My Father's Best Friend

by Ali Parker

"Most things worth having are." He chuckled.

  Matt walked back through the front door as he slipped his phone in his pocket and smiled.

  "Just Damon checking in on things. He was glad to hear that you were here with me." He winked at me.

  "That's because he knows you care very little about money and would give your stuff away for free if we let you." I reached out and brushed something off his dark green shirt. "It's worth too much to let it be devalued."

  "The woman is right." Jonathan moved back as his wife rejoined us. "And I think the same could be said about me. I love to share my art, but people are quick to take advantage of anything they can. Show it to those that will appreciate it most, and then when you're well-known and wealthy... show it to everyone who will look."

  "I like that." Matt nodded and offered me his arm. "You ready?"

  "One more thing." Jonathan lifted his finger. "What are your plans on moving up here to join us versus staying in Dallas?"

  "I haven't decided yet." Matt's eyes shifted back toward me. "It's still up in the air. This pretty woman right here is trying to talk me into coming to work for her at my father's firm."

  "Oh, interesting." Jonathan tilted his head to the side and studied me. "Please do tell me that you're involved in the advertising for McKenzie and Bryant. I love their slogan so much. It was done by a world-class artist."

  "Erica did that for us." Matt ran his hand down my back, resting his fingers just above the curve of my rear and leaving my pulse to spike. I wanted so much more than he would offer, but the simplicity of his touch left me on edge and almost panting. How much could I really handle?

  Jonathan laughed loudly and clapped his hands. "Erica Hall. You aren't just Matt's agent and his girlfriend, you're an artist yourself."

  "I used to be." I clasped my hands together in front of my waist and glanced back over toward Matt. "Let's get out of here before he starts trying to show my work too."

  "Oh I would love that," Jonathan cooed.

  We all laughed and said our goodbyes. I watched Jonathan and his wife walk toward the parking lot, laughing about something and seeming to enjoy each other.

  "I like him." I turned to face Matt as his Audi pulled up beside us.

  "He's a good guy. Different, but I would assume most art dealers need to be a little mysterious, right?"

  I laughed and got in the car as one of the valets held the door open for me. "Do you think art has to be mysterious?"

  "No, but I think when we look at a panting, it's always going to be part of the experience. Just think about it. You're trying to see into the mind of the artist, right? You're constantly thinking to yourself, what the hell was he thinking when he painted this."

  I laughed and snuggled back into my seat. The wine warmed my blood and left me feeling far more open that I would have allowed otherwise.

  "Where are you staying again?"

  "I was going to stay at the Hyatt, but they overbooked the damn place, remember?" He smiled and glanced over at me. "You're drunk."

  "I am not." I sat up and smiled.

  "You're pretty close. I like it. It's cute." He pulled out into traffic and rolled the windows down. "It feels so damn good out here in the fall."

  "Stay with me tonight." I reached out and turned the air off. "You don't need to get another hotel. You and I have been friends for a while now. I have a couch. You can take it, or I will, but don't go trying to find a hotel this late at night."

  "It's eight." He stopped at a red light and reached over to touch my shoulder. He brushed the back of his fingers down my exposed skin and breathed in deeply. "I'm not sure staying with you would be a good idea. You taking charge and working all that shit out tonight was a huge turn on. As if you weren't enough, but your aggressive ass personality is incredibly drawing."

  "Drawing?" I forced myself not to reach for his hand. I wanted to feel his fingers glide on every part of me, needed to with a desire that I hadn't felt in years.

  "Yeah. It pulls me closer to you. Scares the fuck outta me too." He turned the station to something a little more upbeat. "I'll sleep on the couch if you're okay with that. How about we pick up the stuff to make cookies or brownies or something? I have a sweet tooth that isn't going to let me go without giving it attention tonight."

  "Mmmm... I haven't had sweets in almost four months."

  "What?" He pulled into a small grocery store down from my condo. "You're not living if you're not indulging from time to time, woman."

