by Lauren Smith
His analytical eyes moved over the canvas, taking in every detail. “I’d say it looks like she’s twirling, almost preparing to dance, the way her hand holds the train of her gown. She might not lift it up if she was merely turning.” He glanced at her and grinned.
She focused on the painting again and then realized he could be right. How had she missed it?
“What of the next one?” Jared’s long legs ate up the floor as he led her to the next painting.
The portrait of Lady Helen Vincent. A lovely young woman in a black silk dress was posed before a balcony. Crimson curtains fell behind her, setting off the alabaster of her skin. The gown hung low, well below her breasts, which were cupped by a filmy white chemise.
“Rather risqué,” Jared noted. “Her dress is hanging really low.” He waggled eyebrows at Felicity, and she stifled a giggle. Why on earth was he making her act like a silly girl? She was not a giggler.
All too soon, though, she forgot self-consciousness and lost herself in seeing the way the long strand of pearls hung on the painted lady’s fingertips and over the dark gown. What had it been like for Sargent to gaze upon such beauty and try to capture it on a canvas? How incredible that must have been, to hear the whisper of silks, the soft click-click of pearls colliding as slender white fingers played with them in muted firelight.
“He was incredibly talented. I think I like his style more than that modern art people always rave over,” Jared said as they proceeded down the line to the next work. Their hands were still linked. Like a lifeline, she clung to him and the feeling of safety that his touch gave her.
Why did she have to meet him? Why now when she couldn’t afford to fall head over heels for someone? It would be so easy. He made it easy. Damn him.
Afternoon sunlight sparked and smoldered in the gold flecks that splintered through his eyes. Eyes that saw too much, saw right through her.
She swallowed hard and avoided his gaze.
I don’t want to fall in love. I can’t.
5
Art was stimulating. Who knew? Jared hid a smile as he approached the next portrait. Watching Felicity take in the exhibit was fascinating. He had never really given art much thought before. Now he was appreciating each painting and Felicity’s reactions. She was almost quivering with excitement, her eyes bright and her lips slightly parted. Like a woman on the verge of climax.
He swallowed a groan as his body responded to the mental image his thoughts created. Jared shook his head, trying to get rid of all thoughts of Felicity in bed beneath him.
This is just a day off with a nice girl. Nothing more.
It couldn’t be anything more. He had no time for dating. Come Monday it was back to real life, back to his office and the mountain of work he always had. His father’s voice, a cool reminder of his failures, echoed inside his head. “Don’t work so much that one day you wake up and can’t recognize yourself in the mirror.”
But his father had already earned his way in the world. Jared had only just begun to earn his. He couldn’t stop now if he was going to get anywhere, even if that meant long hours and killer workloads.
“What’s with the frown, Mr. Big Shot Lawyer?” Felicity’s rich, husky voice was a punch to the stomach, and his body jolted awake.
His companion was studying him as seriously as she did her paintings. Was he frowning?
“Sorry. I was just thinking I’ve missed out on a lot of art. I didn’t ever think I’d enjoy it as much as I am.” A rueful smile curved his lips as she drew closer to him.
“You haven’t seen much art? But aren’t you…” She seemed to swallow whatever she’d planned to say, and two pink dots blossomed on her cheeks.
“Aren’t I what?” He nudged her arm gently with one elbow to encourage her.
“Well, you’re…well off. I thought everyone with money had a lot of exposure to art. I know it doesn’t mean they have good taste, but they at least have been exposed to it, right?” She glanced up at him, as though expecting him to confirm her theory.
“Huh, so rich people and art are supposed to go together? Well, I can tell you it’s not true. My family is wealthy, but we aren’t much for art. Omaha doesn’t have much in the way of good museums or exhibits, not like Chicago or New York, anyway. Our summer home in Colorado and our winter home in the Bahamas aren’t near galleries or museums, either. My mom likes it well enough, but you say art to my father and he runs the other way. And Tanner, well, his idea of art is body art. I know Layla has spent the last two years talking him out of tattoos.” He chuckled. “No, we definitely aren’t an artistic or even art-appreciative family, and I’m just now realizing what we’re missing out on.” He nodded at the paintings.
“Wait a sec,” Felicity said with a gasp. “You have summer and winter homes?”
When he looked her way again, he noticed her cute little gray eyes were as wide as saucers and she’d paled.
“Yeah. We own a house in Steamboat Springs and a little place on the coast in the Bahamas.”
Felicity took a step back, her lips parting as she breathed a little heavier.
“Hey, are you okay?” He curled an arm around her and cupped her chin, lifting her face up so he could see her eyes more clearly. “What did I say?” It was obvious that whatever had upset his princess had come out of his own damn mouth.
She tried to escape his gaze, but he wouldn’t let her. With a resigned little sigh, she finally raised her eyes to his. “We’re so different, Jared. This whole thing is…I just feel like we’re doing something crazy because we have nothing in common. I’ve never left Nebraska except to come to college here in Illinois. I worked all through high school just to afford my piece-of-junk clunker car, and you’ve got two vacation homes?”
The way she spoke, the words coming out a ragged whisper as though she was torn between mortification and shame, broke his heart.
