Standing next to the well-dressed woman who was tapping the mic lightly for attention was Brice Masterson, and he looked phenomenal.
His dark suit hugged his body like another skin, his black dress shirt without a tie and barely a shade darker than his jacket and slacks. His blond hair was swept back, the top slightly longer than the sides, making a thick wave that Janna knew would feel like silk. There was a faint stubble on his face, which made him look slightly dangerous and even hotter than she remembered.
Damn, that's just not fair, she thought to herself, unable to pull her gaze away from the man. Suddenly their eyes met, and that addictive half-smile slid across his face. Shit, he noticed me!
Brice stepped to the podium after an introduction from the woman, apparently the gallery manager, which Janna ignored. Without taking his eyes off Janna, he began to speak.
"True beauty can be found in the most unlikely places and it's exceedingly fortunate when one finds it at home. The works of art surrounding us tonight come from artists in our very own community, and I'm sure you'll agree when I say that they rival any collection, whether in the Louvre or the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Let's give a round of applause to our artists, and appreciate the true beauty that is in our midst."
The room burst into applause, but Janna couldn't move. She was frozen like prey under the unflinching gaze of a master predator. His eyes had never left hers during his speech. She watched as Brice shook hands with the woman beside him, then left the podium, heading in her direction.
Wrenching away from his stare, she whirled around and took a hefty gulp of wine. She almost choked on it, setting the glass down on the table and closing her eyes while she caught her breath.
"If it isn't my shy goddess," a warm voice said from behind her. "Did you like my speech?"
With a deep breath, Janna turned, her eyes traveling from the little patch of light hair on his chest up to his neck, past the fleeting dimple in his chin, past soft lips curved in their customary half-smile, and finally to his eyes, a whirlwind of green that unsettled her more than she expected.
Seeing Brice again, up close and personal, made her itch in a very particular way. And there was only one way to satisfactorily scratch such an itch.
"Well," she said finally, "I think it was very...appropriate." She couldn't think of anything else to say; she'd barely heard his words, so distracted was she by his intense gaze.
He gave a nearly breathless laugh. "I don't think my P.R. manager will agree. He made me promise to mention that Masterson's Inc. provided the funding for this little shindig, and to plug the gallery since apparently we own that too."
Brice gave her a heated look. "But somehow all that just flew out of my head when I opened my mouth. You don't think my remarks were too...off the cuff?"
Janna smiled, reading between the lines. He wanted her to believe the speech had been inspired by her. A polished playboy who speaks from the heart. Too much like a crocodile shedding real tears to be believed. Still, for some reason this man made her want to tease him back. She couldn't give him a straight answer, not and keep her self-respect. "On the contrary," she said with a predatory smile. "As a man who could buy the Louvre and probably already owns the Metropolitan Museum of Art, you are uniquely suited to make such a comparison."
"Hmm...I was mistaken when I called you a sex goddess. Obviously, you are the goddess of wit and virtue."
"Wit I'll accept," she said with a wink, "but certainly not virtue."
"No," he said, his smile widening to show off his immaculate teeth, "I suppose not virtue. A virtuous woman would have called me back after being showered with romantic gifts."
Janna almost laughed but thought she saw a slight flash of hurt in the whirl of his green eyes. "Indeed." Her smile became smaller. "I thought about sending you a thank you note, but didn't want to give you the wrong impression."
"And what impression would that be?"
"That I was interested in...your pursuit."
"And you're not?" he asked, moving closer.
Janna didn't trust herself to answer when he stood so near. It was like a bolt of energy shot between them and held. She'd never felt anything like this before, but with Brice, it was almost expected.
She shook her head, and his smile tightened. Before he could respond, the gallery manager interrupted them, attempting to introduce Brice to an older gentleman in an expensive suit. Janna saw her opportunity to avoid the remainder of a painful conversation and moved away, heading toward the bathroom for a moment alone to process.
