Spring Rain

by Jaci Burton

  “You didn’t hire him.” She approached the table and positioned herself on the other side, planting her palms on the scarred oak top. “I hired him. You had no right to tell him to leave.”

  He shrugged but didn’t look up. “My studio, so I made the call. It just didn’t feel right.”

  “Didn’t…feel…right.” Yet he hadn’t said why, hadn’t said the words she so desperately needed to hear. Joy was quickly replaced by anger. His ambivalence, his refusal to admit how he felt, filled her with frustration. Forcing in a breath to fortify herself, she said, “You allowed us use of your studio. That’s where your responsibility ended! This was my call, dammit!”

  “Not anymore,” he shrugged, his brows furrowed.

  Oh, no. She wasn’t going to let this happen! “What the hell are you thinking, Brett?”

  “I’m thinking that sometimes you don’t always make the right choices, Kait. Mitch’s work isn’t right for you.”

  On the verge of exploding, she lowered her voice and tried for calm. “You don’t get to make decisions for me.” Advancing on him, she poked her finger in his chest, ignoring his wide-eyed response. “I’m going to have a painting done. Obviously, not here in this gallery, but I’m still going to have it done.”

  She knew she pushed him, but God help her, she didn’t know any other way to reach him. She wheeled around and headed for the dressing room. Brett followed, grabbing her upper arm and halting her progress. She turned around and glared at him, feeling ridiculous because this argument was turning her on! Her womb clenched in anticipation, her hard nipples scraping the terrycloth robe. What the hell was wrong with her?

  “What are you going to do?”

  Make you admit you want me. She jerked her arm away. “I’m going to dress and then I’m going to call Mitch back and make arrangements to have the portrait done somewhere else.”

  “I didn’t want him to be the one to paint you.”

  “Well, why the hell not? You’re the one who recommended him!”

  He wasn’t going to say it, wasn’t going to say anything. She’d be damned if she’d play this game with him. Why couldn’t he admit that the need to paint was like a demon inside him? Why couldn’t he admit to the attraction that had simmered between them for ten damn years? Why did he continue to hold back, making both of them miserable?

  She’d had enough. “I’m getting dressed and I’m leaving.”

  Her hand was on the doorknob of the dressing room when he shouted, “Dammit! I’ll do it!”

  Did she really hear that? She turned slowly and looked at him. “What did you say?”

  “I said I’ll do it, goddammit. You win. I’ll paint you.”

  She shook her head and gaped at him, certain she’d misunderstood what he said. “You want to paint me?”

  “No, I don’t want to. But I will, if only to keep some other guy from doing it. Aidan would never forgive me if I let some strange guy see you…”

  “Naked?” she finished for him, cocking a half-smile at his sudden discomfort. And did he really think she was buying his “I’m doing it for Aidan” excuse?

  “Yeah. Naked.”

  “And you think he’ll be fine with you doing it.”

  He shrugged. “Like you said before, Kait. I’m practically your brother anyway.”

  Now it was his turn to smirk. Just like Brett to throw her own words back at her. She didn’t know what made him change his mind, but she wasn’t about to question it. “When can we get started?”

  He blinked, then shook his head. “Tomorrow. I need to get some supplies. And I’m not painting you here. We’ll do it at my place.”

  Her skin flushed at his suggestion of “doing it” at his place. This was just the beginning. First she’d get him excited about painting again. Then maybe, just maybe, she could get him excited about something else.

  You’re a bad, bad girl Kaitlyn Storm. “I’ll go get changed,” she said, grinning as soon as she turned her back to him.

  Brett watched her walk away, the sexy sway of her backside knotting his balls. The urge to cup his hands around the soft globes while burying his face between her legs was excruciatingly painful.

  Goddamn Kaitlyn for putting him in this position. Just watching her pull the sash off that robe, knowing Mitch was standing there watching, had sent him into a fit of jealousy that shocked the hell out of him. Before he knew it, he’d told Mitch he wanted to paint Kait and asked him to back off. Thank God Mitch was a good friend, though he’d had to endure knowing looks and quite a few laughs at his own expense.

