by BETH KERY
The big bonus for Megan was that Randy and Nancy Epner let her use their kiln and furnace, both for her personal work and for the classes. Earth had been successful, mostly due to the large population influx to the near-west side, a mixture of empty nesters who wanted to live in the vibrant downtown area during their retirement and young professionals who desired the convenience of living close to their Loop workplaces.
Randy finally met her eyes with a warm, appreciative gaze. He’d asked her out a few months ago and Megan had agreed to dinner. Initially, she’d found it appealing that Randy was from New York and that he didn’t know anything about Megan or her past. He was nice, attractive enough and very successful for his age.
But by the end of the evening she knew that Randy was left in little doubt about the unlikelihood of the relationship. Megan was only relieved that he hadn’t asked her out again. She recalled how she’d dreaded his kiss goodnight. It hadn’t remotely resembled the experience with Christian. It wasn’t really fair—either to Randy or to herself—to compare the two kisses…
…or the two men.
Besides, where was Christian now? At least Randy was standing right in front of her. She hadn’t heard from Christian or seen him for days, and according to Jeff—the doorman at their building—she shouldn’t plan on seeing Christian for a longer than that, if ever again.
“It’s beautiful, the way you caught the emotions on her face right at the knife’s edge of longing and uncertainty. I hope you plan to cast it in bronze.”
Megan nodded, glad to have something else to focus on besides the emotional tumult that had gone into her art. “This one is ready for wax now.”
“Good. It’s the best I’ve seen you do so far. You seem inspired. And I have the perfect use for it. I’d like to offer you a showing at the gallery.”
Megan stared at him round-eyed. Only the best, top-rated artists from around the nation showed at Rosenfeld. Several Chicago artists who had started at Rosenfeld and went on to gain renown in the world art community continued to premiere their new work at Rosenfeld & Epner. Being offered a show with them at some time in the far future had only been a vague, unformed dream at the periphery of her awareness. But being offered a show now wasn’t even something that had entered her universe of expectations.
“I don’t know what to say. Do you really think I’m ready?”
Randy crossed his arms and studied her for a moment before answering. “To be honest with you, I wasn’t sure about the answer to that until I saw this piece. Nancy has been much more gung-ho about the idea. She went a long way to convince me.” He nodded toward her sculpture. “But this really sealed the deal. Yes, I can say it with complete confidence. You’re ready.”
She shook her head, still stunned. A curl broke away from the loose knot on her head and fell into her eyes. “Thank you for your confidence in me. I hope I don’t let you down.”
Randy smiled and took a step closer to her. He gently brushed the tendril behind her ear. “You won’t let us down, Megan. You won’t let me down.”
Megan blinked, surprised to realize how close he was.
“I hope we’re not interrupting anything,” a familiar voice called with amusement from the entryway to Megan’s small studio. Megan glanced over her shoulder, glad to hear Tina’s familiar voice. The moment with Randy had quickly segued from euphoria to discomfort.
Tina must have been doing some metal soldering because she was still had a protective visor tilted back on her head. The visor looked strangely right, like an accessory to her shorts, cut-off tank top and army boots. Her revealing black clothing, colorful arm tattoo, and pierced belly button only emphasized the delicate beauty and perfection of her face and body. Megan’s greeting froze on her tongue when she saw who stood behind Tina.
“Someone’s got a visitor,” Tina announced with a grin, obviously relishing seeing Megan’s reaction to the man she’d led into the room.
“Oh… Christian.”
Megan’s senses tried to realign themselves to the reality of him standing at the entryway of her studio. He looked impossibly tall, perhaps due to the contrast of Tina’s miniature proportions in comparison. He was dressed in the clothing that suited him the most, faded jeans that seemed specially made to show off his lean hips, flat belly, and long legs along with scuffed boots, and a dark blue, untucked T-shirt that highlighted the taper running from his broad shoulders to trim waist. A tiny portion of Megan’s brain took in that the white writing of the logo was in Chinese. His arms were crossed loosely over his chest, giving Megan a glimpse of well-developed biceps and strong-looking, veined forearms dusted with brown hair.
