Covered In Paint: Book Five of the Art Of Love Series

by Donna McDonald

  “Men and their stupid male egos,” Brooke complained, pulling herself from the bed.

  Wearing only her high heels and black lace bra, she stepped over the rest of her clothes and headed to the bathroom to make repairs. At the very least, she probably owed Drake an apology for being so insensitive after he’d unselfishly given her two orgasms.

  And at most…

  Sighing, Brooke paused in the bedroom door and glanced back once more at the black dress pooled on the floor by the bed. The underwear Drake had stripped from her in one swipe was tossed halfway across the room. By that point, he’d been on autopilot to get inside her as fast he could. She was going to be reliving that particular moment…and a few others with him…until the day she died. So at most…she probably needed to confess to Drake how outstanding he had been, even if it couldn’t work out between them long term.

  Never one to put off doing the hard thing, no matter how much she hated it, Brooke decided she’d go see Drake as soon as she cleaned up. She would apologize, explain, and then he’d have the rest of the night to get used to the fact they would never work.

  Chapter 8

  “Dad? Sedrick and I are heading to the late movie. Why are you sitting here in the dark?” Brandon glanced into the darkened room before tossing a look over his shoulder down the hall. “Sedrick, go start the car. I’ll be right there. I need to talk to Dad for a minute.”

  He waited until Sedrick had closed the front door behind him before turning back to his father who was slumped in his “thinking” chair in his studio. The only light in the room was from faint moonlight streaming in through the bare windows. The smell of fresh paint mixed with liquor had him discreetly trying to see who was coming to life on the painted canvas, but he couldn’t quite make out the form yet.

  Worry hit with a vengeance and made him want to sigh as the past came rushing back to visit. The tension in his stomach was all too familiar. It was a routine thing growing up for him to find his father brooding over a half-finished portrait of his mother.

  “Bad day, Dad?”

  Drake glanced at his son and lifted his glass. Ice cubes clinked as it tilted in his unsteady hand. It had been awhile since he’d hit the cognac bottle quite this hard.

  “Nothing critical and not my art. I just got back from a really, really, really bad-ending date. I’m drowning my sore ego.”

  Brandon crossed his arms. “You’re the most well-mannered person I know. What could you possibly do wrong on a date?”

  “Hell if I know,” Drake answered bitterly, lifting his glass again. “Go see your movie, Brandon. I’m fine…just having one of those temperamental artist mood swings. I’m sure life won’t seem so shitty tomorrow. It will do me good to have some alone time tonight.”

  “Was your date with Brooke Daniels?” Brandon asked.

  “No. I was out with the Queen of Sheba,” Drake answered.

  “You don’t have to joke, Dad. I’m not that much of a kid anymore. You can tell me it’s none of my business, and I’ll stop asking questions,” Brandon declared.

  Drake snorted. “You sound so grown up tonight. Maybe I should have asked you for some pointers before I went tearing over to Brooke’s house with a giant bouquet of flowers like some lovesick dweeb. Do you make many mistakes with women, Brandon?”

  Brandon frowned, thinking hard. “No. I don’t date enough to make many mistakes. I figure it’s better to have a hit and run record than a crazy girlfriend like Sedrick’s last one. She hijacked his phone so she could track him. She also read all his text messages every time they were together. Sorry, but that’s too much crazy for me.”

  “I’m glad you’re a man of such sound judgment. Still, though, I hope you find a non-crazy anti-drama queen to love before you turn thirty. It’s better to start a relationship when you’re both young and hopeful. I’m too damn old to be this unsure of myself with a female ten years my junior. My mature ego can’t handle this kind of insecurity.”

  Brandon laughed because his father’s tipsy complaining was funny. His dad could handle anything—when he wasn’t feeling sorry for himself.

  “Brooke likes you, Dad. You can tell. All my friends can tell. They think she’s hot, and that you’re lucky she’s so into you.”

  Drake laughed. Men were all alike, no matter the age. “Yes. Brooke certainly is hot. Unfortunately, she has a brain that works like no one else’s I know. Hot gets tiresome if you can’t talk to the person and have reasonable conversations occasionally.”

