Putting his arm around my waist, he pulled me into his body. “Trust me, love. You’re not the only one getting something out of this deal. I have my own agenda.”
“Which is?” I asked. His eyes twinkled and I couldn’t help but smile.
“You’ll just have to wait and see.” Now I was intrigued.
—
The gallery wasn’t far from Jack’s house. I was excited to get in there and see the recently added works. It was impressive how many talented people lived locally. Jack opened my car door and helped me out. He was such a gentleman, but there was a part of me that wondered if this was what he was truly like. I had to believe it was because of the way I felt inside when I was around him. I hated living with a guarded heart, but it was the only way to keep it from getting broken. There were so many men who put on a front and then changed once they had you. I knew that from personal experience. One minute you’d have a romantic and sensual man and the next, a disrespectful dog. I couldn’t base every new guy I met on my past experiences, but it was hard not to.
Jack clasped my hand in his and led me into the gallery. The middle-aged woman sitting at the front desk beamed when we walked in. Her name was Evelyn, and she was the gallery owner’s wife. She was an artist too and had many of her paintings on display. “Bristol, right?” she asked, walking around the desk to greet us.
She held out her hand and we both shook it. “Yes, ma’am. We’re here to purchase a few pieces. I heard you had some new work in.”
“We do,” she said enthusiastically. “If you walk through toward the back, you’ll see them all in the new exhibit. You won’t be disappointed.”
“Thanks, Evelyn.” We started toward the back and I looked up at Jack. “She’s the owner’s wife. Her paintings are really beautiful.”
He had a smile on his face I couldn’t decipher. It was almost as if he knew something I didn’t, like there was a hidden joke somewhere I didn’t catch. “Do you think they’d go well in my place?” he asked.
We stopped at one of her paintings, but it wasn’t his style. Jack lifted his brows and shrugged. Her paintings were very angelic and pure, pictures of small children running around on summer days. I didn’t really know what his style would be, but it definitely wasn’t that. Evelyn’s paintings were more appropriate for elderly people wanting something to remind them of their grandkids.
I made sure Evelyn wasn’t watching us and shook my head, making sure to keep my voice quiet. “Not for you,” I whispered, steering him out of the area.
He breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank fucking God. I know I gave you the reins on this, but I’ll admit, you had me shitting bricks over there.”
I smacked his arm. “Thanks for having faith in me. Maybe we should go back and get one of those paintings.” I tried to turn around, but he held me firmly, his fingers pressing into my waist. Everything inside me tightened and I lost my breath.
His mouth was so close to my ear that I could feel his warm breath across my skin as he chuckled. “Keep walking, sweetheart. Paintings with angels and little kids aren’t exactly what are on my mind right now.”
“Oh yeah? What is?”
Pressing his body to my back, I could feel every inch of him against me. His lips came close to my neck and I was hoping to feel them, but they didn’t connect. Instead, he breathed me in and backed away. “I wish I could show you, but this isn’t the time or place.”
The guy was seriously going to drive me insane. I hated that he affected me the way he did. It had been so long since a man had touched me so intimately, I almost forgot what it was like. I thought I could live without it, but I was wrong. Now he had awakened something inside of me I didn’t know if I’d be able to control.
The next exhibit was all Thomas Kinkade art. His ability to capture light on a canvas was phenomenal. I stopped in front of one of his paintings called Evening at Autumn Lake. One of my favorites, it depicted a small house beside a glistening lake, surrounded by autumnal trees and nestled in the midst of tall, snow-capped mountains. Kinkade had a way of making people feel as if they were actually there in his paintings.
“You must like him,” Jack murmured.
I nodded, but kept my focus on the picture. “My mother does too. Every year for Christmas, I’ll buy her a new piece. She has a whole room with nothing but Kinkade drawings. It’s like her own art gallery. Each time I come in here, it reminds me of her. I need to fly to Texas and visit.” I glanced up at him and there was a sadness that passed across his face. “Are you okay?”
His jaw clenched, but then he nodded. “I’m fine. It’s just, you mentioned your mother and I couldn’t help but think about mine.”
“Where is she?” I asked.
“In Tampa with my brother. My father died a couple of years ago, right when we found out my mother had cancer. She was fine for a while, but now the cancer has spread.”
I clasped a hand over my mouth. “Oh no, I’m so sorry. What’s the prognosis?”
He shrugged, but the pain was evident on his face. “Not sure, but I know she doesn’t have long. I’m flying down to Tampa this weekend to see her.”