MisMatch (A Humorous Contemporary Romance)

by Nana Malone

  “Where you off to?”

  And there it was—the bulldog thing that took Vince from a good agent to a great agent. He had a way of sniffing out evasion.

  “I told you, I have a thing.” Eli started the engine. “Besides, I don’t really want to be here when Ferrari guy realizes the Degas is gone. I don’t think he made me, but you never know.”

  Vince grinned at him. “And I asked where you’re off to? How come you never invite me along to your secret parties? You off to meet a girl?”

  Ahh, if Vince Del Monaco had an Achilles heel it was women. He loved women. Any kind of woman. Big, thin, beautiful, homely—it didn’t matter. As long as Eli had known Vince, he'd always had some woman in his life. He seemed to have no discernable type, except that they all had sizable racks.

  “I play a good wingman.”

  Eli rolled his eyes. “My brother has a thing. I promised I'd be there.”

  Deep lines etched on Vince’s dark brow. “Your brother? I didn’t know you had a brother.”

  Eli almost chuckled. What Vince meant was that the file the Feds kept on him didn't show he had a brother. And that's the way Eli liked it. No need to draw any kind of attention to his past, or worse yet, Samson's. He’d taken many steps to keep their past private. The least of all being changing Samson’s name. In Eli’s line of work it would be career suicide to have an ex-forger for a brother. “Guess it never came up.”

  And he preferred it that way. After their parents’ divorce, his father had taken Samson and his mother had taken Eli. His mother had changed their last name to her maiden name, Marks, and had tried to get by with seeing Samson every other weekend. Not getting custody of the both of them had killed her, and it had killed Samson, too. Even though Eli tried to act out the big brother role from afar, he’d had less and less influence as they’d grown older. By the time Samson had started getting into trouble, they’d drifted further and further apart. Finally, the one thing that had tied them together—art—had eventually torn them apart. Samson had been only seventeen when the feds had picked him up for conspiracy, forgery, and grand larceny.

  Jail hadn’t suited him and he’d eventually gone from recreational drug user to full blown addict. By the time he’d gotten out at twenty-two, he’d been a shell of his former self. Unable to paint, unable to create. All he cared about was his next fix.

  Eli had spent the next several years chasing after him trying to get him clean. His mother had tried too, spending every last dime she had putting him into rehab program after rehab program. They’d all failed because the one thing Samson needed to survive was his art, and back then he believed he needed to be high to paint.

  It was only after their mother’s death that Eli had been able to get Sam clean and keep him that way. He’d stopped being an artist himself and chosen a safer path. One that could provide for the both of them. Surprisingly, he’d been good at it. He could spot a fake in a glance. Probably because he’d spent years pouring over Sam’s supposed fakes, trying to find a way to prove his brother innocent. But Sam hadn’t been innocent.

  Vince’s voice broke Eli out of his reverie. “C’mon man, we can have a beer or two, and you can introduce me to your brother.”

  “He's not particularly sociable.” Not true, but Eli couldn't very well tell Vince that Satan would be pulling reindeer before he intro'd him to his brother.

  “You two are a matched pair then.”

  “You could say that.” In more ways than one. Eli might be older by four whole minutes, but in all other respects, he and Samson were completely identical—down to their a-little-too-long-to-be-respectable haircuts. Growing up, their similarities had irked Eli, and he'd wanted to have one thing he could call his own. Then everything had changed.

  Eli opened his mouth to shoot Vince down one more time then assessed the disappointed look on Vince's face. He would probably live to regret his decision. Shit. Sam would probably have his hands busy with groupies anyway. And he had said not to come, so he wouldn’t be looking for Eli in the crowd.

  Eli exhaled. “Okay, fine, but you gotta lose the cheap suit jacket, and you have to promise you'll lay off the whole finding me the love of a good woman thing. It gets old. Follow me in your car. I need to drop off the Degas first.”

  Vince grinned, and Eli could see why women flocked to him. He had the grin of a big kid. He kept in shape. At six two, they were the same height, though Vince probably had forty pounds on Eli. Eli kept himself fighting trim with Krav Maga and running workouts. Vince liked his bench-press and a bulkier look.