  Brandon laughed again, unable to think of anything else positive to say when his dad was so upset. He didn’t remember his father ever being this mad at his mother, but his mother had been sick for many years.

  “Wow…well…since I am obviously not being helpful, I think I’ll just leave you to the rest of your pity party. Try to pass out near a bathroom if you intend to get completely smashed. I’ll check on you when I get back in a couple of hours.”

  Drake waved a hand and snorted. The last thing he intended to do was confess to his son that a sex hangover was causing his pricked ego. Or that he wanted another go at Brooke so bad he couldn’t stand it without the cognac as a crutch.

  “Sorry if I worried you, Brandon. If I seem silly, it’s only because I haven’t had cognac since you left for college. I’m nearly smashed after two wee glasses. This is all I’m doing. Two and out—I promise. Those aren’t just rules for you when you get old enough to drink.”

  “Okay. I love you, Dad. Go easy on yourself.”

  Drake sighed. Brandon was quoting something he’d often said. “I love you too. I guess I got in the habit of indulging my sulking while you were gone. I’ll try to set a better example from now on about how to handle life’s disappointments with more grace.”

  “We’ll both live if you drown your bad date vibes in cognac this one time. Cut yourself a break, Dad,” Brandon ordered, laughing when he heard himself sounding just like his father.

  He turned then and headed to the door at a rapid clip. He hurriedly locked it behind him, not wanting his upset father to have to lock up after him. Heading down his sidewalk to Sedrick’s car at last, he nearly ran over Brooke.

  Brandon snickered as he caught her arms and skidded to a stop. “Sorry. I didn’t see you.”

  “It’s okay. Hi, Brandon,” Brooke said quietly, stepping back and out of reach. Inside her head, she was swearing at herself for being embarrassed.

  “You here to see Dad?” Brandon asked, his mouth twitching at Brooke’s immediate ducked head and solemn nod.

  “Yes—I’m here to see your father,” Brooke declared, making herself meet the boy’s inquiring gaze.

  “Okay. He’s in his studio and might not hear you if you knock. Come on…I’ll let you in.”

  Deciding to play stupid about the purpose of her visit, Brandon nodded and jogged back to the house. He unlocked the front door and held it open.

  “Dad’s back in his art studio—also known as our sun porch. Just follow your nose down the hallway until you smell paint mixed with cognac. That will be him. But I should warn you—he’s brooding.”

  “Okay…uh…thanks for the warning,” Brooke stammered, losing her breath when the boy hugged her tightly and laughed. The Barrymore men both seem to excel at catching her off-guard and shocking her.

  “Do me a favor and lock yourselves in, Brooke. Sedrick and I are trying to catch the late movie. I hope you have better luck cheering up Dad than I did. Bye.”

  “Oh…uh…sure. Bye,” Brooke replied, lifting a hand as Drake’s son took off in a sprint toward a car idling near the curb.

  She swore under her breath as she crossed the threshold. It was all she could do not to run back out the door and to her car.

  ***

  Drake poured out a third glass and pushed away the mild guilt he felt from not keeping his word to his son. Depressed by his human failings, he tightly capped the cognac bottle and settled it firmly on the floor beside his chair. Most of the ice was gone anyway,
and he wasn’t Irish enough to drink it straight. Those ancient Celtic ancestors were too far removed from his academic gene pool full of chaste teachers and teetotaling clergymen.

  “Drake? Good lord, how can you even see in here?”

  Was he drunk enough to already be imagining Brooke was here? His head turned toward the sound of her voice just as he lowered his now empty glass from his lips. He didn’t know whether to be glad to see her in the flesh again or be pissed she had somehow gotten into his house uninvited.

  Then he remembered using Michael’s key to get into her home without her knowing. Guilt over that had him putting his gaze back on his glass as he sighed in emotional defeat. Alcohol wasn’t the mind-numbing retreat it used to be. Damn it.

  “Are you real or just a hallucination I’m having? If you’re not real, this cognac did me way more good than I thought it would.”

