Here Comes Trouble

by Anna J. Stewart

  He shoved the sheet aside and climbed out of bed, scrubbing a hand over his face as he leaned over the metal railings to peer downstairs. For once he didn’t have a headache first thing in the morning. Either a night with Sheila was a miracle cure or he was suffering the blessings of being done with those damned pills.

  Today wasn’t the day to dwell. What was going to be was going to be. There wasn’t anything he could do except live each moment, no matter how exhausting, contemplative, or disconcerting. Beginning, he decided, with breakfast. Or Morgan. Whichever he found first.

  At least he’d thought to stock her fridge and pantry the other day when he’d ordered dinner, otherwise he’d be gnawing on the wood trim. He availed himself of the bathroom, showered, and pulled on his jeans before he padded downstairs. The last thing he expected to find was the door to her studio standing ajar and the bass-licking undertones of Rod Stewart Unplugged echoing from within.

  Relief and admiration clambered into his chest. Wearing a white cotton T-shirt, her hair knotted on the top of her head and topped off with a well-worn paintbrush, her hand swept over the canvas with the elegance of the masters, casting colors and lines into the depths of the huge canvas.

  “Mew.” Sherlock popped his head up from where he’d been napping, curled up in an empty Kleenex box on the corner of her workbench, surrounded by paw-tempting brushes and chase-inducing rods and dowels.

  Malcolm walked over and scratched the kitten’s head, wanting to say something, but not wanting to disturb her. Glorious. He’d never seen her paint before, only the end result. Five years ago her studio had been foreign to him—he hadn’t ventured inside because he’d assumed, like him, she kept that part of herself private. Had it been him, anyone venturing inside his own workshop would have been considered an intruder.

  But Sheila’s space was welcoming. He’d seen her work before when it came to sketches or doodles in a notebook or napkin, but now he saw the true artist who had created that mural in Brandon’s room as she applied technique and skill to eking out her special brand of justice.

  The music faded. She pulled the bristles free of the slick of oil paint beneath and stuck the end of the brush in her mouth, angling her head as she examined her work.

  “This could be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” Malcolm moved in and slid his arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her head as she leaned into him, gripped his arm with her free hand. What he wouldn’t give to do this every morning for the rest of his life. He squeezed his eyes shut, pushed away thoughts of the future. “It’s beautiful.” He pressed a kiss on the top of her head.

  “It’s for the center’s lobby. I think it needs more blue. Right there.” She jabbed the handle of the brush in the bottom corner.

  The waterscape reminded him of the center, the intermingling of natural elements like wood and stone with a sloping waterfall gently cascading along the winding path. He drew her hand away.

  “It’s perfect. Morgan will love it.”

  “Provided it dries in time. I always could drive a deadline up to its breaking point.” She smiled at him over her shoulder, making his heart skip a beat. Or a hundred. “Good morning.”

  “You’ve been busy.”

  “I got inspired.” She hopped down and dropped the brush into a jar of thinner and leapt at him, locking her arms around his neck as she kissed him, nearly knocking them both off their feet. “You inspired me,” she breathed against his lips, nibbled at him as he grabbed hold of her butt and hiked her up against him. The sensation of her legs hooking around him again sent his brain into lockdown.

  His head spun and not, he knew this time, because of any medication. She was life altering, life affirming, and it was obvious she’d reconnected to the exuberant young woman he’d longed for, except . . . better.

  She nuzzled his neck, nibbled just under his ear as the heat of her pressed against him, tempting him. “I can take a break if you want.”

  “I want.” He banged against the table and heard an irritable “mew” echo from Sherlock’s vicinity. “I woke up wanting, but”—he kissed her again, unable to get enough of her—“you are on a roll. And the sooner you get these paintings off your plate, the more time you’ll have to . . . play.”

  She trailed a finger down his nose as her hair came loose and tumbled around her shoulders. “There won’t be much playing as long as I have all these balls to juggle.”

  He shifted her solidly against him, a slow grin forming as he saw her eyes fog.

  “Maybe you’d better put me down if it’s conversation you’re wanting.”

  “I didn’t say anything about talking.” He carried her out of the room, but not much farther than the living room as they hit the couch and fell into each other. “Remind me.” He kissed her behind the ear, trailed his lips to the pulse pounding in her neck. “What other balls will you be juggling?”

  “Um, the signs in the entertainment center are being installed.” She started to pant as her fingers gripped his shoulders, slid over his slick skin. “And, I, um. God.” She shuddered. “And I have to verify schedules for stocking the stores and activity center.” She ended that part of her list on a purr that set his insides humming. He kissed her again, until he couldn’t breathe, until he didn’t want to, feeling every inch of her pressing against him, wanting him, the bare heat of her thighs wrapped around his hips making him feel more alive than he had in months. Maybe years. “And there’s the, um, delivery of your father’s paintings tomorrow, and I have another visit scheduled with Levia on Thursday.”

  “It’s a good thing you have a capable assistant.” His hands roamed under her shirt and skimmed up her sides, making her shiver as her fingers slid beneath the band of his jeans. “I’ll be sure to make an appointment for a”—he pushed forward and saw her eyes widen before she arched against him—“consultation.”

