His By Design

by Dell, Karen Ann

  Chapter 12

  “So, what was your favor?”

  Zoe used the time to hang up their jackets and pour them both a glass of wine to wonder what kind of favor Jeff could possibly want. He looked worried, so it couldn’t be something as simple as a reference, which she would gladly have given him. Did he need more money? Her dwindling bank account couldn’t be squeezed much more, but she could try to come up with a few hundred dollars. Did he have to leave town before all the work on the gallery was finished? That would be a major problem, but if he had to go, how could she stop him? She prepared herself for bad news.

  He set his glass on the counter. “Hold on a sec. I’ll be right back.” He went to the storage room and returned with what had to be a painting wrapped in brown paper. “You’ve had that sign in the window looking for artists so I brought this with me in the hope you might accept it for the gallery. No pressure, but I decided what the heck, the worst you could do is say no, right?”

  Zoe saw the undisguised hope in his eyes and prayed whatever he was going to show her was good enough to hang downstairs. She wouldn’t lower her standards no matter how much she liked him. She’d been in exactly the same spot herself. Holding a piece of her soul in her hands and hoping some gallery owner would say yes.

  She took a deep breath and smiled encouragement. “Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.”

  He cut the string and ripped the paper off, then went over and set the canvas on her easel, backing away slowly so she could see it.

  She studied the painting, then shot him a look and went closer, examining it from several angles.

  “This is yours?”

  He nodded.

  “You’re not trying to put one over on me?” she repeated, watching his eyes.

  He shook his head. “Why? Doesn’t it—”

  “What the hell are you trying to pull?” she exploded.

  He flinched.

  “Do you think I’m an idiot? This piece wasn’t painted by an amateur.”

  “I can explain, I—”

  “You can explain?” Zoe was incredulous. “Explain why you’re working as a handyman when you can create something as beautiful as this painting? Okay, this I’ve got to hear.” She folded her arms across her chest and tapped a foot, waiting.

  “Well, I uh . . .” he began, looking everywhere but at her, “I wasn’t sure how good it was.”

  She scoffed. “Jeff, modesty is all well and good, but surely you know this is better than a Saturday afternoon dabbler’s. You took art classes in high school, for pity’s sake. You must have learned something there. Did your instructors not tell you you had talent?”

  “Well, they, ah . . .” He tilted his head and frowned at her. “How did you know I took art classes in high school?”

  “Your father told me.”

  “Shit.” He rolled his eyes. “The man can’t keep his mouth shut.”

  “Of course he can’t. If I had a child with as much talent as you have, I’d be shouting it from the rooftops.”

  Zoe walked over to him and put both hands on his shoulders. “He’s proud of you, Jeff, and I can certainly see why.” She pointed to the canvas. “It’s good, Jeff. It’s very, very good. I would be honored if you would let me show this, and anything else you have ready, in The Silvercreek Gallery.” A smile twitched the corners of her mouth. “I’m assuming you have more than one painting?”

  He cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. I have more than one.” A smile spread slowly across his face. “You really like it?”

  Zoe smiled back. Those same words were spoken by every artist at some point in their career and she loved that she got to say yes to his first utterance of them. She went back and sat on a stool at the counter, motioning him to join her. When he did she handed him his glass and tapped it with her own. “To your first showing. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.”

  He seemed less thrilled than she would have been after any gallery owner had raved about one of her works. He looked relieved more than anything else. Could he really be that unsure of his abilities? Or was it merely that he didn’t think she knew enough to be a good judge. Well, whatever . . .

  They drank in silence, admiring the painting, until Zoe narrowed her eyes. “Isn’t that the cove we visited today?”

  “Yep. I’m glad you could recognize it. I go there a lot.”

  An unwanted thought surfaced, though she tried to force it back down. How many other women have you taken there, Jeff the artist? I’m one of many, I bet. He was very good at keeping secrets. How many more did he have?

  She still couldn’t get over how he kept this amazing talent from her all these weeks. Regardless of the fact that he’d mentioned he painted, he’d been so offhand about it, she’d always thought of him as Jeff, the handyman. He claimed he was an amateur sculptor, and merely a novice as far as painting went.

  “I thought you said that you were better at sculpture than painting?”

  “Well, yeah, I think so . . .” His voice trailed off as his insecurity surfaced again.

  “If that’s really the case, you’d better bring some of those pieces in too, they must be fabulous.”

  “They take me longer so there’s not as many of those,” he apologized.

  She merely shook her head at him. “Why did you wait so long to bring this to me? You know I’ve been beating the bushes all over the area to find pieces for downstairs.”

  “At first I was afraid you might think I’d taken this job to get an ‘in’ with the owner and get my stuff hung because you felt obligated in some way.”

  Zoe snorted her opinion of that. “Not a chance. Not even for you, Studley.”

  “Yeah, well, after we, uh . . .” He glanced toward the bedroom, then leaned over and kissed her lightly, as if to jog her memory. “I worried that you might think I was faking the attraction between us as a ploy for the same thing.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “After today, I knew I couldn’t wait any longer, because the attraction is only getting stronger and keeping my hands off you since last Friday has been torture.”

