“What’s your favorite color?” he asked as he seated himself beside her.
“I like all colors,” she said, “except, of course the color of my refrigerator. It’s kind of seventies funk awful.”
“Everything old is new again.” He took a ring of paint samples with gradations from dark to light and fanned it out in a circle. “What are your first choices when you look at this color wheel?”
“Everything. It would depend on the application. I like all the colors in the rainbow. If you’re talking about a normal house, it would depend on what room it was used in. What colors do you like?”
He grinned at her and sorted through the samples. “I like these colors. This is the blue of your eyes.” He held a strip close to her face. “And this is the color of your hair, a dark gold between amber and honey. Here’s the color of the skin on your cheek, just a little more peach than the rest of your face.”
“Let me do you.” She took the paint samples from him, sorting through the browns, searching for a rich chocolate with a warm flame searing it. She held up several samples and set the ring on the table. “You’re not in there. They’re too flat.”
“My eyes?”
“The paint samples.” Suddenly shy, she felt his intense scrutiny. Her mouth went dry. “So, this is where you work your magic?”
“Here and on site. I visit the proposed project site first and talk to the client. When there are two people involved they frequently have completely different visions. My ideas may not be what they have in mind at all. If someone wants a bubble-gum pink and black vinyl bedroom, I put my reservations aside and deliver their dream. They’re paying for it, after all.”
“That must be hard to do,” she said.
“Not so much now. It was at first, but I’ve adapted to the process.”
Max raised her brows. “Adapted? I’m not so sure that’s a good thing.”
“It is if you value your career and want to succeed.”
They eyed each other warily. She considered the adaptation process and how she was moving away from painting what she liked, toward painting what brought higher sales. She liked the paychecks but wasn’t so sure she wanted to adapt. Perhaps the adaptation process was what had led her down this path strewn with lies and half-truths. It had been her own reluctance to confront Jon’s initial assumptions that brought her into the mire.
Jon broke into her thoughts. “Where did you go to school, Millie?”
“I got my MFA in San Marcos.”
“You majored in Art?” At her nod he said, “Me, too. I went to The University of Texas.”
She suppressed a shudder. Austin, the scene of her greatest acts of stupidity. “Why aren’t you painting?” she asked.
“I guess I wasn’t good enough.” His voice was suddenly almost a whisper. “Why aren’t you painting?”
A deep crimson blush crept up from her neck. “I do, every now and then.” She found she had to look away from the intensity of his gaze.
“I’d love to see your work sometime.”
Max almost giggled thinking about the work she’d already shown him. She gave him an amused glance. “I’m here to see your work.”
“Pick a color you’d like to see in the loft and we’ll get started.”
“The likelihood of me investing any real money in that place is practically nil, but I’ll humor you. I like blue.”
“Great. Now we just have to figure out which blue you prefer.” He reached for the ring of paint samples again. After a short time she’d selected several shades of blue and a couple of accent colors.
“Okay, I’ll admit that these are pretty colors and they look good together.” She made a fan of the strips of color. “How do you move from a few color chips to a three-dimensional living space?”
“It’s just the beginning. Next I make a computer generated plan of your place to scale. I can take some measurements the next time I’m there.”
The tingling started at the back of her neck again. Next time.
He gave her a tour of the entire office and introduced her to some of his associates. With each encounter she was more and more aware that she was having a bad wardrobe day.
To his credit, the immaculately dressed man giving the tour didn’t seem to notice.
“Let’s go for a walk,” he suggested, leading her outside onto the sidewalk. A short way down the pavement, a maze of shops specializing in decorator furnishings and accents formed a mini specialty mall.
As he held the door open for her a tall, obese man pushed his way in. His fine, ginger-colored hair had thrown in the towel and was rapidly deserting his face, leaving a broad expanse of speckled forehead. “Hello again Jon Claude,” he said. “And who is this scrumptious creature?” His Texas twang was underscored with an adenoidal reverb.
“Someone much too fine to make your acquaintance,” Jon responded. He gestured for Max to go through the door and followed close behind.
“That,” he growled, “was Oleg Cantwell, professional bloodsucker and mindless fop. His only value to humanity is as an organ donor.”
Max grinned up at him. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“He’s the only reason I lock my office when I leave. He’s always trawling for my clients and looking at my projects for some semblance of inspiration.” He raised an eyebrow and asked, “By the way, has Max ever met Oleg Cantwell?”
“Never.”
“And, may I ask if Max happens to be gay?”
She guffawed indelicately, and then recovered her composure.
“That answers my question,” he said. “Although I don’t know if I find it comforting.”
“Where are we going and could you slow down?”
“Sorry,” he said. “I thought I’d take you on a walking tour of the Design Center. There are all kinds of shops to browse through so you can look at many different styles. Then I’m taking you to lunch. Does that sound like a plan?”
