Brush Strokes

by Dee Carney

  “Erica Loeving,” supplied Mr. Killian. “Do you know Tanya Combs?”

  Although compelled to offer a handshake, Tanya smothered her urge to be professional when the other woman didn’t offer her hand. She did, however, have to make herself not study the jewelry studding her ears. Rocks that big weren’t found in the local discount chain. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” Tanya said with another forced, practiced smile. She worked hard to remind herself any friend of his…

  Erica sidled past Tanya to move closer to Joe. “Yes, you would be the model, wouldn’t you? Those stormy blue eyes and those cheekbones. Hmm…Amazing structure here.” Long, tapered fingers brushed his jaw line. The chiseled masterpiece that caught Tanya’s eyes as well.

  Yes. It was why she’d been drawn to him from the start. Joe’s features begged to be etched onto paper or copied onto canvas. Just because he looked like Adonis walking, didn’t give little Miss Dressed-in-white a reason to touch him, though. Yet, she did.

  “I’ve seen her work,” Erica went on, her hands trailing down Joe’s arm, “and I think I could do you a little more justice. As a matter of fact, I know I can.”

  A small crowd gathered nearby. More patrons and artists drinking in the displays surrounding them. A photographer she recognized watched with interest. He called out, “Then loan him to me afterward, Tanya. I could use someone with his look if you two don’t over-saturate the community with him first.”

  Joe’s dark gaze drifted to the photographer, mounting irritation evident on his features. He removed himself from Erica’s grip, ever so gently. “Thank you for the offer, but perhaps some other time. Tanya knows how to get a hold of me for that. I’m sure it would be enlightening.” He dipped his head toward Mr. Killian, who watched with amusement. “If you’ll excuse us, sir.”

  Anger speared through her at his words, so much so, she almost didn’t notice right away he’d guided them away from her patron. She’d go back in a minute to talk to him as well as a few others she needed to pay her respects to, but first, she had a few choice words for Mr. Boyd. As soon as they were out of earshot, she blew a frustrated breath. “Tanya knows how to get a hold of me?” she mocked. “What does that mean?”

  “It means…”

  “Is that your model, Tanya? Nice!” someone called as they passed by.

  She thought she recognized the voice of a former classmate. She smiled in acknowledgement, but that didn’t slow the tirade building inside of her. “I did a fucking fantastic job painting my model. The last piece is probably my best.” The pace of her steps increased, the force with which she brought her feet down sending bolt-like stabs through her legs. “Your bone structure. Your muscles. Your coloring. All of it is damned near perfect.”

  “Tanya—”

  “I fucking defy her to render my model better than I have. I want to see my damned painting on the wall because it is good. No one has to tell me that. For Christ sake, even the way I captured your damned pubic hair is a work of genius.”

  “Tanya, enough!” His voice echoed out over the room, hushed conversations smothered beneath the weight of his agitation. He gripped her elbow and turned her to face him. Erica’s description of his eyes as stormy had never been more apt. “Do you hear yourself?”

  She vibrated with ire. The nerve of that woman…and Joe was getting loud with her? “What?”

  “My model. Bone structure. Muscle. Coloring.”

  “And?”

  His voice dropped to a hush. “Is that all I am to you?”

  “I’m not following you. You’re not making any sense.” She noticed that none of the other conversations in the spacious room had resumed. Apparently, their words, amplified by the layout, combined with their heated gestures made quite the spectacle.

  Joe noticed too. He hustled them to a far wall where some monstrosity of intricate basket weaving preened on a pedestal. “With all that we’ve been through in the last couple of days, our first date out, and you and your friends parade me like some sort of object.”

  “That’s not true.” She dropped her gaze, unable to look him in the eye. “And they’re not my friends.”

  He took a deep breath. “I care for you, Tanya. I care for your art. I care for your future, but you make me wonder if you even know I exist.”

  Where was he going with this? She took a step back, putting a little space between them. “Of course I know you exist.”