  He kissed her again, slowly and thoroughly. She felt her insides go liquid. He smelled so good. Like fresh air, and fallen leaves, and salt. But mostly, like a man. Unadorned, unadulterated maleness. He tasted like wine and made her every bit as giddy as two quick glasses would. She threaded her fingers through his hair and sighed into his mouth.

  He broke the kiss and gazed at her with such desire, all her doubts vanished. He wasn’t faking his attraction, unless he was an even better actor than he was a painter.

  He took her hands in his. “I do have one more favor to ask.”

  “What?”

  “Would you pose for me?”

  She sat back in surprise.

  “Naked, I mean,” he clarified.

  She went slack-jawed then closed her mouth with a snap.

  “Right now?” He wanted a model? How disappointing. Her thoughts had gone in a completely different direction.

  “No. Of course not.”

  He heated her entire body with the intensity of those blue eyes. “If you were naked now, I certainly wouldn’t be doing any sketching.”

  “Oh?” Zoe grasped the hem of her shirt and lifted it up over her head. The lace of her black bra barely covered her nipples, though they tried to poke through. “What would you be doing then?”

  He slid off the stool and stood between her legs. “You know, I’m much better at showing than telling . . .” He reached around and unhooked her bra, then leaned in to suckle her.

  “Yes. You. Are. Ahhhh . . .”

  He lifted her easily and she wrapped her legs around his hips, snuggling against his hardness. She reached under his shirt to feel the warm, smooth skin of his back a
nd revel in the play of his muscles as he carried her into her bedroom.

  He took his time to undress, which was a delight. Watching him peel off his shirt, then slowly unzip his jeans brought her to full boil and she licked her lips in anticipation. He rolled her jeans down her legs and hooked a finger under the slender thong beneath.

  “I do love it when you invite me to dinner,” he growled, as he slid it off and settled between her legs.

  Zoe placed the last piece of Marjorie’s jewelry in the case and slid the door closed. She looked around the gallery—her gallery—and smiled. The refinished floors gleamed, the glass in the antique oak display cases sparkled in the new track lighting and the white walls held some amazing works of art, several of them Jeff’s. There was an old chest overflowing with painted silk scarves and shawls, their vivid colors reminding her of a pirate’s treasure chest full of gems. Her own works had a niche all to themselves, introduced by a prancing unicorn on a tall pedestal—another of Jeff’s works.

  Tomorrow was Thanksgiving and Amanda had invited them for dinner. Jeff’s dad couldn’t join them, but she hoped he’d make it down for Friday’s opening. The holiday paled to insignificance as she prepared for the soft opening of the Silvercreek Gallery. The retailers called it ‘Black Friday,’ why she never knew, since it was the busiest shopping day of the year. Zoe hoped it would be a glorious day full of good omens for the future. She’d spent every last dime on ads in the Baltimore, Washington, and Annapolis newspapers to bring in as many critics and buyers as possible.

  She looked up at the tinkling of the bell over the front door to see Amanda, rosy-cheeked from the cold, pull off her gloves.

  “I’ve got a present for your opening, but I’m going to need some help getting it in here. Do you have any he-men around?”

  “Aw, Mandy, you didn’t have to do that,” Zoe said with a hug. She craned her neck to see outside. “What is it?”

  Amanda looked mysterious. “You’ll see. The delivery truck should be here in a minute.”

  “Delivery truck? Mandy, what did you do?”

  “I bought you a tree.”

  “You bought me a tree. I see.” She didn’t, really, but how do you decline a tree, especially from your best friend?

  “Jeff, come out here and help Amanda with her tree,” she called to the back as a flat-bed truck pulled up out front.

  “I don’t think I heard you right,” Jeff said, coming toward them from the back room. “It sounded like you said to help Amanda with a tree.” He looked Amanda up and down. “Hi, beautiful. You got a tree stashed under your coat somewhere?”

  She merely pointed to the front door.

  “Holy cow. You really did bring a tree. Well isn’t that a kick in the pants.”

  They all piled outside as Jeff and the deliveryman unloaded an eight-foot ficus tree.

  “Good grief, Amanda, it’s huge, and beautiful. Thank you so much. It will add a lot of class to my space and I have a few handmade wind chimes that will look perfect hanging from its branches.”

  “Wait,” Amanda cautioned. “Let me get the pot for it out of my car, so we only have to lift it one more time. Then we won’t get dirt all over the gallery floor you guys worked so hard to refinish.” She wrestled a crackle-glazed celadon green pot from her trunk and put it on a small wheeled platform. “Okay, put it in here. Then you can move it around without having to pick it up.”

  Jeff complied and with a bit of tilting, managed to get it through the doorway.

  Zoe scanned the interior, trying to pick the perfect spot.

  Jeff rubbed his forehead and complained to Amanda, “And we’re off. I’ll be shuffling this thing around for the next hour and a half while sweet cheeks, here, decides where she wants it. I’m glad you brought that dolly.”

  “Oh stop the moaning, Studley.” Zoe sent him a coy look from under her lashes. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

  He brightened and returned a sweeping bow. “In that case, my lady, your wish is my command.”