  Brooke snorted at his drunken comment, but she crossed her arms as she tiptoed farther into the darkened room. The moonlight barely illuminated the man in the chair. Just like Brandon had warned, Drake was brooding.

  “Look, I’m sorry about what happened earlier. I didn’t handle things well. I’d made up my mind a certain way, and you managed to override those decisions with very little effort. It freaked me out to realize I hadn’t even tried to have a conversation with you before we…before we…you know.”

  Brooke uncrossed her arms as she finished and threw up both hands. That was all the apology she could manage.

  Drake snorted. “You know…?” Cognac-fueled laughter sneaked past his filters. “You’re kidding me. The daughter of a woman who makes glass vaginas calls it…you know?”

  Then he remembered Michael’s TMI bragging about his stupendous sex life with Carrie and Shane’s orgasmic drawings of Reesa hung on display at the gallery. Will carved penises and breasts with mesmerizing accuracy of detail. Yet here Brooke was…the daughter of a glass vagina artist…not even able to verbally attach the word sex to what happened between them.

  His uncontrollable laughter over Brooke’s prudishness was from the gut when he finally dissolved. Drake set the empty glass on the floor when his shaking threatened to eject the few remaining ice cubes. He laughed and laughed about his bad luck in having seduced the most uptight female he’d ever known until the amusement finally ebbed away. But the smile that lingered on his face might end up staying there until he sobered.

  Brooke was damn lucky he hadn’t stayed with her earlier. He would have been an education in sex she obviously wasn’t ready yet to have.

  “Was being with me so bad that you can’t even say the words?” he demanded.

  “We cannot have this conversation tonight. You’re drunk,” Brooke accused.

  “Yes—yes I am,” Drake admitted, laughing and weaving as he stood. “And thank God for cognac. I don’t think I could handle arguing with you again so soon without the crutch. But I’m up now and standing to face you, Dr. Daniels. So say what you need to say to me to appease your conscience…and then leave. Although I think you’re going to be wasting your breath saying more. You already made the only point that matters when you brought up your intentions about sleeping with the guy I chased off…oh, and basically any others that might come along who can meet your basic need. I’m sure you’ll get to be in control next time…when you get to choose the time, place, etc. Just chalk me up as a fluke, and you can be on your merry way.”

  Brooke shook back her hair and told herself to be calm. Getting angry over Drake’s snarkiness was not going to accomplish anything. But then she couldn’t let all his insults just roll by either.

  “Boy, scratch your surface and you’re just a bitchy guy underneath all that calm, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. I am. It’s called having passion…not that you’d recognize it…since you have such a low opinion of the expression of that trait. Well, too bad for you if my emotional depths are not pretty…or logical. You got a taste of the best of my passionate nature earlier—when I got a taste of you—and yes, you were more outstanding than I dreamed. Too bad you aren’t interested. I’ve stored up a lot of passion in all the years I’ve waited to feel again like you make me feel.”

  “Stop, Drake…just stop…talking like that,” Brooke ordered, throwing up a hand.

  Now she was shaking. Why was she shaking? Drake wasn’t serious. He was just spouting drunken nonsense.

  “I never said I wasn’t interested in you. I never said you weren’t…outstanding…too. I just…look Drake…I don’t want to be in a relationship with someone who gets to ogle naked breasts any time he wants. This is not an unreasonable female limitation, not that I expect you to hear what I’m saying tonight. I refuse to debate my feelings with a drunken artist on an ego trip who can’t see anything past his own egotistical nose right now.”

  Drake walked a little closer and leaned down. “Why are you suddenly shorter?” He leaned back and looked down at her feet. “Oh…flats. Good choice for stability. Wish I had some on. Are you finished being logical yet?”

  Brooke rolled her eyes at his weaving demand and ran a frustrated hand through her hair. “Shit…I don’t know…I guess I am.”

  She put both hands in her hair and yanked to keep from yelling. Drake reached out and snagged one before it dropped back down. He used it to steady himself and pull her closer to him. He groaned as he wrapped her into his arms.