  Hell, what was he supposed to do? Stand there and watch the woman he wanted disrobe in front of someone else? He might not be able to have her, but he’d be damned if he would allow another man to paint her.

  Maybe painting her would exorcise her from his mind. Yeah, right. As soon as he told her he’d paint her portrait, he couldn’t believe he’d said the words. Too late to take them back now. He was committed.

  Or he should be committed, because trying to keep his distance from Kaitlyn while painting her naked body was going to drive him insane.

  The door to the dressing area opened and she came out, a contented smile on her face. Of course she was smiling. She’d just gotten what she wanted. Somehow he knew he’d been manipulated by a master.

  “I really appreciate this,” she said, grabbing her purse and pulling out her keys. “What time tomorrow?”

  “Seven.”

  She nodded and half-turned, then whipped around to face him again. Her eyes were so beautiful, her dark lashes sweeping her upper brow. Excitement lit them up like a twinkling emerald. “I’m so excited, Brett! Thank you so much! You won’t regret this.”

  He already did.

  After she left he went into the studio to pick up, then began to shut out the lights. His gaze caught something next to one of the chairs and he did a double take.

  When was the last time he’d watered that old plant? Months ago? He didn’t remember it looking as vibrant, its thick leaves infused with a dark green color and shoots of new growth sprouting from the center. It even had a few buds. A quick check of the soil confused him even more. The dirt was wet, as if it had just been watered.

  Hell, he’d thought that plant was long ago dead.

  Kaitlyn was ready—freshly showered, her skin scrubbed pink and glowing. She’d shaved everything and everywhere, both highly embarrassed and incredibly aroused by the thought of Brett seeing her naked. She’d lathered on unscented body lotion, not wanting to annoy him by dabbing on any sultry perfume. She’d even agonized over what to wear, finally tossing on jeans and a lightweight sweater. She wasn’t dressing for a date, after all.

  Soon enough she wouldn’t be dressed at all, she thought with a chuckle.

  One step at a time. First the portrait. She just wanted to spend some time with him and talk. Give him a chance to open up to her.

  After that she might go for the perfume. But right now she’d keep it business only.

  Business only. Yeah right. So why was her heart pounding like a heavy drumbeat during the entire half hour drive? By the time she reached his house she was about ready to hyperventilate and in dire need of a paper bag. Her palms were sweaty and it felt like her heart had changed locations, now residing in her throat.

  Calm down, Kait. What will happen is meant to be. She knew that, her mother had always told her about destiny. If she was destined to be with Brett then she would be. If not, then this project was a waste of time.

  No, it wouldn’t be waste of time. After all, he was going to paint again and that was important. His soul lived at the end of a paintbrush and he needed this to heal. Maybe everyone else tiptoed around him after Amanda died, but it was time he got on with his life. It was time he experienced the joy he used to feel when he painted. She’d seen his eyes light up when he worked on a project. She needed to see that light again.

  The one-story white ranch was surrounded by lush green grass. Fiery red bushes lined its s
tone walkway. Tall willows draped over the top of the tile roof like a blanket, their arms swaying in the slight evening breeze. Lights poured through the two windows on either side of the oak door. A wide front porch housed two comfortable-looking wicker chairs. She paused to turn around, admiring the view of the lake nearby. She remembered Amanda explaining the reason they’d bought this particular house was so Brett could paint the lake and trees while they sat outside in the late afternoon and watched their kids play on the front lawn.

  Her chest tightened at the loss of both Brett and Amanda’s dreams. She wasn’t sure she could ever survive losing the love of her life. The pain Brett must have gone through for all these years made tears pool in her eyes, made her ache with emptiness. Was she wrong to push him to move on? Should she butt out and leave him alone? Her sister would say yes to those questions, but something deep inside her told her that she was supposed to do this. That somehow, she was the catalyst to Brett’s return to his former happiness.