“I’m in,” she said. I only have a dozen more paintings to create.
Surprisingly, she enjoyed the experience of browsing through a mélange of shops teeming with furniture, accessories and objet d’art. She thought her enjoyment had more to do with Jon than with the tour.
“People really buy this stuff?” she asked.
“Absolutely. See anything you like?”
“I like this glob of glass.” She lifted a colorful paperweight from the top of an antique wooden desk with pigeonhole cubbies.
“Very discerning of you,” he said. “It’s a hand blown glass millefiore paperweight. It was made in Italy in the mid eighteen hundreds.”
“It’s lovely. The colors are so vivid.”
“Is there anything else that catches your eye?”
Max grinned mischievously, pointing to a large, gauze draped, gilded and grandiose object. “I’m crazy about the swan bed.” She directed his attention to opulent, flowing bed linens set into the back of a carved gold and white swan. The mattress was ensconced between the wings with the swan’s neck curving to form the headboard. A gilded tiara adorned the swan’s head and sheer drapery flowed to the floor.
Jon crossed his arms over his chest and surveyed the bed. “I can see you there.”
She turned to look at him. “Do you now?”
A mischievous grin lit his face. “I can tell you have some unfulfilled fantasies and I’d love to help you explore them. I have some fantasies of my own.” His deep voice dropped to a whisper, sending a shiver skittering down her spine.
She drew a shaky breath. “What fantasies do you have?”
“My fantasies involve finding someone special to live them with.” The expression on his face caused several of her internal organs to melt together.
She cleared her throat. “What a romantic.”
“Guilty. Let’s grab lunch.”
CHAPTER NINE
Jon took her to a small, trendy cafe in the Design Center where they ate overpriced, but car
efully arranged food disguised as art.
When hr drove her home, she tried to say goodbye in the parking lot but he insisted on walking her up the stairs. Once at her door, he produced a tape measure and announced his intentions of taking measurements of the loft.
Max scuffed the toe of her shoe on the floor. “It’s true that my place has no style and it’s just barely livable but it’s all I can afford. You know I can’t hire you.”
“Humor me. I’m not looking for a job.”
Reluctantly, she admitted him to her sanctum.
The early afternoon light poured in through the windows and skylight, giving full illumination to the new paintings drying against the wall.
Jon stood transfixed. “Wow!”
“You see something you like?” She was amused and flattered by his reaction.
“I don’t understand how Max keeps doing this so consistently.”
“Doing what?” she asked.
“This and that.” He walked past each canvas, in turn, gesturing. “I don’t see how one man can come up with so many creatively evolved ideas in such a short time, let alone complete them. This guy is a genius.”
“Humph!” she snorted. “I’m...I’m...” Max, you moron!
He whirled to face her. “Beautiful? Intelligent?”
Okay, you’re redeemed. “Thanks. You were saying...”
“These paintings are phenomenal. When did he paint them?”
“Max works every day. Do you think they’ll sell at the one-man show?”
“Some of these paintings will sell on opening night. The patrons will show off and try to buy the ones they deem the hottest. I’m inviting the art critic from the Chronicle but I’m also flying in a writer from New York who freelances for the Times. It’ll be interesting to see which paintings create the most buzz. Sales will depend on who attends. We’re aiming for a huge turnout and media coverage. If there’s a thunderstorm that night, we’re doomed. We’ll freeze the canapés and drink the wine to drown our sorrows. But the show is booked for a month so there’s plenty of opportunity for walk-ins to see the work.”
“You’re telling me it’s all a matter of chance?”
“Pretty much.”
“Is that Willa?” Jon stopped in front of the quick sketch she’d done of her best friend.
“It’s not finished.” A defensive note crept into her voice.
“Wow! Max captured some sweet, soft side of her that I’ve never seen. To the designers, she’s all push and bravado. This shows another dimension. I can see what Max sees in her.”
She blinked, trying to keep her emotion under wraps. “Yeah, Max is crazy about Willa.”
Jon insisted that he had to install her new birdfeeder. He opened the window Merrick had so recently installed and screwed the feeder to the new frame. He showed her how to fill the container and closed the window for her.
“Thanks,” she said. “I hope some birds discover it and enjoy the bird buffet.”
“If you keep seed in it, they’ll find it.” He put his screwdriver in his pocket and withdrew the tape measure. “On to the next task.”
She held the end of the measuring tape and he made notes about her loft. He expressed amazement when he examined her bathroom. “This is most ingenious,” he said. “I’ve seen bathrooms as part of bedrooms but never out in the open like this. Don’t you ever feel the need for privacy?”
Max affected a loud sigh. “Yes, I accept the fact that I need walls. The commode should be enclosed and I suggest the whole thing needs to be separated from the rest of the loft.” She folded her arms over her chest, acknowledging the hopelessness of the situation.