  "Woman?" I got out of the car and laughed at the stern look he gave me. "How many personalities do you have, Mr. Bryant?"

  "More than I care to count." He held the door open for me and moved up beside me as I grabbed a cart and walked in. "Are you a cookie girl or a brownie girl."

  "Both? I used to make something called slutty brownies back in college. They're delicious."

  "I like the sound of them already." He laughed. "What's in these hookery treats?"

  My turn to laugh. "Cookie dough, Oreos and brownie mix. Let's get everything we need and then we'll make them right when we get back to my place. Once you try these things, you'll never go back."

  "Something tells me this weekend is going to make it hard as hell to consider going back in lots of ways," he mumbled and moved ahead of me to grab the cookie dough. He turned around and I let my eyes run up the length of his body.

  "Are you afraid of me, Matt?"

  "Terrified." He dropped the tube of dough into the basket and gripped the sides of the handle around me, trapping me against his chest. "You?"

  "Not even an ounce," I panted softly, knowing we were about to step into something I might not survive.

  "Hot," he whispered against my hair and walked toward the center of the grocery store.

  I turned and watched him go, trying to decide if I was going to man up or run like hell.

  Both sounded viable, but when he paused and glanced over his shoulder at me, I realized I wasn't going anywhere without him.

  No matter the cost.

  Chapter 9

  Matt

  "All right, so show me how to make the delicious brownies, and promise me that they're completely calorie free. I'm trying to watch my girlish figure." I shook my head like I had flowing hair and enjoyed the sly smile on her face far more than I should have.

  "Let's just go on a run tomorrow morning and we'll be set." She bent over to pull a pan from under the cabinet, giving me a great view of her rear.

  "You should go change. Get out of your work clothes and put on something comfortable." I moved up to the counter and took the pan from her. "Tell me what to do and I'll get the dessert going."

  "You haven't changed yet." Her eyes moved across me, leaving me to feel more exposed than I thought possible. My need to run was driving through me at breakneck speed, but the promise of having a little bit of fun with someone I'd fantasized as mine wasn't going to let me take one step in the opposite direction. I was stuck. Time to own it.

  "I'll change in a minute. Go do what I told you to do." I nodded toward the bedroom and smiled. "Brownies in the bottom or cookies go down first?"

  She handed me the log of cookie dough. "This first, then you lay down the Oreos across the cookie dough. Then mix the brownies up in a bowl and pour them over. I'll turn the oven on. Don't get burned."

  "Hardy-Har." I watched her go and got busy on making the dessert. It'd been a long time since I'd spent the evening with someone I wanted to bed. Four years to be exact. I was fine with my withdrawal from women up to that point. It suddenly seemed like far too long to go without, or maybe it was just something about Erica.

  She returned a few minutes later in a t-shirt that fell off the side of her shapely shoulder and a pair of yoga pants. My body hardened in all the right places as I let myself imagine the idea of running my hands all over her and memorizing every sweet curve.

  "My turn?" I walked past her as she bent over and opened the oven.

  "Yeah. These look great. I'm surprised. M
ost men can't follow directions to save their lives."

  I glanced back and stifled a groan. The woman was beyond perfect. Why was I worried about giving myself over to her again? Right, she'd quickly own me, and I'd not want to come up for a breath.

  "I'm not most men." I turned the corner and walked down the hall. "Mind if I use your bedroom?"

  "No problem."

  I grabbed my bag and took it down the hall, making sure to stop and check out the pictures on the wall as I did. There were several of her and an older man that I had to assume was her father. The other ones were various paintings. Her signature was scribbled on the bottom right corner of most of them.

  "Wow," I mumbled and reached up to run my fingers over a dark red painting. There was no definitive form, but the colors reminded me of violent passion or deep anger. I had to ask her about it after we got drunk on sugar.