  Determined, she swiped the tears away, then pressed the bell and waited. She held her breath, convinced he’d open the door, shocked as hell to see her standing there. He probably assumed she wouldn’t show up. Or maybe he changed his mind and would ask her to leave.

  Then again, she wondered why she was putting so much at stake on this painting?

  For Brett and for his future, she reminded herself. If he painted her, he’d paint again. She knew it would work and that’s the only reason she was doing this.

  Right. And the thought of standing naked in front of him had nothing to do with her nipples tightening.

  The door swung open. Brett stood there in worn jeans and a long, untucked black T-shirt that fit like it was molded to his rather impressive chest. She resisted the urge to see how well his jeans molded to his crotch. “Hi.”

  “Hey. Come on in. Just getting things set up.”

  She followed him in and shut the door, reminding herself to breathe.

  Though she’d been to his house before, it had been awhile. His place was messy. Definitely lacked a woman’s touch. Clothes were strewn haphazardly over the two sofas in the expansive living room. Magazines were piled high on the end tables, and the kitchen table was filled with mail and newspapers.

  “Sorry it’s such a mess,” he said, leading her down the hall. “I never think about picking up and it’s just me here anyway.”

  She felt the pain in his statement but didn’t comment, knowing Brett didn’t like to talk about Amanda.

  The last time she’d been here was for Amanda’s birthday party, about six months before she died. Kait had always loved this house with its polished wood floors and tall, white columns rising up to the vaulted ceiling in the living room.

  His studio was the same way. The floors shined in here as if they’d been recently cleaned, and not a speck of dust littered the wet bar tucked against one wall. Tall white columns rose from the floor, reaching toward the cathedral ceiling like rays of warm sunlight. The only furnishings were one of those antique fainting couches in a dusty rose color, some sheer cloths draped over the back, and an easel propped up next to a roughly hewn wooden table filled with paints and brushes.

  “Would you like something to drink?” He stepped to the bar and leaned across it, reaching around on the other side for a couple bottled waters. “I’m, uh, fresh out of wine or beer right now, but I can offer you soft drinks, coffee or water.”

  “Water’s fine,” she said, accepting the bottle and twisting off the top. She took a long swallow to lubricate her parched throat.

  This was the moment she’d waited for. She’d been dying to get naked in front of him for the past ten years. Or maybe get him naked. Or both of them naked. Either way, this was a beginning and further than she’d ever gotten with him before.

  “Ready to get started?”

  She nodded and clung tight to the plastic bottle of water, hoping he wouldn’t be able to see her hands shaking. Whether from nerves or excitement she didn’t know.

  He led her to the back of the room where a door stood partially open. He palmed the center of the door and pushed, then motioned her closer.

  “This is the changing room and bathroom. There’s a robe on a hook on the back of the door. Undress and slip that on, then come out whenever you’re ready.”

  She nodded and stepped in, watching him walk away before she shut the door.

  He wasn’t nervous at all. Then again, he probably wasn’t taking this personally like she was. Being an artist meant he sometimes painted nudes. Her standing there buck ass naked in front of him would be no different than him looking at a bowl filled with apples.

  No, the only person who thought this was a big deal was her. She turned toward the mirror between the two vanities and began to undress, carefully folding her jeans and sweater and placing them on the counter. When she slipped off her panties, she tucked them into her purse. Something about leaving them on the counter with the rest of her clothes was so…intimate.

  Right. I’m sure he’s going to run right in and head straight for your panties.

  Ugh. Sometimes she amazed herself with her own moronic thoughts.

  She grabbed the robe. Mid-length, it was a light cream silk with an attached belt. She slipped it on, shivering as the sleek material smoothed across her skin.

  How many other women had worn this robe? Any? Was it Amanda’s? When she felt the little scrape against her wrist she realized it was the store tag. She carefully removed it and smiled, realizing he must have just bought it.