  Vince shrugged. “I'm just saying. There are few things in life that can’t be solved with a woman.”

  Eli ignored his partner. The last thing he needed was to have to take care of someone else in his life.

  Chapter 2

  Jessica surveyed the crowd of wannabes and starlets as Will.I.Am and Britney Spears blared from the speakers. Everywhere she turned, groups of girls jumped up and down quoting the words. Jessica couldn't help an eye roll. Was that what Izzy meant by being a grown up? Had she grown up entirely in the process of trying to start her business? Was she old now? Somehow uncool?

  She glanced down at her fuchsia, backless dress and black spiked heels with pink bows. Whatever, she looked fierce. And she was only twenty-four, for the love of God. Besides, as long as she knew who was on the radio, she was good.

  The DJ kept the dance music flowing as Jessica moved through the crowd. Given her small stature, it wasn’t an easy feat. She only narrowly escaped drink-on-dress-itas by a narrow margin, but she had a target in mind, and drunk, mindless, post-pubescent wannabes weren’t going to deter her.

  In the center of the room hung an opaque sheet. She frowned as she studied it. Was this guy some kind of aerialist? How the hell would she market that? Her mother hadn’t told her anything about the guy. Just that she needed to go see one of his shows, and she'd be forever changed. Granted, her mother always said things like that. How would her mother survive when something life changing actually did happen?

  The DJ changed the tunes to what sounded like the newest single by the hottest new pop star, but with a more synthesized base beat, and he slowed it down just a hitch, too. Hmmm, maybe it's show time. Nervous energy buzzed over Jessica’s skin. Laugh as she might, there was nothing as exciting as meeting a new artist. It was all about the possibilities they could bring. What they could actually create. She wasn’t holding her breath on this one, but it didn't mean the excitement wasn’t there. She was her father’s daughter when it came to art. She never had the talent herself, but she loved beautiful things. Things people created with nothing but their imaginations. It fascinated her.

  The lights dimmed and transformed. Gone were the flashing strobe mixers. Instead, they were replaced by more targeted spots that highlighted the center stage.

  Half the women in the club crowded the tiny viewing area directly in front of the stage, and Jessica watched them carefully. They weren’t the usual party-goer types. Their gazes were set, transfixed on the stage. They were well dressed, sporting designer names, and none were anywhere near borderline trashy. These people had money. These were the people she could reach with this artist. She made a mental note and tucked the observation away for later.

  The volume of the music dropped, and the emcee’s voice came out of the speakers. “Ladies and Gentlemen, Sphinx Nightclub is proud to bring you Samson Marks.” The women in front cheered loudly. One of them looked like she might actually pass out. Who the hell was this guy, and what was he doing to these women?

  Then she saw. Through the opaque curtain, she could make out a woman on a settee or chaise. Her head was tossed back, and her breasts were pertly on display, nipples at the ready. Was she—?

  She can’t be naked? Can she? Jessica strained to decipher if the model was, in fact, naked. She chuckled to herself as she realized this was probably part of the fun of the show, then she spotted the taller shadow to the left. A man—well-built from his shadow, but
she couldn’t see any muscle definition thanks to the sheer fabric.

  He raised an arm, and something arced out from his fingertips, landing directly on the model’s breasts. She arched her body even more. Jessica could swear she heard the woman moan, but that was impossible with the music. Unless moans had been worked into the track. Smart, Samson, very smart. She didn't know who this guy was, but she liked the way he thought.

  Jessica scanned the crowd. There wasn’t a single person in the room not transfixed by what was happening on the stage. In that moment, she knew, even if this guy had no talent, he understood how to command a crowd without even saying a word. Nicely done.

  With a few more well-placed arcs of his hand, something sprayed from his fingers again. Jessica could only assume it was paint. This time arcing and splattering on the model’s stomach, then her—Oh. Immediately, Jessica clamped her thighs together. What an interesting place to get paint.