  “There is not enough cognac distilled in the world to make me forget how bad I still want you.”

  “Drake…”

  Exasperated more than she could ever remember being, Brooke said his name, but stupidly let him tug her against him. He smelled like the liquor he drank and like the man who had pleasured her earlier. Her arms came around him and desire returned. She sighed against the front of him as he leaned into her. This was not the careful wanting she’d allowed herself. This was mixed with frustration and topped off with a dizzy longing to have that erection he was sporting inside her again.

  “Let’s go lay down before you fall down,” she whispered, hoping to get him horizontal before he passed out in her arms.

  “I don’t want to sleep with a woman who doesn’t like me,” he complained.

  Brooke might have actually believed him if he hadn’t had a death grip on the wrist he was currently using to drag her through a totally dark house. She couldn’t have broken his hold without sending them both tumbling to the floor.

  “I like you…mostly,” Brooke assured him, as he pulled her into a room off the kitchen.

  “Not good enough,” Drake declared.

  His other answer was to lift her and toss her squealing, protesting ass into the middle of a king-sized bed. Before she could right herself, Drake dove in and wrestled her until he was lying on top of her and conveniently between her legs.

  “You are drunk. Don’t even think about it,” Brooke hissed, pushing on the shoulders she’d once admired.

  To her shock, Drake snickered over her threat and pushed his face into her shoulder. The hard smack she gave him on the back of his head was totally spontaneous because it snuck past her decision to be immovable.

  After doing it, Brooke froze, alarmed at having genuinely hit him.

  “Ouch…okay, maybe I deserved that for teasing too much,” Drake admitted, grinding his erection into her to get even.

  Brooke swallowed and squirmed against him, stopping when she realized her movements only made it worse. And then…then she let it all go and got comfortable.

  Two seconds later, she was laughing at herself and him. Being outraged over what Drake said and did apparently had a strange effect on her.

  “Don’t make me hurt that outstanding thing throbbing against my crotch. That would be a total shame, but I will do it if you try anything funny in your current condition. I don’t have sex with drunks,” she warned.

  Snickering, Drake raised his head and stared into her irritated gaze. “Thing? Really? Are you that much of a prude? Ouch…are you into pain or something?”

&nb
sp; His yelping laughter didn’t make her stinging hand feel any better. She had smacked his butt, and he was wearing jeans.

  “Drake, get your lead ass off me and go to sleep. Your problem will calm down when you do,” Brooke stated.

  “Have you ever heard of Tantric Sex?” Drake asked, lowering his voice as he kissed her throat. His mouth traveled until he found the perfect place. She smelled heavenly.

  Brooke started to push Drake off…but paused to look at him when he stopped tormenting her. Only he wasn’t looking back. Drake was snoring quietly against her chin.

  “Oh for pity’s sake,” she declared, rolling him off her. It was a bit amazing how heavy he actually was. Those clothes of his sure didn’t give his true size away. But it was definitely more muscle than anything else.

  After rolling, he landed flat on his back, mouth open.

  Shaking her head, Brooke started to climb from the bed, only to feel an iron grip on her wrist again.

  “Don’t leave…please.”

  Brooke let loose a sigh. “Roll to your side then.”

  “Will you spoon me?”

  Despite her agitation, Brooke laughed loudly, the sound of her amusement echoing around the room.

  “You cannot hold your liquor. Never drink again, Dr. Barrymore.”

  When his grip didn’t lessen, she crawled up beside him. “Roll over. I’ll spoon you…you sorry-ass drunken poetic bastard.”

  “See? Now if you could just learn to say sex and dick—or hell at least penis—we could have a genuine conversation.”

  “Shut up or I’m leaving,” Brooke ordered, but she smiled against the back of his head when he pulled her arm around him. Somehow Drake also managed to keep hold of her while freeing the bed covers enough to pull over both of them.

  “Thank you for staying, Beautiful Brooke. I’m tired of sleeping without you here except in my dreams.”

  His confession wiped her smile away. As Drake’s breathing evened, his grip on her lessened, but she found herself gripping tighter instead of pulling away.