PaintedPassion

by Tamara Hunter

  “Let me paint you.”

  Her husky words produced the same effect as her kiss until his blood-deprived brain comprehended her statement. His jaw dropped.

  She raised her chin. “It would mean a lot if I can count on you. Think of the number of women who’d be interested in a painting of a handsome, muscular man. No nudes. Trust me.”

  How was she able to calmly carry on a conversation with him when he could barely formulate a word?

  “Carlos?”

  “What?” He struggled to remain coherent from the loss of blood flow to his brain.

  “Are you on board with my wanting to use you?”

  Her words dragged him back into the bottomless hole of raw need, imagining her hands on other parts of his body, caressing his chest, stomach…lower.

  Yes. Please use me. He nodded, not trusting his voice.

  She reached up, ruffling his hair as if he were a pet instead of a grown man with an erection hard enough to cut glass.

  “You’re a life saver.” She turned and walked away, leaving him standing alone on the patio.

  He groaned. Who would save him?

  * * * * *

  Hector positioned the plain wrapping paper carefully around the present. He adored this piece of his collection, but he needed to send a message. She was a naïve fool if she believed she could destroy his operation. He’d outwitted the police and federal agents. Hell, he had a few on his payroll.

  Satisfied with his handiwork, he poured a shot of whiskey. He hadn’t started his operation with the idea of killing anyone. Money flowed. People arrived in America—eventually. Everything had a price. He was simply a facilitator of dreams.

  Louis Arnold caused his own demise. If he hadn’t been snooping, he wouldn’t be a fallen officer. Now, his widow sought answers. He didn’t want to deprive the world of a talented artist, but if she became too nosy for her own good… He shrugged and tossed the liquid back, grimacing as it coated his throat.

  Chapter Six

  As Carlos drove, he occasionally switched the satellite radio between national news and ESPN. Opting to ride on the backseat of his flamenco-red Jeep, Trella flipped through a fashion magazine in an effort to curtail the urge to scream at him to settle on one station.

  After their kiss last night, she remained rattled. What had he been thinking? More importantly, what had she been thinking? She couldn’t close her eyes without recalling the taste and feel of his firm lips on hers. Sleep had been a long time coming last night. If she hadn’t taken advantage of the break in their kiss to ask him to sit for her, she had no doubt she’d have been flat on her back or riding his… He’d been so hard, and he felt so good rubbing against her.

  He unleashed a fire inside her she’d never experienced, unraveling her good intentions and common sense until nothing remained but an elemental urge to have him inside her.

  Walking in on a naked Carlos was one thing. Kissing him was something entirely different. They could pretend the moment meant nothing, right? To him, it probably didn’t. Men such as Carlos didn’t torture themselves over a kiss. Clearly, he wasn’t bothered by what happened, because he’d said little to nothing to her this morning.

  She slid sunglasses on when her lids grew heavy. She wished she’d brought along her headphones to drown out the drone of the radio.

  Hours later, she awoke, as Carlos pulled into a gated condo community. She climbed out then stretched before following him up the stone walk to the front door.

  In the foyer, the menthol scent of eucalyptus tickled her nose, compliments of potpourri crushed in a blown glass bowl sitting atop a rectangular table. Carved miniatures of a horse and a lion rested atop a wicker basket on the floor beneath the table.

  Trella turned in a slow circle as she visualized him coming here after a long day at work.

  “It won’t take long to pack what I need.” He pointed to a coffee table where a universal remote rested. “Feel free to watch whatever you want.” He disappeared up the staircase.

  In addition to a camel-tan leather sofa, two espresso-colored recliners provided ample seating. Two bookshelves flanked the television. One contained photos of Carlos, Louis and assorted squad members. She also recognized photos of Alfonso and his grandchildren. No images of a girlfriend. Interesting. She wandered closer to the second bookshelf, which contained stacks of car magazines, a few novels by James Patterson and books of poems in both English and Spanish.