  Flushing, she surreptitiously watched the crowd. Judging by the sharp intakes of breath and the parted lips of nearby female patrons, she wasn’t the only woman in the place to all of a sudden be thinking about her nether region.

  Again and again, Samson used the model like a canvas. With each arc, he splashed the model with pant. Occasionally, he'd draw in close to her and deliberately dribble paint on a specific body part, her nipple, her forehead, a very specific spot right below her pubic bone. Jessica’s skin flushed as heat suffused her skin. Just watching him made parts of her ache that she hadn’t thought of in months. This guy was good. If she could represent him, he would make the perfect fit for her gallery. Judging from this crowd, they'd pay anything to see him and his artful little strokes again.

  Breath shallow, Jessica pressed forward through the crowd as people pushed her in an effort to get closer to the stage. The collective crowd took a breath. Don Juan de Picasso put the brushes down and worked over the model—with his hands and his mouth. He leaned over the woman and placed his lips over hers. Through the curtain, the crowd could see his hand stroke her breast.

  Transfixed, Jessica watched as the model’s legs parted to let Samson between them, and he slid up over her hips. Unable to stop herself, Jessica stopped and stared. Jaw open, she watched as Samson appeared to rock into the painted model with his hips, using his hands to slip up her torso over her breasts. Holy shit. Was he naked? Were they actually—

  Jessica shook her head. No. They couldn’t be—

  Not to mention they'd be breaking about a million public decency laws. It all had to be part of the show, and she'd fallen for it. All around her, couples started pairing off, some swaying in time to the music as they watched, others clearly in full grind mode, leaving nothing to the imagination about what they would be leaving the club to do later.

  Through the speakers, she heard those moans again. Louder this time, but still laced through the music. She could almost swear she heard the model say Samson's name as well. Then she tossed her head back again, and her body went limp. Samson stood at that point and pulled out what looked like a sheet to cover the model’s body. He caressed strategic areas, then tore off the sheet. What the—?

  The MC's voice through the speakers broke the trance. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you again for joining us to witness another Samson Marks masterpiece. We will be taking bids on the canvas he created. Just see Gabe for details.”

  Excitement coursed through Jessica's body. Sexual and otherwise. For the last thirty minutes, she'd lost time, been entranced, and been sexually excited as well as frustrated. And she knew this was supposed to be a performance piece. If she turned Samson Marks loose on the too-rich-for-their-own-good set, she could make his career. Jessica wanted Samson Marks for her roster and would do just about anything to get him.

  Chapter 3

  “Holy shit, your brother is like some kind of Pied Piper for snatch.”

  In that moment, Eli regretted inviting Vince. The last thing he wanted to hear was Vince’s musings on Sam’s purported pussy prowess. What Eli cared about was Sam’s life. “Not the first time I’ve heard that.”

  “No, for real, you to need to be milking this whole twin thing for everything it's worth.”

  If he had time for women, maybe. But for the most part, Eli’s time was spent trying to keep Sam out of jail or worse. Then why did you suggest these exhibitions? He didn’t bother to answer his own question. He knew why. Because Sam was ten times the artist Eli would ever be and painting was like lifeblood to him. It had saved his brother from the brink once before, and Eli hoped it would continue to save him. But if it didn't, then he'd be there to catch Sam, as always. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t have a problem with women.”

  Vince barked out a laugh and held up his hands as he chewed on his cocktail straw. “Okay, okay, fair enough. You’re a good lookin’ dude. And I’m comfortable enough with myself to say that,” he added. “You have that good dresser swagger thing going for you. I mean, your jacket costs more than my entire suit. And that whole terse, shrewd thing is probably mysterious to the ladies, but man, I gotta tell you, in the five years I’ve known you, not once have you mentioned a woman. Never brought anyone to the parties I invite you to, nothing.” Vince shrugged. “I assumed you were gay.”

  “What?” Eli frowned. “No. I like women. Those parties are work.” And the hell he'd bring the women he dated anywhere near his professional life or people he knew long term. That would suggest a certain kind of permanence he wasn’t particularly interested in.