“There is nothing wrong with the fact that you worked hard to get where you are. Hell, it’s a turn-on for me, sweetheart.” He chuckled and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I love that you earned everything in your life. I didn’t earn my parents’ vacation homes. So trust me when I say I admire how hard you worked to get here.”
“Really?” She sounded so hopeful that it stung him to think she’d been worried he’d judge her for her lack of money.
“Absolutely. I think you’re fucking amazing,” he whispered before he bent to press a tender kiss to her lips. She shivered and leaned into him.
It would be so easy to get lost in kissing her, but a cough from a security guard made Jared pull back reluctantly. He looked over Felicity’s head to see the guard looking the other way, but clearly the man was hiding a smile.
“Come on, let’s look at some more paintings before we get too carried away. The last thing I need is to get thrown out of a museum.” When he saw her smiling again, he tugged her along to the next painting. “What’s the story behind this?” He gestured with a nod to the painting in front of them. The plaque read “Portrait of Madame X.” Felicity’s entire face lit up like a child on Christmas morning scampering down the stairs and catching that first glimpse of a mound of presents beneath a tree bathed in winter morning light.
“This one”—she gestured at Madame X—“is scandalous. The subject is an American expatriate who was married to a French banker. She was known for her beauty and her infidelities in Parisian society.”
Impressed, Jared studied the painting. A woman stood facing the painter, but her face was turned, offering only the profile. She wore a wisp of a black gown that clung to her hourglass figure, held up only by two gold straps that glittered from her shoulders. Most of her chest, arms, and neck were exposed, yet the dress was understated and elegant.
“What was scandalous? The painting, or the subject?” He crossed his arms, examining the woman from head to toe critically.
“Well,” Felicity said, her voice growing breathless as she leaned closer to him to whisper, “in the original version, h
er gown straps were falling off her shoulders. The subject’s mother was horrified when Sargent presented it at the Paris Salon in 1884. Sargent refused to withdraw the work from the exhibition, but he did paint the straps to look more secure, and he also renamed the painting to call her Madame X to return some anonymity to her.”
Jared chuckled. “Sounds like the damage was already done.”
“True,” Felicity agreed.
They moved from painting to painting after that, a delightful and incredibly insightful discussion accompanying each one. It amazed him how much she knew about art. She had a firm grasp on the subject she was passionate about.
When he wasn’t overworked he felt the same about real estate transactions. It was fascinating to take a piece of land and transition it through a sale to a new owner. It was akin to taking a watch or an old radio apart and seeing the gears and cogs at work. He’d done that so often as a child that his mother had often wondered aloud if he’d be an engineer. Jared liked to know how a thing worked, no matter what that thing was. Understanding something and how it operated was crucial, whether it was a company, a machine, or a person. In his job, he saw the insides of the companies of the buyers and sellers as he drafted purchase and sale agreements.
Felicity came to a stop, and he instantly halted too. There were no more paintings to view. His head dropped a little as disappointment weighed him down.
“We’re done?” He glanced about, noticing they had come full circle, back to the entrance of the gallery.
A little wistful smile twisted Felicity’s lips. “You’ve paid your dues, Mr. Lawyer.” She nudged him in the ribs with her elbow.
Surprise fluttered through him. “We don’t have to leave. There are other galleries.” He wanted to stay here with her and bask in the afternoon sun, taking in the worlds created on the canvases.
She pulled her coat sleeve back on her left hand and peeked at her watch. “It’s been three hours. It’s nearly dinnertime.”
He jumped at the opportunity. “Dinner it is, then. What are you in the mood for?”
Her lips parted, and her gray eyes widened. “Dinner?” she mouthed as though she didn’t quite believe he’d said it. It had been four hours since they’d had lunch.
“Yeah. You’re not ditching me yet, princess.” He leaned toward her, intending to cage her against the gallery wall, but an institute employee lingered nearby—watching them closely as though worried Jared might pin the girl against a priceless painting—and made a motion with his hand for Jared and Felicity to get away from the wall.
“Come on, princess, looks like we’re wearing out our welcome.”
Felicity’s breath quickened as a little rosy flush stole across her creamy skin. She narrowed her eyes and shoved him back a step. “You have to stop calling me that.” A flash of humor streaked across her eyes before she tried to bury it. She liked it when he teased her.
He reacted before thinking and slid his arms around her waist, tugging her close to him. “I like making you flustered,” he whispered.
Her lips parted, and the tip of her pink tongue peeped out as she licked her lips. Her long dark-brown lashes fluttered like the wings of a startled butterfly. Jared would have given anything in that moment to lean down and kiss her, but something held him back, kept his body from acting on its desires. He blew out a slow, barely controlled breath and then let go of her. Wounded shadows hung in her eyes, and he knew, just knew, she’d wanted him to keep holding her. Hurting her, even by putting a necessary distance between them, was like having an arrow plunged into his chest.
“We should go and find a place to eat before it gets too crowded.” He took her hand in his. The need to keep attached to her had become an almost vital one now.
The brisk November winds bit into his skin as they hurried down the front steps of the Art Institute toward the row of waiting taxis. Jared flagged one down, and it pulled up to the curb.