The gallery bathroom was small, for single person use, and Janna was lucky that someone was coming out as she reached the door and there was no line. She headed in and locked the door, then splashed some cool water on her pulse points. Fanning her face with her hands, she tried to banish the embarrassing flush from her skin.
Damn that Brice Masterson! Why do I want him so bad? And why does he insist on wanting me back? Doesn't he know how hard that makes it to resist him?
Janna sighed, leaning against the wall and pressing her face to the cool tile to relieve the heat. A few moments later she heard a polite knock on the door and taking a couple of deep breaths, she washed her hands and returned to the showcase.
Janna looked around but didn't spot her millionaire. It seemed her time in the limelight as an artist was about to come to a premature end. She didn't want to stick around any longer and give Brice the chance to stalk and corner her again.
Janna made a final circuit, moving over to her paintings for one last glimpse. As she said a silent goodbye to her creations, a handsome hipster moved up to her side, eyeing her watercolors with a superior air.
"What do you think of these?" he asked, a smile on his urbane face. "What do you think the artist is trying to tell us?"
Janna wanted to laugh at the question. She faced him, liking his dark beard, mustache and slightly spiky faux-hawk. He even had the chunky black-framed glasses she'd lamented over earlier. Très chic.
"I think she just really likes the color green," Janna replied, then couldn't hold back her giggles at his boggled expression. Thinking it wasn't fair to laugh so without a proper introduction, she held out her hand to him. "Janna Puchina. I'm the artist. And I just adore the color green."
Faux-hawk took her hand and raised it to his mouth, kissing the back of it gently. "Enchanted. I'm Edward Green, and I guess I like that color too." This made them both laugh. "In fact," he said, an inspired light glowing in his eyes, "I think I'm going to buy one of these paintings."
Janna continued laughing, but he insisted he was serious and made his way over to the desk near the front door. He talked briefly with the woman behind the desk, gesturing at the paintings then shaking his head. Mr. Green gave a sigh and headed back, a frown marring his polished features.
"It seems they've all been sold already."
"What?" Janna said, confused.
"Someone else must like the color green." He shrugged. "Well, since I can't buy one of these pieces, perhaps I can commission another like it?" He smiled at her and she returned it, and he plunged forward. "In fact, would you like to grab dinner and we could discuss it?"
Janna's eyes widened in surprise. Wasn't he a smooth operator? It was tempting. Edward Green was attractive, with laughing hazel eyes, good skin, and a hip image. But where Brice was tall and athletic, Edward was short, barely reaching her own height when she wasn't wearing heels, and slightly stout, a beer belly hidden behind his ironic tweed jacket. Appearance wasn't important to Janna, not really. She'd been attracted to all types of men. But Edward wasn't doing it for her, not after her earlier run-in with Brice.
"That's a very nice offer, but watercolors are only a hobby for me. I'm actually in the middle of my dissertation and doubt I'll have time to take on any commissions."
Edward didn't give up easily. "Then how about just dinner? I thought you were a starving artist, but now that I know you're a grad student, you're probably even hungrier than I thought." S
he laughed at his remark but wished he'd given in gracefully.
Janna's eyes scanned the crowded room of their own accord, automatically searching for an excuse. They locked onto a pair of familiar green eyes and without thinking she blurted out, "I'm sorry, I'm seeing someone right now. But thank you for the offer."
Edward finally got the picture and backed off, and Janna stood alone by her paintings, still looking at the pair of green eyes that were looking back at her. With a shake of her head she broke their connection and nearly scrambled toward the door. Taking a peek with her peripherals she saw that Brice hadn't moved, but was in fact again in conversation with the gallery manager.
Thinking she had a moment to spare before she fled, and her curiosity now ratcheted up, Janna paused at the desk. "Excuse me," she asked the pretty brunette clerk, "but I'm the artist of those green watercolors over there, and I guess they've been sold."
"Ah yes," she said with a smile. "They were some of the first pieces go this evening. Congratulations."