“How did you find me here?” she asked, still vibrating with shock at his sudden presence.
Christian’s hard stare shifted from Randy to Megan. “Jeff,” he answered tersely, referring to their doorman.
Even with the single syllable, Megan was stunned anew by the resonant, rich quality of his voice. “Oh, right. He’s the one who told me you were out of town,” Megan replied hoarsely.
A silence ensued. Megan blushed hotly, realizing that she’d just revealed that she had engaged in a conversation with their doorman about Christian…something she would have sworn she would never tell him in a million years. Why did he have this effect on her?
Still, he wasn’t gloating over her slip-up. In fact, he wasn’t showing much emotion at all.
“Jeff must have noticed us together last week. He told me about you leaving with a suitcase on Saturday night. I didn’t really ask him or anything,” she said quickly, trying to cover her tracks.
She barely noticed the impatient feminine sigh that broke the silence.
“Not that this stare-fest isn’t fascinating. It actually is. But I’ve got to get back to work. Megan, do you think you could get around to introductions before the next millennium comes to a close?” Tina prodded.
“Oh, of course.” Megan formerly introduced Christian and Tina. His stoic expression warmed when he took Tina’s hand in greeting.
“I already knew it was you,” Tina told Christian with a smug grin. She nodded to the Chinese script printed on his T-shirt. “Cool shirt. Did you actually go to that club in Shanghai?”
“Yeah, a couple times. You’re the sun worshipper, right?”
Tina glanced back at Megan with an unasked question in her dark brown eyes before she turned her attention back to Christian. “You saw that piece, huh? You’ve been in Megan’s place? Someone around here has got some explaining to do,” Tina murmured with a pointed look at Megan. “Well, gotta run. Hot metal won’t wait anymore than a hot man will.”
Tina ignored Megan’s repressive stare and winked suggestively before she left the room.
The exchange between Christian and Randy was notably more strained. Christian’s eyes were like chips of blue ice when he shook Randy’s hand and listened to Megan describe his role as one of the owners of the gallery.
“We just offered Megan a showing at Rosenfeld and Epner,” Randy said, obviously trying to promote polite conversation when Christian maintained a stony silence after they were introduced.
“We?” Christian’s eyes glanced around the studio with mock innocence.
Randy looked slightly abashed. “Well, I made the official offer. But of course, it comes from both my partner, Nancy, and I.”
“Of course,” Christian said blandly enough, but Randy shifted his feet under his relentless stare.
“I still can’t believe it. It hasn’t sunk in yet,” Megan murmured dazedly.
The shadow on Christian’s countenance seemed to lift when he looked at her. He touched her bare shoulder. His fingertips were calloused, but his caress was soft. Megan shivered.
“Congratulations. You deserve it,” he said with a small smile.
She shouldn’t have looked into his face. Suddenly she was lost in the warmth of his gaze. Randy cleared his throat uncomfortably, smart enough to realize that his presence was not only superfluous, but also comp
letely unheeded by the two other people in the room. He politely made his exit, promising to be in contact with Megan about plans for the showing.
Randy’s abrupt departure startled Megan back into reality. Why was she staring at this man like a star-struck teenager after he’d spoken so rudely to her the other day and then had the nerve to leave Chicago without a word? Hadn’t Jeff dropped that a limousine service had picked Christian up on Saturday evening, and that he’d taken a suitcase? That didn’t sound like an unplanned, casual trip across town to his parents’ house.
Megan resolutely stepped away from the source of her unrest and began straightening her workspace. Her back was turned to him when she spoke. “You didn’t say anything on Saturday afternoon about your plans for leaving on Saturday night.”
He didn’t answer her immediately. She looked over her shoulder in time to see his regretful expression. Their gazes caught and held. “That’s because I didn’t mean to leave. Something came up. Actually, the thing that brought everything to a head was that conversation we had over at your place. I needed to talk with…no, convince a good friend about something important.”