  “You know what your problem is? You need to learn to relax a little, have some fun. I mean we’re in a room full of beautiful women, and all you’ve done is brood over your brother.”

  “I have plenty of fun.” Yeah right.

  Vince chuckled. “Is that why you've been glaring at that curtain and playing with your drink? If you wanted scotch and water, you shouldn't have asked for ice.”

  Eli glanced at his glass. Vince was right—the ice had almost melted. All that remained of the cubes were tiny slivers. He deliberately took a long draw of air. “Just been preoccupied.”

  “With what?”

  “What are you, my shrink?” Eli scowled.

  Vince shrugged. “Well, how about you consider me a friend or something? I know it’s a stretch.”

  Eli nodded in the direction of the curtain. “Baby brother used to have a pretty ugly drug habit.”

  Vince's good-natured expression immediately sobered. “Shit. I didn't know.”

  Eli chuckled ruefully then shrugged. “It nearly killed him. So these days, when I know he's around temptation, I try and show up for a little moral support.”

  Eli was impressed with how quickly Vince had morphed into concerned friend. “How long has he been clean?”

  “Five years. Mostly he's solid, but he only started getting back into his art again this year. I’ve been helping him out with money and stuff, but he hates it. He thinks I don’t notice, but he's going to more meetings, and he’s edgy.”

  Every time Sam disappeared for a few hours to think or work through something with a piece, Eli couldn’t help thinking the worst—Sam had slipped into his old habits again and was using, or just as bad, making necessary ends meet by forging the work of others just so he wouldn’t have to take money from his brother. Eli didn’t want that to be his automatic headspace with his brother, but they’d spent years fighting Sam’s demons. And Sam’s incredibly lucky ability to always come up with the money for bills at the last minute just awakened all the old ghosts. Venues like this came through, but when Eli stopped to think about it, he never could quite tie everything together.

  “That's rough man, but you know he's not your responsibility, right?”

  He’d heard that before. Everyone always tried to tell him that. They didn’t know he was the reason Sam had spun out all those years ago. “Yeah, I know. But he's still my brother. A little support never hurt anyone.”

  “I’ll drink to that.”

  Eli studied his partner. Mayb
e Vince was a better friend than he'd ever given him credit for. “So you’re telling me you didn't have anything better to do tonight?”

  “You mean besides obsess over this case? No. If I went home tonight, I'd be shitty company for Carla, and I'd eventually head into my office and stare at my wall, trying to piece it all together. Better I'm sparing her.”

  Eli nodded his understanding. He had the same obsessive tendencies. On a case, he was like a woman with a box of truffle chocolates; he’d shoot anyone who would try to separate them. “I appreciate the company.”

  “We gonna hug now?”

  Eli rolled his eyes. “You're the one who went all Oprah with your tell me your fee—” He stopped mid-sentence when he spotted a woman in a hot pink dress and lavender wig.

  “Eli, you okay, man? What the hell are yo—” Vince stopped talking when he caught what had Eli’s attention. “Holy shit, man. That one looks like trouble.”

  Wide blue eyes met Eli’s from across the crowded dance floor. In that four-second stare, his heart thudded faster and blood roared in his ears. There was a look of determination in her gaze that made him go rock hard. That determination, mixed with the sexy, pseudo-bad girl package had him wishing for somewhere more…private. Peripherally, he was aware of Vince saying something, but he kept his eyes glued to the woman. Leaning back, he flagged down the bartender from the other end of the bar. When Gabe came over, he shouted to be heard over the din. “Hey, Gabe, can you close out my tab? And tell Sam I was here, but to call me tomorrow.”

  “Sure thing, E.”

  Vince's voice finally pierced Eli’s concentration. “That’s all right, man, I wasn’t counting on hanging out, doing buddies night or anything. Just ditch me for the hot chick, why don’t you?”

  Eli tore his gaze away from the woman to give Vince a what-the-fuck stare, only to find his partner laughing his ass off.

  “Don’t be a moron. Go get her.”

  Eli turned back to find her, but she'd vanished into the crowd. Well shit.