  Amanda wandered through the displays while the decision-making went on. Finally satisfied, Zoe joined her at the jewelry counter. “What do you think?”

  “Zoe, you and Jeff have worked miracles with this place. It looks amazing and you’ve managed to get a lot more artisans than I expected, too.”

  “Quite a few are friends from my days at the D.C. gallery. I just hope we sell a few of their things this weekend so they don’t think showing their wares here is a waste of time.”

  “You’ve done all that you can for now. Try to relax and enjoy the holiday tomorrow. Friday will come soon enough for you to start worrying again.”

  “I’ll try. What time do you want us over for dinner tomorrow? I’ll bring some wine and Jeff is providing dessert, compliments of Olivia’s Bakery.”

  “Oh, thank you. You didn’t have to bring anything, but I’ll never turn down something from Olivia’s kitchen.”

  “Well, you know I can’t cook worth a damn, so there was no point in offering to bring the traditional green bean casserole or candied yams.” She grinned.

  “I plan on dinner at four, though you all can come any time after lunch. It’ll be nice to sit and chat with you and Jeff, too.” Amanda slipped her coat on and headed for the door. “See you tomorrow.”

  Zoe nodded. “And thanks for the tree, Mandy. I think I’ll dress it up with some tiny white lights for the opening. It will be lovely.”

  Zoe sent a silent prayer heavenward. Please let me have a decent turnout on Friday. That’s all I ask. Well, it would be nice if someone bought something, too. And it would be even nicer if the something was one of Jeff’s paintings . . .

  Her prayer list was getting longer by the minute, but she felt redeemed by the fact that she hadn’t asked for one of her paintings to be sold.

  Though her bank account could sure use the help.

  Zoe paced.

  She’d reviewed all the preparations multiple times. The windows sparkled, the floors gleamed, the lighting washed the paintings to bring out their true colors, soft music played from speakers discretely hidden in the rafters, and trays of crystal flutes awaited the champagne chilling in buckets in her office.

  She hadn’t expected the kinds of crowds Best Buy and Toys ‘R Us garnered on this, the most heavily shopped day of the year, and she wasn’t disappointed. There was no line waiting for her doors to open and her gut twisted with anxiety. She rubbed her hands down her floor-length black skirt to wipe the moisture from her palms.

  Jeff hadn’t arrived yet and she wanted, needed, him here. To help distract her if nothing else. And to bring the trays of tiny puff pastries and petit-fours from Olivia’s bakery, the only task she’d left to him. She refused to call him again and nag.

  The Silvercreek Gallery would open in less than an hour. The dream she’d put her hard work, money, and most of all, her heart and soul into was about to be put to the test. She had absolutely no idea what to expect.

  So, she paced.

  The buzzer at the back entrance made her jump. She hurried to open the door.

  Jeff was almost hidden behind the stack of bakery boxes. “Sorry. I rang the bell with my chin rather than setting these on the ground to open the door.” He slid the stack onto a table. “How are you holding up?” He took her hands and spread her arms wide to give her an approving once-over. “You look very professional. And stunningly beautiful.” He tugged her arms around his waist and dipped his head to capture her mouth.

  Zoe resisted his embrace until the heat he always generated with his talented mouth caused her muscles to relax. She softened against the hard plane of his chest and felt the bulge in his pants expand. Oh no. They’d used sex to defuse her worries last night, but there was no time for it now. She leaned away and pushed against his chest when he sought to bring her ba
ck into his embrace.

  “Down, Studley. We have to unpack the hors d’oeurves before I open the doors.” She opened the top box and began to fill platters with the delectable bites. “I think I ordered too many of these. There are only going to be five people here.”

  “While that would be fine with me, I’m sure there will be more visitors than you expect. All the town folk will want to come by and see what’s been going on in here the past three months.”

  In brand-new jeans, artfully torn at one knee, a black T-shirt and black jacket, he looked every bit the artist. And hotter than hell. His unruly dark hair curled over his collar and she longed to thread her fingers through the tousled mass.

  As she set out the last platter she glanced toward the front door. Her heart leapt into her throat. There were people milling about out there. She tugged on Jeff’s sleeve and pointed.

  “Okay, sweet cheeks, looks like it’s party time.” He put a hand at the back of her waist and urged her forward. “I’ll, uh, be in the back if you need me.”

  “But—” she gasped.

  “Hey, this is your show, Zoe. Besides, where are all the other artists whose works are on display here?”

  “Several of them will be here. In fact, the metalsmith who did the large piece on the west wall is out there already.” Not willing to spend any time arguing with him, she just shook her head and went to unlock the front door.

  “Welcome,” she said, opening the door wide. “Thank you for coming. Take your time to browse. There are refreshments at the rear of the gallery. Some of our artists will be here to answer any questions you may have.”

  About fifteen people scattered like balls struck by a pool cue, murmuring as they drifted through the space. Anxious to catch some of their comments, Zoe began circulating with a tray of champagne, answering what questions she could. She turned to find Amanda coming through the door, a happy smile lighting her pretty face.