  For her? Knowing she was coming tonight? Did he think about how she would look in it, knowing she’d be naked underneath it? Soft and sensual, the material stroked her naked body like a lover’s caress. She closed her eyes and wished for another kind of caress.

  Her reflection in the mirror captured her attention. Her face was flushed, her nipples hard and straining against the clingy silk. The opening of the robe offered a tantalizing view of her thighs, partially gaping open as she turned from side to side, providing a quick glimpse of her bare pussy.

  She pulled the clip from her hair and let the long raven locks fall freely over her shoulders and over her breasts. Her eyes glowed a mixture of green and gold. The woman in the mirror looked like a delectable siren. Definitely not like her at all.

  Though the robe didn’t hide much, she was comforted at having something to wear when she walked out rather than parading out the door stark naked.

  “You asked for this,” she whispered to the siren in the mirror. “Now go for it.”

  Brett heard the dressing room door open but didn’t peer around the canvas to look. He was occupied with gathering and organizing the supplies he’d need to begin the sketches.

  Okay, maybe that wasn’t the only reason he hadn’t looked. Since she stepped through his front door bringing the sweet scented breeze of spring with her, his senses had launched into libido overdrive. Even dressed in jeans and a loose sweater, her hair wound up and around a little clip, she mesmerized him.

  She might have walked through the door dressed, but his mind saw her naked. So did his dick, which was already clamoring for attention in a very uncomfortable way.

  If it were up to him, she’d remain clothed. In fact, he planned to paint her with her robe on. His imagination already pictured her body well enough. The robe would at least cover the parts of her he was tempted to touch, lick and kiss.

  “I’m ready,” she whispered, clearing her throat. “Where do you want me?”

  Naked and underneath me. He rolled his eyes toward the heavens and mentally pleaded for strength, then stepped around the canvas and groaned. Fucking hell. The overhead spotlight shined straight down on her, making her look like an ethereal specter come to haunt him.

  Not too far from the truth. Her midnight black hair spilled in soft waves, teasing him by resting on her breasts. The robe clung to every one of her lush curves, making him itch to rest his hands on her hips and pull her against his rapidly hardening shaft. He swore
he could hear her heart beating, pounding out a staccato rhythm that was way faster than it should be. Then again, it was probably his heart, not hers, jackhammering against his rib cage as he fought the adrenaline rush of arousal.

  She tugged on her lower lip with her teeth and tilted her head, exposing a glimpse of the column of her throat.

  God, he could paint only her neck and it would satisfy him forever. Slender, the pulse thumping rapidly against her golden skin, he longed to run his tongue over that throbbing vein and lick until her nipples peaked under his questing hands.

  Goddamn this was going to be hard.

  Correction. It was already hard. Painfully hard. He wasn’t sure he had enough restraint to see this through.

  “Do you want me to take this off?” she asked, reaching for the satin belt of the robe.

  Only if her intent was to kill him.

  Death by hard-on. What a way to go. “Leave it on. We’ll start with positioning, then some sample sketches to see which placement I like best. No reason for you to be naked for simple choreography.”

  Or for any other reason. A man could only take so much torture before he broke. Didn’t she understand he was trying to keep his distance for her own benefit?

  She moved toward him, sliding her hands into the pockets of the robe. The action moved her hair out of the way of her chest, revealing the outline of erect nipples pressing against the silk.

  He bit back a groan and decided the best thing to focus on was her face.

  Though the look of pure heated desire she gave him didn’t help. He was so screwed. What demon possessed him to agree to this?

  Think like an artist. Kaitlyn is a subject and that’s all. She wasn’t the woman ingrained so deeply into his blood that he thought he’d die if he didn’t get to fuck her.

  “Tell me how see yourself positioned,” he said, needing the distraction of art.

  She looked to the chaise and tilted her head again, pursing her lips as she studied it. “Reclining, I think.”

  “Okay. Sit down and I’ll work up a few different positions.”