Jill gave her a thumbs-up and went back inside.
Greer took a deep breath. She could do this. She started walking to Carmella’s. Once she got there, she crouched near her bike’s front wheel to unlock it, but she felt the back of her neck tingle. She twisted to look up. The setting sun made it hard to see.
“Fancy meeting you here,” said a silhouette.
She’d recognize that English voice anywhere. Her heart surged unexpectedly. Not a good sign.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ford knew Greer Jones was the queen of yens. It was a quirky word, like her. She came across as put together and cool, but beneath her seamless style he saw a goddess of fire and storm. She clearly had guarded passions. It was in her eyes. But he saw past the protectiveness, past the stoicism, to something that made the breath catch in his throat. It was her soul, and it wanted.
What did she want?
He wasn’t sure, but she moved him. And he wished to paint her. Desperately.
Even had he not been a purveyor of gazes, her body language gave her away. She was controlled in her movements, but he sensed she longed to fling herself at life.
She looked up at him and smiled. “Hi.”
When she spoke, he felt the way he did when he climbed the mast of his boat and took in the curvature of the earth. “I see you’re leaving,” he said. He didn’t want her to.
She finished unlocking the bike and stood. “I’m coming back. I have to stop somewhere briefly on my way home, and then I’m meeting my friend Jill and Serena and Wesley at The Rooftop. Serena said they’d try to get you to come, too.”
If she wanted him there, too, she was very good at hiding it.
“My bike’s right around the corner,” he said. “May I ride with you?”
She shifted her stance from one foot to the other. “I do have to stop somewhere,” she said again.
“Right, well, if I’ll be in the way.…” He waved a hand at her. “There was something I wanted to ask you about, that’s all. It can wait.”
“Oh,” she said, committing to nothing.
“See you later.” He put his hands in his front pockets and backed away. “At The Rooftop.”
“Okay.” She tugged on her ear. “Your bike is really close? Go ahead and grab it and come with me,” she said. “But I’m going to go fast so I don’t keep people waiting. I’ve been given the gift of an open bar tab at The Rooftop by my friend, Miss Thing, for me to share with my friends. She just won on The Price Is Right.”
He laughed. “The game show? We’ve had a British version of it off and on. I think it’s on again, actually.”
“Yes. And she won big. Free drinks for you tonight.”
“I’m a lucky man.” Then he remembered his manners. “To share your company as much as to get a free drink, of course.”
“Good catch.” She laughed.
He grinned back.
Their bike ride was just as light. For a minute or two, they rode silently while they traveled East Bay Street. But once they hit a side street, they chatted about the heat, the afternoon thunderstorms that came every summer, and the local minor league baseball team. Neither one of them had been to a game. They were talking about Bill Murray, Charleston’s favorite celebrity resident, when they coasted to a stop in front of a store called La Di Da. It had two massive display windows. Through one of them, he could see a small crowd inside sipping wine. They appeared to be listening intently to an older woman holding up a pink satin gown on a hanger and gesturing with her free hand.
“I only wanted to see this,” said Greer, standing in front of the other window. It had three dresses displayed on headless mannequins. She was looking at the one in the middle, the only bridal gown. The other two were cocktail dresses.
He recognized it. “Bloody hell, it’s the gown from this morning. That was fast. Already in a shop window.”
“Yes, very fast.” It was as if he weren’t even there. She had a small, tender smile on her face. She looked. And looked. Suddenly, she seemed to remember his presence. “Sorry. I had to see it. At this trunk show I attended with Serena, there was a photo of it on a leaflet stuffed into a flyer, and it said it was here at Pierre’s shop. He’s the man from the auction who won the dress.”
“He was a strange fellow. I wondered if he had a vocal cord injury.”
“No,” she said. “Nothing of the sort. He simply likes to speak quietly so he’s in control of the conversation. He told me himself.” She pulled the leaflet out of her purse and handed it to him.
Ford looked down at the picture and back up. “He’s giving it away in a contest?”
She nodded.
“‘To a future bride,’” Ford read from the flyer.
“Correct.” She looked over her ivory frames at him and smiled. “And yes, I’m still not getting married. But I wanted to see it again.”
He grinned back. “Clearly, this dress is more than an investment to you. I was right this morning, wasn’t I?”
She shrugged. “I kind of fell in love with its story.”
She was such an American. Bold. Charming.
And he’d be very English and not pry any further. Oh, what the hell—he would. “I understand from Serena and Wesley that you turned down his marriage proposal at one time, and he didn’t see it coming.”
“That’s true. Does it bother you? Particularly as you’ve been left at the altar?”
“No.” He shrugged. “Totally different people, different circumstances. But I’m intrigued that you’re so interested in a wedding dress. I can’t help wondering why. It must mean … you like marriage.”
“To the right person,” she said. “That’s the key.”
He handed her back the leaflet. “Well, you’ve still got great taste.” It had the look of couture: simple yet elegant. He could see why she was smitten with it. “Shall we go inside and ask about it?”
“No need. I only wanted a look.”
“Come on.”