  I finally made my way back to the bedroom, and stopped just inside the door, letting my eyes acclimate to the darkness. It almost seemed a travesty to turn the light on. A large skylight window sat just above the bed, bathing the white sheets in an ethereal glow. I could imagine her lying naked under the sheets, her arms before her as she rested on her side. The thick swell of her hip and her pretty dark blond hair splayed out over the pillows.

  My body throbbed as tendrils of pleasure danced around in my stomach. I hadn't been so turned on in a long ass time. It took me a few minutes to shake the need to turn on my heel and attack her in the kitchen. She wouldn't appreciate it and honestly, even though I knew she was attracted to me, I wasn't sure how she felt about aggressive men. She wouldn't expect me to be one for sure. That was the hardest part. Shocking her with another side of myself that I worked to keep under lock and key.

  "Did you get lost back here?" She stopped in the doorway to the bedroom and flipped on the light.

  "No." I glanced over my shoulder. "I was just enjoying the serenity of the room. It's chilly in here and this light in the ceiling is beautiful. I love it."

  "Oh, thanks. Feel free to use anything you need to this weekend. Mi casa es su casa." She turned and walked out.

  I threw my suitcase onto the bed and opened it, pulling out a pair of sleeping pants and trying to decide if a t-shirt would be a good idea. I wasn't exactly in the best shape of my life, but I was still proud of the way I looked. I was still a cocky Bryant at the core.

  I walked back through the house, stopping to let my eyes move across the crimson painting that first caught my attention.

  "Did you paint this?" I leaned in and smiled. "I like it. A lot."

  "Yeah, I did." Her voice told me something hid behind her response.

  I glanced down the hall to covet her for a moment. "Tell me about it. I want to know what lies behind it."

  She let out a soft sigh and moved toward me, stopping and taking it off the wall.

  "I painted it four years ago when I graduated college." She shrugged and started to put it back.

  I reached out and gripped her wrist lightly. "You might have painted it four year ago, but you're still holding back the story. I'm an artist myself, remember? I know quite clearly the well from which we draw out our art. This is intense passion or burning anger. Which?"

  "Can it be both?" She put the picture back.

  I didn't answer, nor did I take my eyes off the picture.

  "You're not going to relent, are you?" She reached out and brushed her finger across it.

  "No. I wish I could." I moved behind her and ran my hands over her shoulders. It was dangerous to even touch her, but I wanted to hear the story, yearned to know that there was something more than she was presenting to everyone else. She was a woman's woman. The kind of girl who decided she was going to rule the world and fucking did it.

  "I dated the same guy from sixth grade through my senior year of college. I figured we were going to be together forever. The night he called things off was the most painful and yet freeing night of my life. I'd grown comfortable in my relationship with him. There was no passion there and I was suffocating."

  "But to be rejected by him left you angry?" I pressed my chest to her back and pulled her closer as I breathed in softly.

  "Yes. I thought my heart was going to bleed out that night. I've never cried so hard in all my life. I haven't cried since." She pressed against me and crossed her arms over her chest. "It was a death of sorts."

  "I can understand that." I brushed my lips by the back of her silky hair and released her. "I paint from a well of various emotions too. I love that this has more than one within it. It pulled me in immediately. I had to know what drove you to do it."

  "The need for white-hot passion." She turned to face me and glanced up.

  "Then why paint it red?"

  She smiled and reached out to touch my chest. "Because most people think passion is colored in crimson and pinks. Only a true artist knows that the very absence of color is the deepest desire of the painter."

  I reached out and touched the side of her face, wanting to take her down the hall and let her find what she needed in me.

  "Because it's the beginning for us? It’s the blank canvas?" I took a step closer as the sugary goodness of the brownies reached my senses.

  "That's exactly right. Anything that happens going forward is ours to build upon. To change and make perfect."

  "And what if perfection is a myth?" I slid my fingers into her hair as my heart raced to break free from my chest.

  "I don't believe that. You don't either." She slid her hands around my waist and pulled me in tightly. Her eyes moved down to my lips and I couldn't hold back another second.