  “You study me. Scrutinize me down to the finest detail. But do you ever look at me? Really look at me? When I asked you to touch me, taste me…when we took things from friendly to something more, did it ever stop being an art lesson for you? Did you ever notice that a man who loves you offered himself in the only way he knew would get your attention?”

  Keeping her hands at her sides took all of her strength of will. Why she kept them there she didn’t know. “Why are you so upset?”

  “If you don’t know, I guess I’ve been wasting your time.” He took a few steps back before turning. “Oh, look. Your display is right behind you. I’ll leave you to admire the colors and muscles and other sundry details of your model in solitude.” His jaw tightened before his gaze dropped. “Sorry to have taken up so much of your time,” he mumbled and walked away.

  She almost called out to him. Almost asked him to come back and make her understand. Instead she watched him push through the glass door to be swallowed by the sunlight and outside world.

  Chapter Eight

  Joe paced the sidewalk, pissed with the world. Furious with himself. Why in God’s name had he walked away from her? He’d fallen in love with an artist. What did he expect for her to see when she looked at him? If Tanya was an architect, she’d notice the way buildings and bridges were constructed. If she had been a florist, she’d notice the way gardens could be spruced up with more color and variety. It only made sense that when she saw him, she saw the best way to capture him on paper. At what point had he lost his own perspective and forgotten that about her? If he’d push aside his fucking ego, he’d realize that ability to see him in a different light had first attracted him to her.

  Jesus. A limited number of options were open for him to salvage this mess. The most obvious meant doing an about face and going inside to apologize. If he wanted her—and God knew he did—he’d suck it up and do just that. Yet, he stood in place.

  So what kept him from going back in?

  Her hesitation. The way she’d dropped his hand, putting some space between them when someone she knew saw them together. Again, the ugly question of whether she dated outside of her race reared its ugly head. All of this time, everything they’d done had been behind closed doors. In a roomful of people like herself, maybe she didn’t want anyone to know the white guy next to her meant something a little more… She had no problem letting him perhaps make love to her, but when together in a public venue she raised shields he didn’t know she had. Maybe it was easier on her if she perpetuated the belief they were nothing more than artist and model.

  He’d never ever thought their races would come between them. He would have picked a thousand other things before this one, yet there it was. An unpleasant truth of reality. That little scene in there didn’t help matters.

  He took a deep, cleansing breath. Okay. Maybe it wasn’t race. Maybe the problem was more global. Perhaps she had a problem with him. Good enough for sex, but not good enough for much more. Perhaps she preferred a man who offered more. An established safety net like Mr. Killian. Someone who could support her and her artwork. Then again, she didn’t want much. So maybe she wanted an artist like herself. Someone who understood the aches and pains she went through.

  Oh for fuck’s sake, he could spend the next hour throwing out what-ifs and never know the real answer. As his older brother would say, time to put on his big girl panties and suck it up. Go back inside now and figure out where their relationship, as he preferred to think of it, was headed. One way or the other. He just had to decide if Tanya was worth a little bit of his pride
.

  Turning to face the expansive picture window, he peered inside. She didn’t appear as he hoped, but the sight of couples milling about, stopping to admire various art didn’t escape his attention. Goddamn it he wanted to be in there next to her, if not admiring her work, at least enjoying her company.

  So yeah. His pride would have to take a beating.

  Each step back inside bolstered his confidence. She’d seen something special enough to hire him in the first place. The times they celebrated her successes together; the past couple of days when they sorrowed together. All of it meant something. Something with which they could build a future. He had to find out if she thought they could. God knew he did. He had to hear the verdict from her mouth. And the certainty he could convince her they deserved a chance grew as he rounded the corner where her paintings hung. He slowed to a stop when she looked up, the astonishment on her face not good news.