“Nah. Pierre texted me that he was doing this. He’s hoping I’ll show up tonight so he can gloat. I’m actually surprised he didn’t put the dress inside so I’d be forced to walk past him to look at it.”
“It’s too valuable in a historic sense, I’m sure, to display on the floor.”
“True.” She looked around and then saw the camera on the roof edge. “Hi, Pierre.” She waved. Then blew a kiss. “There. That will satisfy him.”
“Well done,” Ford said.
She looked up at the window again, and he could see her swallow. “Let’s head to my place,” she said. “I’ll change, and then we’ll take a cab back to The Rooftop.” She hesitated.
“Or I can leave you here and meet you at The Rooftop in a little while,” he said, to let her off the hook.
She tossed him a sheepish smile. “Maybe that’s the best idea.” She hopped on her bike again. “Wait. Didn’t you say you wanted to ask me about something?”
Yes, he did want to ask her something! “It can wait,” he said. “I’ll see you at the bar.”
“Okay.” She waved, threw one last glance at the gown in the window, and took off.
He liked the look of her pedaling away from him on the bike. She was toned, sexy, and athletic.
And he might be a father to one or two children, and he didn’t want to be with their mother, and his life had spiraled out of control.
He wasn’t ready to be a father. He was a bachelor used to a bachelor’s ways. Children—well, he wouldn’t know what to do with them. Especially Teddy’s children … he imagined them spoiled. Petulant.
He wished he could talk to someone about Teddy’s pregnancy. Anne was the obvious choice of confidantes. But he didn’t want to stress her. He would wait for the actual news. And then he would figure out what to do. Anne would advise him.
He lived right around the corner, so he put his bike inside the house. Drake and Gus were out surfing, but they’d left the kitchen a wreck. He pretended he didn’t see the open pizza box and empty
cartons of chocolate milk (Drake’s favorite nonalcoholic beverage), and changed into a black Led Zeppelin T-shirt and khaki shorts.
He loved being the Average Joe in America. In London, he got tired of the pressure to play the role of baron wherever he went. So after he’d made advance arrangements for studio space and bought his plane ticket to Charleston, he’d decided to leave everything but his passport and credit cards behind. When he’d arrived, he’d checked into an airport hotel for a week and rented a car. He’d gone shopping for a few clothes at a local mall, bought toiletries at a drugstore, found his apartment downtown, raided an art store for supplies, and after moving in to his tiny bedroom in the flat, spent most of his time at the studio.
He had ninety days to be there. Then by law he must leave the United States, which was a huge reason he wanted to see Greer at The Rooftop.
The clock was ticking.
* * *
The Rooftop was a popular place. Ford had spent the last hour talking to Wesley and Serena, then to Jill and some of her friends, and a few strangers who’d sailed a catamaran up from Miami and were docked at the city marina, but he’d yet to speak to Greer. She was floating around, drinking, laughing, and occasionally taking selfies and videos on her phone to send to California, where a party was also going on with her three friends from Two Love Lane.
When he finally bumped into her, she reminded him to put his drinks on her friend Miss Thing’s tab. She was on her way to a good buzz, judging from her flushed cheeks. “Today my mother yelled at me for not being married,” she said.
“You’re kidding.”
“No. She was mad I broke up with Wesley.”
“I’m sorry.” But he really wasn’t sorry. He was glad she was single.
She shrugged. “Now that I’ve talked too much, tell me about you. I get the impression you’re all about art.”
“I am.”
“I admire that,” she said. “A lot.” She tossed him a pretty smile.
He’d had more than his fair share of one-night stands based on a woman’s fantasy of hooking up with a bohemian, Picasso-type. But he actually wanted her to be impressed, didn’t he? He wanted to paint her for the Manchester art show. She was the subject he’d been looking for: an American woman of spirit and beauty. But he was looking for more, too, something he couldn’t pin down yet. He liked to discover it as he painted. For him, that was where true artistry lay, in overcoming the gap of mystery that existed between the painter and his subject.
“I just hope you’re good,” she went on. “There’s nothing worse than seeing someone give up everything for art, and then come to find out, they’re not talented.” She paused. “Oops. I shouldn’t have said that.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’ve separated yourself from my pack of adoring fans already. It’s refreshing.”
She laughed. “Well, if you need a patron, Charleston is the place to come for one. There are some very well-off art lovers here who might be willing to help you financially if you’re struggling at all. Just say the word, and I’ll call some people.”
The noise level was rising.
“Let’s talk over here.” He took her by the elbow—she came along with no protest, and he suddenly felt very protective of her—and walked her to a bench. They both sat down. Her skirt rode up to expose a tantalizing bit of thigh, and she tugged it down.
“Your offer is very kind,” he said.
“It would be my pleasure,” she said back, and then looked away.
“Is something on your mind?” he asked.
Reluctantly, she looked back. “I don’t like to gossip.”
“Neither do I. Unless it’s with someone I trust.” He grinned. “Then all bets are off.”
She hesitated, then said, “It’s a little awkward for me with Wesley and Serena in town.” She stole a quick glance to the left. “Oops. Serena’s watching us right now.”
