Brush Strokes (8 page)

“
Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he
grumbled, turning toward the kitchen. He stalked over, snatched the
receiver up and almost shouted into the phone. “Hello?” His voice
softened. “Oh. Sorry. Hold on, here she is.”

His sheepish grin made her smile. She
swatted his very cute butt as she took the phone from him. Certain
to keep her own voice mellow, she tried to verbally repair any
damage he might have done. “Hello?” Her spine straightened when she
recognized the voice on the other end. “Mr. Killian. I needed to
call you today…”

Joe made his way into the studio to
give her a little privacy. Despite the light, sensuous mood they
managed to bring into existence a few minutes ago, perhaps she’d
want to tell her patron about the fire without him hanging on to
her every word. He’d keep alert for the change in her demeanor sure
to happen, but he didn’t know what kind of man the older gentleman
might be. That he gave his money generously hinted he would be
sympathetic. At the end of the day however, he could decide to
withdraw his support. But that really didn’t make any sense. Tanya
had talent to spare. He didn’t believe it about just anyone, but
she would make it big one day.

He glanced at the empty spot her
paintings previously occupied. All that work now sat in the large
dumpster out back. Thank God his favorite portrait of her made it
through the fire unscathed, but her future didn’t hinge on that
particular painting. The ones she’d created in the last few months
with him had been commissioned by Mr. Killian, who by now heard he
no longer had anything to show for his money.

She walked into the room a few minutes
later. If he hadn’t seen her face, the static of stunned energy
floating around her would have made him look up from his chore. He
frowned and stood. “Tanya?”

“
He—”

Her chest heaved, as if she struggled
to breathe. Shit, this wasn’t good. “What’s wrong,
sweetheart?”

“
He was calling to tell me
that he got the time wrong. That the paintings needed to be there
tomorrow evening because the show opens the following
morning.”

“
And?” he prodded when she
stopped.

She stared back with dazed eyes. “When
I told him about the fire, he was nice about it at first. He said
my insurance would cover the loss of materials,” she said, blowing
out a breath, “but he wasn’t so sure about the paintings
themselves. That being the case…”

He had a sinking feeling he already
knew where she was headed, but prompted her anyway. “That being the
case…”

“
If they aren’t able to
reimburse the cost of the paintings themselves, he might have to
withdraw his patronage.”

That asshole. He disliked Mr. Killian
at first sight with good reason apparently. “That doesn’t make any
sense. He’s put so much behind you already. Why not make certain
his investment pays out in the end?”

“
Because I can’t recoup the
time that’s been lost. I offered to make up the paintings for him,
but he said that wasn’t necessary.”

“
Make up the
paintings?”

“
Sure, I could work twice
as fast, twice as hard. Instead of six paintings in four months,
maybe ten or twelve in that time.”

“
You would sacrifice
quality for quantity?”

She set her mouth in a straight line.
Her expression grew hard and resentful. “If it meant being able to
work for another year without worrying about how to pay my bills,
yeah.”

The way she glared at him, there was
no way he’d touch that statement with a ten-foot pole, no matter
how much he disagreed with it. If she wasn’t in such dire straits
and thought through it clearly, the Tanya he knew wouldn’t consider
such a sell-out. “Why didn’t he agree to that?”

“
Because it’s not a sure
thing,” she replied angrily. Her voice took on a mocking quality,
echoing Mr. Killian’s slight accent.

“
What happens now
then?”

“
My savings will last me
about two or three months. If I don’t find a patron by then—which
should be easy because, you know, they grow on trees—then I’ll have
to find a job. I’ve tried that before and I’m lost when I’m not
being creative. I can’t sleep, I can’t focus. Art is in my blood
and people who aren’t artists just can’t get that. I live simply
because my art is
everything
. I’m lost when I’m not
painting and I don’t know if I’ll survive without it. But I can’t
think about the future now, can I? I get the lovely fucking task of
dealing with this shit instead.” She threw her arms out, indicating
the ruins surrounding them.

Despite what she said, he did get it.
He understood being so passionate about something to the exclusion
of almost everything else. Thinking quickly, he asked, “Would one
painting make him happy?”

“
What?”

“
If you could deliver a
painting to him by tomorrow for the show, would it make him happy
enough to keep his patronage, even for a short time?”

Her hostile glare softened. Just a
little bit, but it was enough for now. She brought her thumb to her
mouth and nibbled on a nail. “I don’t know.” She looked up again.
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t have the equipment or until the
insurance comes through, the extra money—”

“
I’ll buy what you need if
you think you can do it. If you think it’ll help.”

“
Joe, even for one painting
we’re talking hundreds—”

“
Call him back and find out
if he’s agreeable.”

Uncertainty crept into her expression.
“It might be a long time before I could pay you back.”

At last comfortable her fury wouldn’t
strike him down, he moved closer. “You don’t need to pay me back.
Consider it an advance for one of your paintings.”

They stood in silence as
she considered his offer. He was confident she wouldn’t turn him
down. It was a slim chance they’d bring Mr. Killian around to their
way of thinking, but slim was better than none. After a few
minutes, Tanya folded her arms over her chest and cocked an eyebrow
at him. “I
will
pay you back with money. Face it, you can’t afford one of my
paintings.”

The tension in the room dissolved in
an instant. He dropped his voice low, almost a growl. “You won’t
pay me back because I want a painting. I guess you’ll have to exact
the rest of the money out of me in…other ways.”

“
Other ways?” she repeated,
walking out of the studio. She whirled on her feet and winked at
him. “You’re a good model, but not that good.”