For a second or two, she just stared at him. Something told her he was referring to the conversation they’d had about feeling artistically stifled.
“Where did you go?” she finally asked.
“Los Angeles.”
“Is that where your friend is from?”
“No he’s from Santa Fe, but he lives in L.A. Tonight, he’s going to be in Chicago. We’re supposed to be meeting at Emilio’s, a blues club downtown. Do you know it?” Megan shook her head. “I’d like you to come with me.”
“Why?”
Christian rolled his eyes. “Why do you think? Christ, Megan, you do know about ‘boy meets girl,’ right? We’re both single. We’re both straight. It shouldn’t come as a shock to you at this point that I think you’re attractive…very,” he added wryly under his breath, “or that I want to spend time with you, get to know you better.”
Megan bit her lower lip. “Even if I’m not willing to—”
“Yes,” Christian interrupted. “I’m sorry about last time, Megan. I don’t know exactly why I got so irritated but it wasn’t because you didn’t want to have sex. I’m not that much of a jerk. Jesus, it’s not like I was planning for it to happen then. I mean, Emily was in the other room.” He shrugged, as if his current attempts at trying to figure himself out were the latest in a series of many.
“It’s just…you tempt me, Megan.”
She wasn’t aware of turning around fully to face him but she suddenly was. She read the unspoken plea in his blue eyes. God, she could fall for him so easily. She was like soft clay in his skilled, molding hands.
“What time are you going?” she asked, her voice shaky with uncertainty.
“We. Now. Whenever you’re ready. The band starts in twenty minutes.”
Megan glanced down at her attire.
“I can’t. Look at how I’m dressed,” she mumbled, gesturing at her jeans and T-shirt.
“Emilio’s is very casual. In fact, you’ll be overdressed.”
“Okay. If…if you’re sure…”
“I’m very sure,” he replied quickly, as if he thought his firm certainty could cancel out her hesitation.
He hovered over her and generally got in her way as she straightened up her workspace and watered down the sculpture. When she scolded him he transferred his considerable energy and attention to her studio. He picked up armatures and admired maquettes, her working models for future sculptures. He asked her so many questions that Megan couldn’t attend to what she was doing.
“Christian, I thought you wanted me to hurry,” she muttered with mixed amusement and exasperation as she tied plastic around her sculpture. He was helping her, but his curiosity about her art seemed to have no bounds.
“Sorry, I’m just interested. I’ve never been in a sculptor’s studio. But I do want you to hurry.” His eyes trailed down her body to her bare feet. “You’ll have to wear shoes. Not because Emilio would mind if you did or not, I just don’t think you’d cherish walking on his floors barefoot.”
He answered her wary expression with a boyish grin that was supposed to convey innocence, she was certain, but in actuality communicated the exact opposite.
* * * *
Emilio’s was tucked innocuously off West Chicago Avenue in a side entryway adorned with no signs, only a dark red canopy. Christian had explained to her in the cab on the ride over that Emilio’s hosted some of the best blues artists in Chicago, but was relatively unknown to all but locals and insiders in the music community.
“How come you know about it, then?” she asked conversationally as they entered the darkened interior of the club. No band was playing yet and the atmosphere in the quickly filling room was relaxed and subdued.
“I’ve known about it since I drank too much beer here one night when I was a punk eighteen-year-old and Emilio kicked me out on my sorry ass.”
“He doesn’t tell the pretty lady that I picked him back up again and sobered him up with a tank of black coffee before I paid for his cab ride home,” a baritone, gravelly voice responded.
Megan watched as Christian hugged a huge bear of a black man who was obviously Emilio. She could tell by his wide grin he genuinely was happy to see the man. They clapped each other on the shoulder affectionately when they parted. “And what you’re not telling the pretty lady is that you called my mom the next day and ratted me out. Emilio Jackson, I’d like you to meet Megan Shreve. Don’t tell her any more half-truths about me, now,” Christian added under his breath.