  “Joe? How—”

  Oh, Christ, he’d forgotten. “I meant to explain, but got carried away earlier. Back at the condo.” The illicit reminder had the desired effect. Her eyes lost some of the stun arcing in them long enough for heat to flare in them for a few seconds.

  She stopped looking at him, and stared once again at the paintings she hadn’t expected to be there. The ones whose charred edges and black overlay seemed a part of the design and not the result of a horrible fire. “Why did you do this?”

  Joe had convinced Tanya to stay at home and let him deliver her paintings because of this hasty decision. He’d considered letting her in on his plan, but he’d wanted to spare her from the crushing blow if her hope had been raised but then dashed to pieces if Mr. Killian had said no.

  He’d saved what he could. Working quickly, praying like hell for more time and a steady hand, he extracted the best portions of her paintings with a straight edged knife. That she’d never actually completed them all had been a kind of help. The paintings on the outside of the stack were toast, but the ones nearer the walls, parts of them deserved to be framed. And he found a shop willing to do the rush job. The resultant display made it look like she painted only portions of her model on purpose. Getting Mr. Killian to agree to their showcase took a little more work, but in the end, he’d relented.

  “I should have told you about it. I really don’t have an excuse.”

  Speaking of, the devil sauntered up before Joe could finish. “Here you are, Tanya. I should have expected you to be right here. Ah, and with the ever charming Mr. Boyd.” The smile splitting Mr. Killian’s face made him seem less like the enemy and more like a dark-skinned Santa Claus. “I thought you should be the first to know, my dear, that your work has generated some great interest.”

  Tanya shot Joe a look. It didn’t fill him with the warm and fuzzies. “That’s good to hear,” she said between tight lips.

  He studied the paintings as he spoke. “I wasn’t so keen on the series, the look you were going after, but that’s the good thing about art. Just because I don’t like it, doesn’t mean someone else won’t love it. And girl, they love it.”

  She tried to smile, Joe had to give her credit, but what happened to her face didn’t make her look friendlier at all. “Well, you know what they say about taking lemons and making lemonade and all that.”

  Mr. Killian shrugged. “I suppose. Although now I’m torn as to whether we should sell them individually or as a true series not to be separated. Do you have a preference?”

  “Not this second, but if you don’t mind, I need to talk to Joe in private. Could you give us a minute? I’ll get back to you, I promise.”

  “Well, sure!”

  Tanya waited for a respectable distance to separate them before meeting his eyes. “You decided on your own to salvage my art?”

  Damn, this wasn’t good. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I should have asked you first.”

  “You’re right. You should have.” A minute of silence passed before she spoke again. “Why did you do it?”

  He had to pause to think of a satisfactory answer. The real one sounded crazy. “Because I like seeing you happy. I told you.”

  She stepped closer, her hand reaching up to clasp his shoulder. “Now tell me the truth about why you did it.”

  “What?”

  “The truth, Joe. I want to know what compelled you to do this.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “I am so grateful to you for it, but I want to know why.”

  “Does it really matter why then? I did it and hopefully your partnership with Mr. Killian is salvaged. It sounds like you have sales coming your way as a result…”

  Her hand traveled to his face, stroked his jaw. A voice as smooth as silk blanketed him. “Please…Tell me why.”

  What did she want? It accomplished the goal. Didn’t she understand he’d do just about anything for her? “You couldn’t afford to miss this show.”

  She reached up with her other hand, cupping his face until he had no other choice but to look straight into her brown eyes. “You said it once. Please…tell me again. Why?”

  “Because, Tanya—” He wanted to drop his gaze. The intensity of emotion surrounding them was almost too much to bear, but he stood firm. So much tender expectation stared back at him. “Because…I love you.” He found his courage trying to shirk away and forced it into submission. “I have for a while now.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  The last thing he expected when she lifted herself on her toes was a delicate kiss placed on his mouth. He closed his eyes, relishing in the feel of her, the loveliness of his artist’s touch. She made a soft noise against him, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulled her close. The small tentative spark of fire grew into a conflagration he had no plans of taming.