"Um, thanks. I was wondering, how much did they cost?"
"Well, we'd marked the smaller one at $150, the middle sized one at $200, and the largest one at $300."
"Whoa," Janna said, exhaling. No small potatoes for a few afternoons' work.
"But the buyer didn't pay that," the clerk continued.
"Oh." Janna was confused. Did they already mark down her paintings? Could someone haggle over art prices?
"He insisted on paying a thousand dollars for each."
"What?" Janna almost shouted, sure she had heard the woman incorrectly.
"Yes, and as soon as the show closes next month, you'll be receiving a check for $3000 from the gallery. Again, congratulations."
Janna couldn't say anything. She just walked out the door and onto the sidewalk in a daze. Digging in her pocket, she pulled out her keys and staggered toward her Volvo. Three. Thousand. Dollars. Who on earth would pay that for some community art lesson watercolors?
"Leaving so soon?" a well-known voice said from behind her, and Janna suddenly put the pieces together.
She whirled around, pointing her car keys at his chest. "You! You bought my paintings."
"Guilty." Brice held his hands up in defense. "I think they'll look lovely in my solarium. I would have shown you my solarium if you hadn't run away so fast the morning after the party." He crept closer, his half-smile dazzling her, like the swaying of a snake before its prey. "I would have shown you a lot of things."
"Brice," Janna said, her voice coming out weaker than she expected. "I feel like a mouse who's been running and running--"
"And I'm the piece of cheese?" he interrupted with a big smile.
"No," she countered. "You're the cat."
"Ouch." He moved his hands to cover his heart. "You know, I can't figure you out. You come to my party and insult me, then you melt into my arms, and we have some of the most amazing sex I've ever had, and next you accuse me of being a playboy and flee. Then, when I chase after you, you ignore me. And to top it all off, when we meet again you once more try to insult me for being rich, then are angry when I use my money to buy the only piece of you that I can get. What gives?"
Janna could see how her actions would be confusing, but they had all seemed justified to her at the time. "Look, Brice, you're a fantastic guy. Any woman would be lucky to have you--"
"Except you?" He took a step closer.
"No, that's not it, it's just that I can't have a relationship right now."
"Can't have or won't have?"
"Does it matter?"
"It does to me." His half-smile was gone, and his eyes had a feral quality that Janna found strangely exciting.
"Okay, I won't have one."
"With me, or with anyone?"
"With you or anyone."
"But especially with me."
"Yes, alright!" Janna couldn't help it; his interrogation was getting to her. "I won't have a relationship with you."
"Why?" he asked, his voice getting soft, husky, making her bones melt. "And don't give me any excuse about not having time. You're only writing a dissertation and painting several masterpieces. I'm sure you can squeeze in a date now and then."
"Fine, it doesn't have anything to do with my schedule. It's you. And me." She groaned in frustration. "Look, you're a millionaire who could have any woman he wanted. And I...well, I'm me."
"And...?" Brice waited for her to go on.
"And rich playboys don't settle down with women like me. You'll wine and dine me, I'll fall for your charm and sophistication, and then before I know it I'll find you in the society pages with some new debutante on your arm, and it'll be curtains."
Brice closed the distance between them, grabbing her arms and pulling her into his body. "You're jumping to a lot of conclusions, sweetheart. I told you before that I haven't been in a serious relationship for years, and if you think it's easy putting your heart out there for constant rejection, you're kidding yourself. And furthermore, you lied."
"When?" she asked, in awe of the passion in his words.
"You lied when you said I could have any woman I wanted. The only woman I want right now is you."
His head swept down to capture her lips. She gasped in surprise, which gave his questing tongue an opening. As they stood on the sidewalk near the entrance to the gallery, Brice Masterson, millionaire playboy and owner of three recently acquired watercolor homages to his eyes, ravished her mouth, kissing her breathless. When he finally pulled away, Janna had to hold onto his arms to keep from falling off her four-inch heels.