He did see. “She’s like a sweet puppy who becomes a giant and knocks down all the buildings in New York. You can’t hate the giant puppy. Or fire missiles at it. Or get helicopters to drop a net on it.”
They both grinned.
“She has a vulnerability I can’t put my finger on,” Greer said. “It allows me to forgive her for being so peppy.”
“You’re pretty perceptive. She does.”
“What is it?”
“She didn’t have an easy childhood.”
“Really?” She winced. “I feel bad now.”
“Don’t. We all have our issues, and it’s up to us to work through them. For your own sake, you really don’t want to get mixed up in their business. They could see it as your showing undue interest in Wesley again.”
“I didn’t think of that.” And then she did. “Oh, gosh, that would be terrible. I’m not at all interested in him.”
Ford chuckled. “Why don’t we prove it to him? Just in case he thinks you have any lingering regrets.”
“How?”
“I could kiss you. Right now.”
Her face brightened. “You know what? It may be immature of me to say yes, but okay. Let’s do it.”
And so he wrapped his arms around her, having no idea he was about to step straight off a proverbial cliff into an abyss of deep, maddening desire, the kind barons of old must have had for their most favored, ball-busting mistresses, at least according to the historical romance novels Anne wrote.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Greer hadn’t been kissed in a long time, and now she was kissing someone when her ex-boyfriend was nearby. Tacky. Totally tacky. Except that all day she’d had to endure Wesley and Serena’s cute couple-ness, right?
And this kiss was too good to turn down. The heat level was so off the charts, it made no sense. She’d have to find a rational reason for it later. Meanwhile, needs were needs. They trumped logic every time.
She couldn’t help little moans escaping her throat. Ford What’s-His-Name—what was his last name?—knew how to kiss. She put her hands on the back of his neck, beneath his waves of silky hair, and caressed warm skin over taut muscle and tendon with her fingertips. She was glad she’d only recently buffed her nails. His lipwork somehow got even better in response, and he took some liberties with his tongue that were way beyond first-kiss caliber.
She loved every second of it.
A makeout session at The Rooftop. Who ever thought Greer Jones would participate in such a public display of affection? Although she couldn’t really say affection … she liked Ford a lot, but she didn’t know why and didn’t want to examine why. True affection had to come from someplace deeper, a place where you were willing to go, and the object of your affection had to prove himself worthy of that feeling.
It would be more accurate to say she lusted after Ford.
That was it.
Finally, they both pulled back—it was during a kiss that slid off into nothing, one of those that went from sheer exuberance to sexual frustration because they’d reached the limits of what they could do without getting arrested. They were both sort of panting.
Greer looked up. She couldn’t see Serena or Wesley. Jill, on the other hand, shot her a wink from across the rooftop.
“I have a proposition for you,” he said.
“I can guess what it might be,” she murmured, propping her chin on her hand, her elbow on the tabletop. She was thankful Jill hadn’t installed the “Working Diva Without a Man” theme yet in her bedroom.
“It’s not that,” he said. “Although don’t get me wrong. I’d love to. You’re beautiful. Fun. Sexy.”
She grinned. “Wow, thanks.”
“Which is why.…”
She leaned forward. “What?”
“I’d love to paint you,” Ford said.
“Me?” She couldn’t believe it.
“Yes, you.”
Her mind was blown. “But … why?”
“All I know is that I get a feeling, and if I can’t shake it, I go for it. I paint whoever or whatever inspires me to get to the
easel. Usually by the time I’m done, some wrinkle has been smoothed out in my psyche. But I never know what it’s going to be.”
She was still tongue-tied.
“So, what do you think?” His face was alight with enthusiasm. “It would require a commitment. Painting a portrait is time consuming.”
She felt mixed up inside. “I don’t know.”
“You want to look at my Web site first, and then get back to me?” he asked.
“It sounds amazing,” she said, “but I’m busy. I have to stay super-organized to be able to carry off what I do at Two Love Lane. I don’t have time to … to pose for a portrait. It sounds like something from olden times.”
“It’s true you have to make time. And you don’t move around.”
“I don’t know if I could handle that.”
He lifted his palms and dropped them. “From the first moment I saw you at the coffee shop this morning, I wanted to paint you.”
“You saw me there?”
“Yes. And I followed you to the auction.”
“Oh, my God,” she said, her hand on her heart.
“I’m not a stalker,” he said. “I’m a painter. And there was something about you…”
She laughed. “I suppose I’m flattered. But then you left me at the auction.”
“You weren’t exactly tuned into me. You were more into royal artifacts.” He paused. “My bad, as you say here in America, for backing down.”
“I’ll grant you that I wasn’t in the mood to talk. But then you saw me again, and didn’t ask then, either.”
“But we were with Wesley and Serena. I should have got your number, but it was an uncomfortable situation.”
“To say the least.”
“I knew where you worked—you told me yourself at the auction—and I decided to go see you there. But I didn’t have to. We met up tonight. Sheer luck.”
She lofted a brow. “The question is, what kind of luck—good or bad?”
“As yet to be determined,” he said, and leaned closer. “I didn’t plan that kiss. Honestly. But it worked, didn’t it? You looked busy and happy and completely over Wesley.”
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