  “Let’s consult now.” She kissed him again, so deeply, so completely, he thought he’d go mad. “Maybe I can reschedule a couple of things.”

  “Yeah.” His fingers slipped under the edge of her panties. “But let’s get rid of these for now.” He drew them aside and found her ready for him.

  “Mmm, ’kay.” She moved against his probing fingers, tried to catch her breath as he shifted both of them enough to rid them of the rest of the fabric barriers between them and cover himself with the condom he’d stashed in his pocket.

  “Consider yourself rescheduled.” She groaned as he slid inside her. Never had he felt such sweet torture as she locked her feet at the base of his spine. He gasped, unable to remember not being a part of her. “God, how did I let you go before?” She gasped. He slowed at her words, at the memory of what he’d done, at what he had to do. “Malcolm.” She reached up and touched his face, drew her fingers across his lips as she gave him the most caring smile he’d ever been on the receiving end of. “You can always change your mind, but for however long I have you, I want you here. With me. Present.” She rolled her hips to prove her point. Her breath hitched as he shifted inside her, the warm heat of her causing every nerve in his body to fire at once.

  “Your wish is my command.”

  “I love you.” She replaced her fingers with her lips, drew him down on her.

  Before he could respond, before he could return the words, she closed her eyes, as if she didn’t want him to feel obligated. He did love her. More than he thought possible. More than he wanted to.

  Too much to stay.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Good afternoon, Chadwick. Alcina, I’m so glad you could join us.” Sheila swept into the reception area of the Emptor Gallery well before their agreed-upon meeting time. Her body continued to sing from the excess of attention Malcolm had paid it. “I know your time is limited, Chadwick. The delivery van has already finished unloading the crates and we’re in the process of unloading your paintings as we speak. Ah, see. Here we go.”
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  Chadwick, looking like a sour gargoyle in his grey Savile Row suit and stony expression, gave a short nod and stepped forward.

  The pristine white walls and refurbished hardwood plank floor of the one-time department store aided in making the Emptor Gallery one of the preeminent show places in Southern California. That and the three-year-long waiting list for individual showings added to its status and popularity, both of which no doubt appealed to Chadwick. The fact that it was located in the heart of Lantano Valley, amidst a museum displaying a private collection of rare Serpian artifacts, and one of the best-reviewed restaurants in the area was added icing.

  What strings did he have to pull to put this together in less than four months? Her mouth twisted as she considered the number of artists he’d probably displaced. Something to look into.

  The half-wall displays angled against one another in order to show off up to two works in each cordoned off area.

  “Do you mind if I stay for a while?” Alcina asked. The pewter pantsuit she wore would have given the royal family a run for its money. Elegance personified.

  “Mother, I don’t think—” Chadwick’s booming voice was tempered by the surrounding workers. Mustn’t make a scene.

  “A number of these paintings once belonged to your father, Chadwick.” Alcina tucked her purse under her arm and seemed to avoid looking at her son. “Forgive me if I’m not able to bid them as easy a farewell as you. I’ll just be over there, dear,” she told Sheila.

  Sheila waved the first three gallery volunteers over. “Let’s line these up against the walls, please. We’ll order them later. I’m sorry,” Sheila said to Chadwick as he kept his stolid presence in place. “I thought these works were from your own private collection.” She hadn’t thought he could fall further in her estimation, but selling off his mother’s paintings to help cover his gambling debts and solidify his move? Cold-hearted son of a bitch.

  “Most are,” he said, and the coolness of his voice almost made her shiver. “Others have been in storage for years and I’d rather buyers who want them have the opportunity to purchase them.”

  Clearly Alcina wasn’t as detached from these beautiful pieces as he was, and the expression Malcolm’s grandmother cast upon the beautiful Jacques Wisdom seascape made Sheila’s heart ache. “Did you have any ideas on how you’d like these displayed?”

  “Display is what I hired you for, Sheila.” Chadwick shook his head as if in apology. Irritation was more like it. “As long as they’re shown to their utmost potential and bring in the maximum amount of money, all will be well.”

  “I’ll do my best. Why don’t I show you to that private viewing room we discussed?” She waved her hand toward the back of the gallery and gave silent thanks that Chadwick had been predictable enough to consult with Nathan on the added security. “We’ve programmed in the code you requested.” Malcolm would lose his mind if he knew she was hitting the same seven-seven-four-nine to disengage the lock. The ten-foot-square room had been outfitted with recessed lights along with individual lamps that would sit over each of the three paintings. “I’m hoping we have the correct wattage for the lights,” she said as she opened her notepad computer and tapped open the file for the auction. “Until we can see the paintings in person . . .”

  “I’m sure this will be adequate.” Chadwick wandered the perimeter, nodding his approval. “I have a special courier delivering them precisely at three p.m. the day of the auction.”

  So late? Sheila hoped whatever Nathan and Malcolm planned, they’d be able to get a look at those paintings ahead of time.

  “They must be very special to warrant the extra attention,” Sheila said. “Which is why I had this brought in for your guests.” She gestured to the hand-carved walnut bench that had been varnished to a sparkling shine.