  Her hands trailed over his back, bringing him closer, igniting more passion. He whispered the words over her lips again and again. Anything to keep this contact, this pleasure flowing over them. “I love you. I love you…”

  By the time they pulled apart, he wasn’t so sure he’d be able to wait for the ride home to show her the full extent of his feelings. The need to be next to her, their bodies rocking together toward oblivion consumed him. She voiced his thoughts before he could though. “Can we go now, you think? Back to your place?”

  He’d double dog dare anyone to get in the way. She clasped the hand he held out. “C’mon, sweetheart.”

  Together they made it to the door in record time. A frowning Mr. Killian stepped through it from the outside as they sidled past. The scent of a rich, spicy cigar hovered around him. “Leaving, Tanya? You never told me what you wanted to do about the series.”

  They slowed so she could handle her business. “Uh, I’ll leave that to you,” she replied. She looked up at Joe. “Right now, I have to show my man some serious gratitude for his bone-headed, yet worked-out-in-the-end decision.”

  Joe chuckled, but started them moving again. The lady had spoken. As for him, he couldn’t wait to be on the receiving end of that gratitude if the kiss from a moment ago was any indication of what he might expect.

  * * * *

  Tanya kept stealing peeks at him from the corner of her eyes on the ride over. As he unlocked the door, Joe noticed she did it again. Pushing the door open, curiosity got the better of him. “What?”

  She’d sidled up to him, flattening her breasts against his back. Her arms linked through his and gave her hands a chance to crawl over his abdomen and chest. “Hmm?” she mumbled against his shoulder blade.

  He linked one hand with hers and shuffled them forward. “You keep peeking at me. Is there a reason?”

  Her hand dropped from his, but she stepped around until they stood face to face. “You love me.” Not a question. A statement of fact said with a reverent voice. “It never occurred to me that you have feelings for me. Not until I saw what you’d done for me. Definitely not until you said it.”

  “Well, I suppose that reminds me.”

  “Of?”

  “Your art lessons.
I’m not done yet.”

  She laughed, hugging him. “Let’s see, we’ve done touch and taste. What’s left? Smell?”

  “Unless you have a thing for men’s feet, we’re gonna skip that one and assume you’ve got it down,” he said, laughing with her.

  Her nose wrinkled. “Uh, yeah. Let’s skip that one.” She chewed on her lip thoughtfully, her eyebrows drawing together. “But really, what would be left? Sight, sound—I suppose we could do that one—smell, touch and taste.”

  “Sound’s a good guess, but that’s not it either.” He reached for her hand and headed toward the bedroom. The click of her heels against the tiled floor gave him something to balance the rate of his breathing against. Otherwise, he’d be hyperventilating by now. The moment he pined for, the want of two months of sexual tension was about to be relieved. “There’s one crucial element to art that you have to realize to create true masterpieces.”

  “You know, I don’t know how I let you talk me into doing these so-called lessons. But after seeing the kind of eye you have, the way you chose those sections of my paintings to display, I have no doubt you know exactly what you’re doing.”

  He clutched his free hand over his heart. “Oh, you wound me! You doubted that I could do this?”

  She winced. “Maybe a little. In the beginning.”

  “Wait a minute. Stop distracting me. You still have to figure out what’s next. I’ll even give you a hint. It’s not really a sense. Not really. But it’s mandatory for what you do.” They crossed the threshold and the sight of his bed sent his heartbeat from a trot to a full-blown gallop. He faced her, standing a breath away so that when he located her top’s zipper in the back, dragging it down took little effort. Her top came loose and he held his breath when the material floated to the floor. The dark brown tips of her breasts stood erect before him, making his mouth go dry. She reached behind her, and the sound of a different zipper filled the air. When the little black thing she wore followed the top, leaving her standing in elegant heels and frilly pink panties, he thought his heart might stop.