his bottle again, took a long drag of his beer. ‘There’s nothing much finished yet.’

He was lying again; she was sure of it. But why? ‘Could I look at them when you have?’

He shrugged. ‘I guess so, but, like I said, it’s no big deal.’

‘I’d still love to see them.’

He hitched his shoulders, but the movement was stiff, dismissive.

Jessie turned away and stared at Cranford’s famous Tall Ship, standing alone in the bay like the proud sentinel of a bygone era.

He’d been deliberately offhand and evasive about his artwork. He didn’t want her to see it and the realisation hurt. She thought in the last few days they’d become friends, a little. Yet, it was obvious that he didn’t trust her. Not to look at his work anyway. Which must be a very big deal if he would guard it so carefully. Sighing quietly as a small flock of seagulls nearby flew off in a rush, she forced herself to let the hurt go.

She was overreacting, as usual. She liked the easy camaraderie they’d established. If he wasn’t ready to show her his work yet, she’d just have to wait.

Turning back, she was discomfited to see him watching her, his beer bottle empty now, the peanuts in the bowl gone.

She plastered a smile on her face. ‘Are you coming over for dinner tonight?’

Monroe’s brow furrowed. ‘Nah, I’ll wait for the big birthday bash tomorrow. I don’t want to outstay my welcome.’ He drained the bottle, pushed his chair back and got up. ‘It’s getting late. You ought to get back.’

As they paid the bill and left the bustling marina, the sun starting to dip towards the horizon, Jessie wanted to tell Monroe that he couldn’t possibly outstay his welcome. That he was family, and family was always welcome.

But she didn’t say it. She knew he would reject the personal comment.

As Jessie watched him ride off alone on his Harley and she climbed into the BMW she’d borrowed from Linc that morning, for the first time it occurred to Jessie how lonely Monroe’s life was.

He had no one.

How could he survive without family, without any real friends? And was that really the way he wanted it?

She began to wonder as she drove home along the coastal road; was he really as indifferent as he pretended to be? Maybe it wasn’t that he didn’t want her to see his work. Maybe it wasn’t that he didn’t want to come over to the house for dinner that night. Maybe he was simply scared to open himself up to something he’d never really known. Family. Approval. Love.