“After you.” He guided Felicity into the cab and climbed in after her. He had the perfect place in mind for dinner.
“The Italian Village restaurant, please,” he instructed the cabdriver.
He grinned at Felicity’s mixture of delight and frustration.
“You don’t have to have dinner with me,” she insisted.
“If you think I’m going back to my place where my brother and his girlfriend are playing house, think again.”
She wrinkled her nose and laughed. “Are they really that bad?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. I sure as hell don’t want to find out.” It wasn’t exactly the truth. He really doubted Layla and Tanner were that bad, but it was an excellent excuse to spend the day with Felicity. He didn’t want to think about why being with her mattered so much, but it did.
The man was a walking temptation.
Italian? She loved Italian. If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn he was reading her mind. Their gloved hands were still touching, and that single contact grounded her when she was on the verge of floating away. Everything inside of her was excitement and light, like waking on a Saturday in early May. Sunlight pouring over her, heating the bed, birds whistling soft songs to their mates. She had something in the world to look forward to that wasn’t class or work. Jared was offering her life and a chance to live it. She’d missed out on so much the last six years, and now that she had him, even if it was temporary, she wanted to make the most of it.
Today at the gallery, she had exposed herself, her passion, and he hadn’t shunned her, hadn’t mocked her. Not like some of the guys who’d been in her art history classes. They’d assumed it would be an easy class to pass and had attempted to get to know her so they’d get to copy her assignments. Jared was so different from those guys. In every comment, he’d challenged her, but in a way that made her think and analyze paintings from a different angle. It had been fun, but so had been just being around him. Jared had made her wish she had the time to have a relationship with a man. Who knew a man could be around her and show her all the things in life she might miss?
The taxi jerked to a halt half a block from the restaurant, and the early evening was broken by the sounds of honking and the bright flashes of blue-and-red lights.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
The driver glanced back at them. “Looks like a fender bender. I’ll be stuck here for a while.” He nodded at the meter at the front of his car.
“Right,” Jared muttered and reached for his billfold, slipping the driver a few bills to cover the fare. “We can walk the rest of the way.”
Unfortunately, they had to walk in the direction of the police. People were thick on the sidewalk, watching whatever was happening ahead of them. Cameras flashed and the crowd parted as the policemen hauled a man in cuffs toward a police car. He was shouting rudely at the driver of the car he’d hit. Felicity flinched. Things like this didn’t happen at home. The worst that she’d seen was the mailman blow through a stop sign and get a lecture from one of the four cops who made up her hometown’s local police department.
Jared wrapped one arm around Felicity and tucked her into his side, the gesture protective. It felt too good, and she hated that she wanted him to keep holding her.
“Why don’t we get food to go and head back to my place? It’s a great night for watching a movie.”
They entered the Italian Village, and Felicity hesitated at the crush of people just inside the door. Tourists flooded the stairway, but Jared kept walking up the stairs, ignoring the line. At the reception desk he smiled at the girl holding the menus and taking names.
“Maria, tell Angelo that Jared Redmond wants double his usual order to go.”
Maria, a curvy caramel-skinned girl, winked and trotted off toward the kitchen.
“Angelo?” Felicity asked.
“A buddy of mine. We both went to University of Nebraska. He got into the Culinary Institute of America before moving here, and I went off to Creighton for law. We kept in touch.”
“Redmond! Tu ca
ne! Non hai detto che saresti dovuto venire da stasera!” A booming masculine voice reverberated around them as a handsome man, definitely Italian, strode toward them from a swinging door that led back to the kitchen. Dressed in a white double-breasted jacket and black pants, the man, Angelo, removed his white toque hat and tucked it under one arm. The man was gorgeous, like a Roman god, but he didn’t make her stomach flutter like Jared did. Angelo did, however, make her instantly smile when he grinned at her and Jared.
“Spiacente, Angelo, non avevo programmato su. Ma è stato un giorno speciale e volevo portare un amico qui,” Jared replied, grinning wickedly.
Angelo turned to Felicity. “Jared usually calls ahead, but he said it was a special day, and when I see you, I completely agree, bella.”
Felicity stared at Jared. “You speak Italian?”
He lifted up one hand and pinched his thumb and forefinger. “Un po. A little.”
Angelo snickered. “You speak a fair amount.” Angelo nudged him laughed and slapped Jared’s back in a one-armed hug.
“Special night,” he replied, his head angled toward Felicity.
Angelo swung his gaze over her, appraising, then appreciative.
“Ah, bella,” he purred in Italian and captured her hand in his, kissing it.
“This is Felicity, a good friend.”
Was that it? She wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not. She’d only known the man for one day, yet she wanted to mean more to him than that.
“A good friend?” Angelo’s dark brows rose, and his lips twitched. “You bring her here for dinner. That’s a smart thing. I can put the sous chef in charge while I grab a bottle of your favorite Chianti. The private room in the back is open.” Angelo winked.
Jared shook his head, but he smiled. “Thanks, normally I’d love to, but I think Felicity and I are going to dine in at my place. Just the two of us.”