He lunged after her, but she bounced
out of the way, giggling the entire time. He released a breath he
didn’t realize he’d been holding when he heard that delightful
sound. It seemed like forever ago that she’d been happy.

She came back in a few minutes later,
a grin splitting her face. “He said to bring it by. He’s not making
any promises yet, but Joe, I think I’ve got a shot at keeping him.
It’s gotta be good. My best yet, but nothing like a little pressure
to bring out my best, right?”

He knew there was a reason he liked
that Killian guy. “Let’s go shopping, sweetheart. I think we should
use my condo for your work, but either way, let’s get going. The
next twenty-four hours are going to fly by.”

Tanya’s hand gripped his wrist as he
walked by. He looked down at her, his eyebrows drawn together. She
stared up at him with a question on her face. “Why would you do
this for me?”

That was too easy to
answer. “Because,”—
I love
you—
“I like seeing you happy.”

Something flickered in her expression,
but she only said, “Thank you.”

Tanya couldn’t stop staring at her
watch. Bless Joe for taking her on the shopping spree of her
dreams, but always in the back of her mind, a clock ticked away the
seconds loud enough to drive her mad. Even now as she waited for
him to emerge and settle himself for a marathon modeling session,
she couldn’t focus on drafting out what she wanted to paint. She
just kept thinking about the stupid time.

“
You’re going to snap that
pencil in two if you don’t ease up.” His warm hand embraced hers
before pulling the pencil out of her grip.

She looked up sharply.
“What?”

The pressure to produce stifled her
air and she almost snapped at him to move his ass, but her scowl
faded when she peered into his blue eyes. Every time his gaze met
hers, her heart turned over in response. This time was no
different.

Joe’s kiss was surprisingly gentle.
His lips touched hers like a whisper. All of the neediness, all of
the passion from before shattered beneath the tenderness of his
mouth on hers. This was a kiss of promises. A kiss that gave her
the world.

He lifted her hands, propping them on
his chest before letting them slide down over the muscled ridges of
his abdomen. “Touch.”

As if she could do anything else.
Memories of before, the way he let her memorize him. Of what they’d
done together danced in her mind.

His tongue traced over her lips before
easing past them. “Taste,” he murmured, his mouth brushing hers. It
was yesterday all over again. Not the yesterday of nightmares, but
the one when he’d fed her. When he’d tasted her body. When he’d
opened the door to her heart a fraction of an inch.

Twenty seconds or twenty hours might
have passed, and she didn’t give a damn…which must have been his
intention all along. Joe kissed her one last time before rising to
position himself on the stool in the pose they’d adopted for him.
Instinctively, he’d taken on the one that produced the best results
over the past few months. The one that resulted in the painting of
him she’d miss the most.

She ignored his aroused state, a
monumental task at this point, and blew out a breath. Time to get
into artist mode. Turning a critical eye on him, she started
dishing orders. “Your left arm needs to move two inches to the
left. Elongate your back.”

Joe—her beautiful, wonderful
Joe—complied.

Chapter Seven

The following morning Tanya
paced his condo, unable to stand the pressure any longer. Joe had
been gone
hours
.
He was supposed to call after Mr. Killian saw the painting and let
her know what he said. Mr. Killian had granted the extension to the
morning of the show to allow the paint to dry, but he hadn’t
sounded happy about it at all. She tried to tell herself that at
least if she was going out, it would be with a fight.

God, why had she sent Joe in her place
to deliver it? She should have gone and explained the concept to
Mr. Killian herself. The thought alone made her want to hurl
though. The last thing she’d needed to do was soil his expensive
loafers with the contents of her stomach, so she and Joe had agreed
that he’d go in her place.

But was it a good idea? Tanya couldn’t
keep her fingers out of her mouth, nibbling on her nails the only
way to keep her from throwing open the front door and rushing to
Mr. Killian’s anyway. Her stomach turned over on itself, “nausea”
too mild a name to call what she had going on.

Blowing out a breath, she
straightened out her shoulders and willed her stomach to calm. What
was done was done. She’d trust the two men could move forward
without her. Even though the wait was
excruciating
. What she should think
about was the fact she’d finished a painting. That alone was
something worth celebrating. Months of not being able to find the
fortitude to actually complete a project came to an end. If Mr.
Killian rejected the painting, at the very least she could cling to
the sense of pride finishing the piece brought her. It meant she
could start another project today or tomorrow and feel confident
that she’d finish it. And damn it, she
would
finish it.

For now though, she needed to distract
herself with something else. A quick shower settled some of her
nerves. Getting dressed for the opening was another good way to
kill time.

After drying, she dragged on her
favorite bronze-colored bustier, and shimmied until the girls
settled into place. Sort of. The designer couldn’t have meant the
cups to hold actual breasts. More like, the wire contraptions
suggested they could if they wanted to—and clearly they didn’t.
Anyone who risked wearing the thing begged for a wardrobe
malfunction.

Too impatient to wrestle with hose,
she pulled on a black crinoline skirt. Since it didn’t always cover
her mid-thigh, depending on her stance, she supposed hose might
have been a little too provocative anyway. Besides, incredible
strappy heels insisted on playing center stage when it came to her
legs. One of the straps was giving her fits now, but she just
managed to push it through the loop.

“
Jesus.
Christ
.”

Half-stooped, she almost toppled in
her enthusiastic whirl to face Joe. “I didn’t hear you come in,”
she said, rising. And positioning her boobs back into the cups.
“What did he say?”