  A framed picture of his parents hung on a wall. From what Louis had shared with her, she knew Carlos’ mom and dad were killed by a drunk driver when he was a teenager.

  She picked up the remote and aimed it at the obscenely large flat-screen television, surprised when a financial news station appeared instead of a sports station. She wandered into the kitchen. A small DVD player hung beneath a cabinet. Burnt umber and gold ochre-toned curtains hung at the window over the sink and in the bay windows framing a round glass table.

  She wandered to the staircase. “Carlos?”

  No answer. She climbed several stairs. “Carlos?”

  Still no response. She continued up the stairs. Two bedrooms occupied the second floor, along with a bathroom.

  She peeked into the first bedroom. A treadmill and a bench with several weights strewn across the floor occupied the space instead of a bed. She walked into the second bedroom. A king-size bed topped with a black and tan quilt and plump pillows dominated the area.

  Carlos emerged from the closet, carrying several pairs of jeans, short and long-sleeve shirts and a blazer. He placed them atop the bed. “Got bored downstairs?”

  She ran a hand across his nightstand. “Perhaps I wanted to see what your bedroom looked like. You’ve seen mine.”

  He grinned. “True.”

  “I like your place. Has a lot of character.”

  “Thanks.” He added the clothing to a garment bag then grabbed his carryon. He gestured for her to precede him downstairs.

  Once they reached the living room, she pressed a button on the remote and turned off the TV. “Is there anyone who will look after your place while you’re gone?”

  He shook his head. “My agents will keep an eye on things here.”

  Interesting. No woman to watch his place. Not that she cared.

  “I’ll drop you off at the mall. You can shop while I visit a client. Afterward, we can grab a late lunch before heading back.”

  * * * * *

  Carlos walked into his office, greeting Stephanie, his twenty-something receptionist.

  Her pixie face broke into a wide smile. “Welcome back.”

  “Only for a few hours. Then I’m returning to Phoenix.”

  “I left messages on your desk.” She shot him a disapproving glance. “Bambi has called three times today.”

  He ignored her last statement. “Is the Seaside Harbor Casino contract ready?” Seaside had been his first client, and over the years, the contract had proven a lucrative source of income.

  Her fingers flew across the keys at a dizzying speed. “Finishing it up now.”

  He nodded. “I’ll take it with me.” He continued down the hallway, waving to several employees working in cubicles.

  Inside his corner office, he powered up his computer, his gaze wandering to a photo of Louis he kept on his filing cabinet. Owning a security agency had been their “retirement” plan. A satellite office in L.A. opened earlier this year. Maybe in a year or so, he’d expand to another city.

  He sifted through the detailed messages. Four were from prospective clients. He stared at Bambi’s number on the last message. He had strict rules about a woman’s involvement in his life. No staying the night. No calls to his home. No showing up at his office unannounced. And his number one rule, if a woman sees him out and about with another woman, no drama. While Bambi had her talents, she also freely shared them with others.

  Carlos called the prospects and followed up by sending background information on his company via email. He included the name of his vice pr
esident, who could be contacted in Carlos’ absence.

  He rested his feet on his desk, crossing his legs at the ankles as he reviewed information for the day’s meeting then spent the remaining time creating a list of clients he needed to check in with while out of town.

  With his scheduled appointment with Seaside Harbor nearing, he shut down the computer. He gathered his client’s portfolio and a stack of brochures. As he passed Stephanie’s desk, she handed him the contract.

  “Remember, if you need me, call my cell.”

  “We’ll hold down the fort, boss.”

  * * * * *

  At the mall, Trella ambled up one side of the polished floor and down the other, peering through store windows. After watching several street performers, she ventured into one of her favorite apparel stores, quickly losing herself among the enticing racks.

  Her cell rang, and she rustled through her purse to locate it before the call went to voicemail.

  “Ms. Arnold?”

  “This is she.”