He held her head in his large hands, turning her face up to meet his eyes. "I'm not asking for much. Go out on a few dates with me, and don't make a thousand assumptions about what I'm thinking or what I might do in the future. If I'm dating you, there won't be any debutantes on my arm, because you'll already be there."
His lips came down again to brush ever so gently against her lips. "Say you'll let me see you again. Please."
"Yes," she breathed out finally, and his smile returned to his too-handsome face.
Chapter Four
It was almost the weekend, and his first official date with Janna was tomorrow. Brice still wasn't sure she wouldn't bolt, so he was attempting to come up with a special plan, one that wouldn't make it easy for her to escape. He sat in his study, his legs propped up on his large mahogany desk, his arms crossed and his eyes staring through the bookshelves across from him as his mind worked.
They'd take one of his cars, but no driver. He didn't want to be ostentatious as Brice already knew his wealth made Janna nervous. That meant he had to find places that had valet parking. This was a problem in the small town where the Central Willamette University campus was situated. He couldn't remember a single restaurant in town that offered valet service. With a big sigh, he leaned his head back in his leather chair.
Maybe he was coming at this from the wrong perspective. His interpretation of "date" was too traditional, too predictable. It wasn't going to impress her, to show up in a limo with a driver and take her to the most expensive restaurant in town. That was exactly what she expected a millionaire playboy to do. He had to zig when her mind zagged. Brice decided to figure out what the opposite of all the expected luxury date components was, and then do that.
A typical dinner date took place at night. Fine, so he'd plan a daytime date. He'd usually have Chase, his driver, drive them around town in the black stretch. So, no driver, and no limo. Brice grinned. That was no hardship. He had a garage full of cars that he barely ever drove anymore. It would still be a luxury car, but not the conventional limousine.
The most expensive restaurant in town would be indoors, in the claustrophobic interior of Apriles, full of delicate white iron and glass tables, heavy coral drapes, chairs with thick gold cushions, and packed with the well-to-doers who were forced to almost literally rub elbows in the restaurant's crowded confines.
So their date would be outdoors, and the opposite of claustrophobic. Th
e image of a certain spot of land within the soon to be Masterson Memorial Parkland locked into his mind, and he smiled, because it was perfect for his purposes. They'd go for a hike to his hideaway, and there they would enjoy a picnic, which Brice supposed was close to the opposite of the rich French cuisine at Apriles. The only thing that could go wrong was the weather.
It was the middle of March, and the rains weren't as heavy or frequent as they'd been the past few months. Brice pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the upcoming weather forecast. No rain, it seemed, although the sun might not make an appearance from behind the clouds. Still, a country drive wouldn't be amiss, accompanied by an easy hike and romantic picnic. And maybe, just maybe, if he could keep her off her guard long enough, their day date would stretch into the night. And into the next morning, if his wish came true.
A thread of unease broke his concentration. Brice wasn't used to wanting more than one night from the women he dated. Granted, none of them had hit him like Janna had, a bold of lightning from the heavens that had burned away all other thoughts but ones of her. He'd warmed his bed with waitresses, socialites, and girls more impressed by his bank balance than his charm, but always with the clear proviso that it was a one-night-only deal. Then Janna had knocked him off his feet at the holiday party, and he hadn't yet recovered. Worse, he didn't want to.
Forcing his mind back to the issue at hand, Brice considered which car to take. Again, he had to be unpredictable. The Lamborghini, the Ferrari, the Porsche, all screamed "rich guy," which Janna would probably read as "overcompensating." He needed something exotic but not flamboyant. Something that he would enjoy driving around the country curves with his girl by his side. The Aston Martin DB5, of course. He'd do James Bond's vehicle of choice proud, and Janna was definitely pretty enough to be a Bond girl. She would put Pussy Galore to shame, he thought with a wicked grin.
Worth the Risk: (A Contemporary Bad Boy Romance) Page 28