  “Special is an understatement,” Chadwick said. “These particular pieces have interested parties already. So much so that I’ve already accepted initial bids for each of them. I’ll messenger that list over to your office by the end of the day.”

  “I’ll let Liza know to expect it.” She tapped out a quick text to her assistant even as her mind raced. She knew to be prepared for anything, but advance bidding hadn’t been part of the plan. “Have there been any additions to the guest list Alcina and I finalized the other afternoon?”

  “Yes. I’ll include those names as well.”

  “Understood.” Again she nodded, jotted down the note. “If everything meets with your approval—” She led Chadwick out and locked the door again. “I’ll be sure to be here to oversee their arrival on Friday—”

  “I’ll be overseeing that myself.” And then, as if he’d been jolted into good behavior added, “If you don’t mind.”

  “You’re the client,” she said with that practiced smile.

  “You’ve always been a smart girl. Like your mother. Your sister, too, I suppose, despite some stumbles along the way what with that Nemesis business a while ago.”

  Sheila imagined stomping her needle-thin heel into the top of his foot. “Morgan’s always had her own drummer. I appreciate the faith you’ve shown in me.”

  “Your judgment in men, however, has left me wondering about your reliability.”

  “Excuse me?” The comment slapped the smile off her face.

  “Ty mentioned you’re seeing Malcolm again.”

  “I, well.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and glanced around as this time Chadwick’s voice carried and turned a few heads. “Yes, we’ve reconnected.” Understatement of the millennium.

  “Given what happened I’m surprised you’d put your family’s reputation on the line by aligning yourself with him. There’s no telling what he’s been up to these last few years, but I can only assume it’s of no benefit to anyone other than himself.”

  “Yes, well.” Sheila needed to choose her words with care, difficult given her temper was beginning to boil. “I can assure you our relationship will not interfere with the work I’m doing for you. Whatever the issues between you and your son are, they have nothing to do with me. Besides,” she said with what she hoped was appropriate detachment, as if she could shrug it off, “he’ll be leaving town again after the gala, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

  “I had heard something to that effect,” Chadwick said, all but giving her whiplash when he added, “Forgive me, Sheila. I don’t mean to impose on your personal life. I don’t want to see him hurt you again.”

  “I assure you, Chadwick, I’ve gone into this entire situation with my eyes wide open.” She lowered her lashes and touched his arm, lying not only to him, but to herself as well. “But I appreciate your concern. Was there anything else we needed to discuss before you leave the rest to me?”

  “Yes.” Chadwick withdrew a business card from his wallet. “A Thomas Brosnan from Actuary Insurance will be doing a final check of all the artwork before the auction begins. He comes very highly recommended. Here’s his card. If you wouldn’t mind touching base with him to make sure he has full access to the collection, with a few minor exceptions of course.” He indicated the private room.

  Her lungs nearly collapsed. “Another appraisal? I thought they had all been inspected prior to their arrival here.”

  “They were, but I’d rather err on the side of caution. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to any of these pieces on your watch, Sheila. Consider this added peace of mind for yourself as well.”

  “You are too kind,” she said, wishing she could crumple the insurance appraiser with as much ease as she could the business card. “I can see you’re anxious to be on your way. I’d be happy to make sure Alcina gets home.”

  “Thank you. Mother, I’ll see you at dinner.”

  “My son is far from observant,” Alcina said as Sheila took a seat next to her on the polished bench nearby. More paintings arrived, were unboxed, and set on the floor for hanging. “One look at you
and anyone can tell you and my Malcolm have more than, how did you put it, reconnected?”

  “No need to make me blush, Alcina. Your grandson’s doing enough of that on his own.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Once upon a time I had that same look on my face you had moments ago. I can only hope Malcolm sees there’s more to stay for than to run from.”

  “Alcina—”

  “Give an old woman her dreams, Sheila. Nothing in this world would make me happier than to see you and Malcolm work things out.”

  “If it were up to me . . .”

  “Yes, well. And if it were up to me, this painting wouldn’t be sold off to pay my son’s gambling debts.”

  She knew? Alcina may as well have slugged her in the stomach. “I thought this auction was him culling down his collection before moving overseas.”

  “Sheila, really, you can’t think me so naive. Chadwick has never been one to venture farther than the Four Seasons whenever possible. I can assure you, his move to Switzerland has more to do with cutting ties than an interest in tourism and retirement. Nothing happens in my house without me knowing about it, something I pointed out to Malcolm the other day. I’ve made it clear to Chadwick that after this auction, he’s done getting any help, especially financial help, from me. I do hope he’s learned his lesson. Not that it matters. Once these pieces are gone, the only thing left of value will be the house, and that is still in my name.”

  “Why are you telling me all this?”

  Alcina gave her a coy smile. “Oh, my dear. I think you know why. Now. Let’s say you get to work and get this auction rolling.”

  ***

  Liza poked her head into Sheila’s office just before lunch and pulled Sheila’s attention from the window. “Does Malcolm Oliver have that same dreamy look on his face?”

  “Dreamy?” Sheila asked at Liza’s salacious grin. “Have we been transported into a 1950s sitcom?”