  “I’m calling at Councilman Rodriguez’s request. He would be honored if you would join him this Saturday night as his guest. He’s hosting a dinner party at his home. Will you be able to attend?”

  If Hector kept incriminating info, it’d be at his home. She’d be crazy not to go. “Yes, I’ll be there. Please thank him for me.” She ended the call. Carlos would think she’d lost her common sense, but surely he wouldn’t fail to recognize the opportunity this presented?

  She selected three blouses, a maxi dress and two pairs of slacks. As she made her way to the dressing room, she wished Selina and Melissa could have come along with her. She much preferred shopping with her girlfriends.

  After paying for her purchases, Trella left the store. She weaved through the crowd to a seating area. Across the plaza, beneath a sign for sports equipment, she caught sight of the profile of a tall, muscular man. She squinted, recognizing Carlos talking and laughing with a shorter, older man. The easy manner with which Carlos interacted with the man indicated their friendship. Despite the high number of people milling around, Carlos managed to stand out.

  As if he knew she watched him, he glanced up, his gaze connecting with hers. Though he was a distance from her, the look he cast her way shot her temperature sky-high.

  Engrossed in studying him, she didn’t realize two young women standing nearby watched him as well…not until snatches of their conversation floated to her ears.

  “He’s looking at me. He is so fine,” one gushed.

  “You think he’s married?” the second one questioned.

  “No ring but probably. I can’t believe no woman’s snatched him up.”

  “I think he’s a football player. Look at his build.”

  “O.M.G. He’s heading this way.” The first woman whipped out a compact.

  “You look fine,” her friend assured her.

  As Trella watched, Carlos’ long, confident strides ate up the space between them. Barely able to keep the smile off her face, she decided to have a bit of fun with his female audience.

  When he reached her, she rose onto her tiptoes, curved an arm up and around his neck. She pressed her mouth against his with enough pressure to leave his lips colored in her favorite berry lip gloss.

  “All finished with business, honey?” she gushed, aware the women remained standing nearby.

  Carlos frowned. “Uh, yes.”

  She linked her hand with his. “We have time for lunch.”

  He bent closer, giving the appearance of kissing her cheek when in fact he whispered, “What’s going on?”

  She grinned. “Tell you later.”

  Trella smiled sweetly as they passed the young women. She hadn’t spotted any signs of a female’s presence in his home, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t seeing someone. She didn’t want to believe he’d kissed her if he had a girlfriend, but Louis had often joked about Carlos’ stable of women. For one quick second, she wondered what type of man Carlos would be in a relationship. Who cares? It’s not as if I’m interested in dating anyone.

  She glanced at him. Based on what had brushed against her stomach last night, the man had a lot to work with. Who reaped the benefit?

  “What happened back there?”

  His question returned her to the present. “I rescued you from two young women determined to introduce themselves and take advantage of you.”

  “Appreciate the save.” He laughed.

  The deep sound made her insides tingle with longing.

  They entered the restaurant, and a hostess seated them at a booth. Trella slid onto the leather seat opposite Carlos.

  A bespectacled waiter appeared. After setting glasses of water on the table, he passed them each a menu. “I’ll return in a few minutes to take your order.”

  Carlos eyed the bags piled on the seat next to her. “Found a few things?”

  She nodded. “My one guilty pleasure.”

  “Hmm. Louis said you were a champion shopper.”

  “It isn’t my fault I can sniff out bargains.”

  He appeared scandalized. “What? No spa treatments?”

  She laughed. “I would love to indulge in an entire day of treatments, but I haven’t had time. Maybe after the gallery showing.” She sipped her water. “Everything okay with your client?”

  “They renewed their service contract for another three years.”

  She studied the menu. “Your guys do what?”

  “Watch those who are watching the patrons.”

  “Wow. Does anyone trust anyone these days?”

  “Checks and balances is the name of the game, babe.” He perused the menu. “Ready to order?”

  “I’m leaning toward the organic chicken with vegetables and the tomato and basil salad.”