  The groan that left her as I pressed my lips to hers drove desire through the center of my stomach and left my skin itching for her nails to race across it.

  She slid her hands up my back and opened her mouth, brushing her tongue by mine as I leaned down and pressed her to the wall beside her pretty painting. My free hand slid over her hips and down her outer thigh before moving back up to slide up her side and up to cup her breasts. She was more than a handful, and I wanted so fucking bad to strip her bare and worship each of her tits before pressing my tongue to every crevice of her body. Hunger raged through me in slow methodical waves.

  "More," she whispered against my lips and lifted her leg, looping it over my hip and sliding her hands down to cup my ass.

  I ground into her and leaned down to consume her again. She smelled like heaven, something clean and minty mixed with arousal.

  The buzzer on the stove went off, and I pressed my forehead to hers and panted softly alongside her for a few seconds.

  "Brownies," she mumbled and pulled away from me, walking quickly to the kitchen.

  I turned and put my back against the wall as I brushed my palm over my erection. I gathered my thoughts and forced the caveman back into the cave before walking into the kitchen.

  "Where are your recent pieces?"

  "I'm sorry?" She worked on cutting the brownies even though they were hot.

  "Your paintings that you've done recently. I want to see them."

  "I haven't done anything for a few years." She turned and handed me a plate before getting a fork and extending that to me too. "Try it. I think you'll like it."

  "Got any vanilla ice cream?" I gave her a cheeky grin.

  She chuckled. "For you? Yeah, I'll share my ice cream."

  "I feel special." I sat down at the table and couldn't seem to take my eyes off of her. I had to tread lightly or she would think I was just like my brother. As much as I wished I were, it simply wasn't me to sleep with a woman that I had no intention of creating a long-term relationship with. I wasn't sure that woman was Erica just yet. She drove me mad with lust and left me feeling like a love-sick boy, but in all honesty, I didn't know her at all.

  "You should." She sat down and put a scoop of ice cream on my plate. "I love painting and drawing, but I try to use that passion to fuel the work I do for your father now at M&B. It is possible to transfer your pass
ions over to the working world. You just need a supportive boss like I have in Kent."

  "I guess, but he's not your father. I think it would be a different answer for me."

  "I don't think so, but that's for you to decide for yourself."

  "Why do you want me to come work for you?" I took a big bite of the brownie and sat back, groaning loudly. "Holy shit. That has to be the best thing I've ever tasted."

  She laughed. "Well, now you know how to make them."

  "Answer my question, Erica." I licked my fork, loving how closely she watched me.

  "I think we would be a good pair. I'd be lying if I didn't say I was interested in a relationship with you. Even a solid friendship would be great." She shrugged. "I think you could find yourself here."

  "You think I'm still looking for myself?"

  "Aren't we all?"

  I smiled and took another big bite. She had a point.

  Chapter 10

  Erica

  The night before ended too soon, but after the long day, dinner, wine and dessert, my head started to pound. I tried to play it off for a while as Matt and I finished eating dessert, but I had to excuse myself and get to bed shortly after we cleaned up. Whether we would have slept together was a mystery, but one probably best untapped. I would want more than a night of passion, and he was probably like every rich guy I'd ever met.

  Love 'em and leave 'em was the theme. I wanted to think that Matt could be different, but I'd never seen him in a relationship. Not once since meeting him. There was something to be said about that. No way in hell a hot guy like him wasn't sleeping around if nothing else.

  My phone woke me the next morning, and damn if I didn't have a remnant of my migraine still messing with me.

  "What?" I grumbled into the phone. Only a few people were stupid enough to call me on Saturday morning before nine, and of course it was the one I hated to hear from most. My brother.

  "Are you still going over to the retirement home to see Mom today? You said you would."

  "Fuck, Dan. It's," I sat up and glanced over at the clock before falling back into the bed, "it's only seven. I'm pretty sure they don't let visitors come over there until nine. What's the big deal? If you're so worried about Mom, then change your schedule and get over there to see her. I'm not the only one that-"