“Where’s the half truth?” Emilio wondered with wide-eyed sincerity as his hand swallowed up Megan’s in a handshake. “He was only eighteen years old, Miss Megan, carrying around a fake driver’s license and drunk as a skunk. I’ve met his mama since then, and Ms. Lasher would have done the same for me if it had been one of my own kids. You was a mess, Chris. But I guess you didn’t completely screw up your life since then.”
“Thanks for the resounding praise. Remind me to thank you later for scoring so many points with my date,” Christian muttered, his lips tilted in amusement.
Emilio’s eyebrows rose in interest. He turned to study her in earnest.
“He wants to score points with you? Well, well,” Emilio said speculatively as he tucked Megan’s hand into the crook of his bent arm and headed into the club, examining her with warm brown eyes the entire time. “I’m taking you to the best seat in the house. Good band tonight, Harvest Moon. Chris knows all the guys. You like the blues, Miss Megan?”
Christian saved her from having to expose her ignorance by asking Emilio if Seth Down had arrived yet.
“Nah, that poker-faced savage hasn’t come in yet.”
Christian’s right eyebrow rose in surprise as he sat down next to Megan in a plush, circular booth that could easily seat six people. “Savage? That’s not very politically correct, Emilio. Not bright, either, to insult Seth’s heritage when he might be in close proximity.”
“Politically correct? I’m not talking about the fact that he’s part native. I’m talking about the fact that he put my best bartender out of commission for a week the last time he was in here,” Emilio replied hotly. “What can I get you to drink, little lady?”
Megan couldn’t help but smile at Emilio’s abrupt change from irritation to sweet solicitude. “A glass of red wine, please.”
She stilled when Christian draped his arm behind the back of the booth and began to gently caress her shoulder. “Just open up one of my bottles of cab. Oh, and Emilio…that bartender you seem to value so highly was a bigoted, sexist jerk who deserved every bruise Seth gave him that night. I saw the whole thing. And it wasn’t about Seth, either. It was about Sarah.”
Emilio stiffened. “Sarah? That bartender said something to Sarah?”
“Didn’t just say. Did. If Seth hadn’t lit up the guy, I would have.”
Emilio’s usual
ly benign countenance darkened with outrage. “Damn. You should have told me, Chris. Sarah should have. Good thing I fired that worthless piece of crap a year ago.”
Megan couldn’t help but laugh at Emilio’s seamless flip-flop in attitude after he’d walked away. Christian smiled.
“That’s Emilio for you. Just when you think he’s a pushover, he gives you a swift kick in the butt. And just when you think he’s going to ram his fist down your throat, he gives you a bear hug. He’ll probably scowl at Seth the whole night, than send him over his best bottle of brandy at the end of the evening.”
“He seems to care for you very much.”
Christian shrugged, his attention suddenly entirely on her. He lowered his head.
“I didn’t tell you how pretty you look,” he said quietly near her ear.
“I’m a mess. There’s still clay under my fingernails,” Megan murmured uncomfortably. She’d insisted upon taking some time to rectify her appearance earlier, brushing out her hair and applying a little make-up along with a spritz of perfume. It’d been a hopeless cause, though. It’d take a half hour of solid scrubbing to get her nails completely clean, and she couldn’t do anything about the casual, form-fitting T-shirt she’d been wearing or her faded, low-riding jeans.
“Who’d a thought that clay under a woman’s fingernails was so sexy?” Christian mused. His smile widened when she threw him a ‘give me a break’ glance. He leaned down lower and spoke next to her ear. “And that strip of bare skin beneath your T-shirt is driving me crazy.”
She shivered. Christian’s deep, resonant voice was always a threat, but when he growled sweet, sexy things in her ear, Megan was a goner. She jumped when one long forefinger brushed over the sensitive, exposed skin above her jeans. The pad of his finger was callused, causing a thrill of friction where it glided. He felt her startle and spread his hand fully across her stomach and waist, as if to settle her nerves. The upper part of his forearm touched the bottom of her breasts, cradling them softly.