  When the waiter returned, Carlos ordered for Trella then included steak and potatoes with steamed vegetables for himself.

  A smile creased his face. “You’re not planning to show me what you bought?”

  “Are you interested?”

  He gasped in mock offense. “Think of me as one of the girls.”

  As if. “Fine. But remember, this was your idea.” She pulled a blouse from a bag as she regaled him with bargains from her shopping spree.

  A tall, slender woman with breasts barely contained by the halter of a yellow sundress stopped beside their booth. Vermillion-colored lips formed a perfect pout. “You didn’t return my calls, Carlos.”

  He paused in the act of raising his glass. “Bambi?” The water sloshed inside as he set the glass down hard.

  The woman laughed. “As if you could forget about me.”

  He slid from the booth. “Trella, this is Bambi. Uh, a friend of mine.”

  Trella managed a brief smile at the woman then returned her attention to Carlos. Was the man blushing?

  Bambi leaned over to finger the sleeve of the chiffon blouse Trella held. “This is gorgeous. If you like the bargains here, you should try the outlet mall. Have you been there?”

  Trella shook her head, unable to speak in the residual cloud of the woman’s cloying floral perfume.

  “You should go there. Have Carlos take you.” Bambi flicked strands of honey-colored hair over her shoulders, the flowing mane clearly maintained at a salon and not from a do-it-at-home kit.

  “Don’t worry, baby.” She ruffled his hair. “I’ll make the other night up to you.”

  Trella fought against an instant rush of dislike. Bambi was one of Carlos’ harem. You are not interested, remember? She stuffed the blouse into the bag, uncaring about wrinkles.

  “The other night?” Trella blurted the question, any intention of remaining unaffected thrown out the window.

  Bambi nodded. “He wanted some loving before he left town, didn’t you, babe?”

  Carlos picked up the glass and drained it as if it were the last liquid sustenance allowed him. Bet he wished it was whiskey.

  Asshole. He possessed the gall to kiss her as if he were single, when obviously he
regularly reclined on this woman’s impressive set of chest cushions.

  “Carlos drove to Phoenix to see a lady whose husband died.” Bambi frowned for a second. “No, wait. I think the man was killed. Murdered, actually. Isn’t that sad?” She waved a hand in the air as if she couldn’t be bothered about the whole affair. “Anyway, she’s probably an old lady with lots of money who lives in a really big house.” Bambi leaned closer and whispered, “She has to be lonely. They didn’t have any children. I’d at least buy a dog. Or two.”

  Carlos glanced at Trella. Regret shone in his eyes.

  She bit her bottom lip, hoping to stave off sudden tears. Is that how he saw her? As a lonely widow? Had he kissed her out of pity? “Excuse me—this old lady will be right back.”

  Trella pasted a smile on her face while repairing the few bricks Carlos had managed to crack from the wall she’d erected around her heart. She weaved around the maze of tables to the restroom. Thank God she hadn’t allowed herself to attach meaning to their encounter. Who knew how much further he would’ve taken things, despite already having a woman in his life?

  She charged inside, thankful no one else occupied the area. Taking her time, she used the facilities then washed her hands. She retrieved her makeup bag from her purse and reapplied her lipstick. She and Carlos had nothing more than a business relationship. She couldn’t afford to pretend otherwise.

  By the time she returned to their table, Bambi was gone.

  “Where’s your friend?” Trella slid into the booth.

  Carlos looked at her, contrition reflected in his eyes. “She left. Your food’s cold.”

  She pushed the plate aside. “I’m not hungry.”

  He sighed. “Trella, I’m sorry.”

  She held up a hand to stave off a discussion of the woman. “No need to apologize. What goes on between you and your girlfriend is no business of mine.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  “Flavor of the month. Whatever.”

  His mouth thinned. “She’s a friend. Nothing more.”

  His careless classification of Bambi neglected to cool her flame of anger. She leaned forward. “Pretty sure your friend allows you frequent benefits.”