“How about the kitchen?” he asked. “Don’t you ever need an oven?” He waved his hand toward the space she called her “kitchen area”.
An avocado green Formica countertop along one wall held a few small appliances and butted up next to the harvest gold refrigerator. Calling it a kitchen was a dismal attempt at humor.
“I have a microwave,” she said, a defensive note creeping into her voice. “And a blender and an electric skillet. What more could one want?”
“What more, indeed?” He walked around the perimeter. “I really like the exposed brick wall and the natural light is perfect for painting.”
Max turned to point out the one real asset the loft possessed. “Between the wall of windows on the north and the skylight, it’s usually light and bright in here.”
“I think you could do with some track lighting to showcase the paintings. We could balance it with daylight bulbs so Max can paint at night.” He frowned a moment. “Cancel that. I don’t want him to paint at night.” He returned to stand beside her.
Her peal of laughter echoed off the hard surfaces. “And did you have something else in mind for my nights?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. I was thinking some of this.” He kissed her several times in succession. It would have been one long kiss but he picked her up in the middle of it and she found herself suspended. She wrapped her arms around Jon’s neck and with no forethought her legs wrapped around his torso.
His arms held her while his hands explored her backside.
A dizzily suffocating sensation caused her to pull away. “Oh!” Gazing into his eyes, she felt lightheaded. Her heart raced as she struggled to catch her breath.
“I think that was the best kiss I’ve ever experienced,” he said. “But, I need much more research to make sure.” He kissed her again and then again.
“Stop!” she said. “I can’t breathe.”
“Breathing is highly overrated.” He maintained his grip on her but she held him with her arms around his neck and a leglock she hadn’t known she could deliver. “I want to make love to you,” he whispered. “I’ve wanted to make love to you from the first moment I met you, but I didn’t want it to be on your futon.”
“We can’t,” she gasped. “I’m not ready.” She felt a fluttery smothering sensation overwhelming her. “I don’t jump into physical relationships.”
“My mistake,” he said. “But I’m ready...whenever you are.”
“I...I’ll let you know.” She carefully disengaged her thighs and slid to the floor.
He straightened his clothes and ran his hand through his hair. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Yes,” she said. “Soon.”
~*~
Max loved the water. She loved the wind in her hair and the feeling of skimming along, almost like flying. She inhaled deep lungfuls of tangy Gulf coast air.
“Sheet in the jib, just a hair,” Merrick directed.
“Sure thing, Captain.” She adjusted the sail, catching the air in a smooth arc of white cloth. The wind pushed the boat faster, slicing through the water like a hot knife through butter. She locked the jib line into the stainless steel escutcheon and tucked a stray strand of hair under her visor.
He slanted a grin in her direction and squinted in the bright sunlight. “Isn’t this better than hanging out at your drab, depressing artist’s garret?”
She turned on him, scowling at his condemnation of her abode. “My loft is depressing?”
“It’s way beyond depressing, Max,” he said. “It’s a dungeon. No, calling your place a dungeon is an insult to dungeons everywhere.” He stroked Blondie’s head.
The dog loved to sail and she wore her own life jacket, due to the fact that she’d been known to jump in the water on some whim of her own.
“Thanks, Merrick. I feel the love.”
“I feel bad for you, Max. It’s okay to use the loft as a painting studio, but I’ve been thinking that maybe you should move in with me. My place is huge and it’s in a much safer part of the city. Don’t forget that I have amenities.”
Max glared at him, feeling defensive. “What amenities do you have that I don’t have?”
He made a scoffing noise in the back of his throat. “My house has three bathrooms and an actual kitchen.” He stood with both hands on the helm, his white shorts and tee contras
ting with his deeply tanned skin. The wind rushed through his sun-bleached hair, making him look like a movie star or future Presidential candidate.
She saw her pale image reflected in his mirrored sunglasses. She sniffed. “I have a bath area,” she said, “and a kitchen area.”
“The bohemian gypsy thing is okay, but you’d be much more comfortable in a real house. You can sleep in a real bedroom. I have a media center and the sixty-inch flat screen HDTV is awesome.”
“I don’t have time to watch TV. I paint.”
“That’s fine, but this is the first time you’ve come sailing with me in months. Look around, Max.”
“What am I looking at?”
Merrick waved one hand. “We have sunshine. We have fresh air and lots of cool, blue water. There are Atlantic Bottlenose dolphins playing out there. What more could you want?”
“Jon thinks I need walls around my bathroom. I’m beginning to agree with him. I hadn’t noticed before, but he’s right.”
“Jon, huh?” He gave her the full effect of the Foster dimples. “This is the design guy who’s giving you a one-man show?”
A wide grin spread across her face without her permission. “Yeah, he’s the guy. I think I’m dating him, but there’s one other little complication.”
“Watch the sail, Max.”
She made a minute adjustment that only a perfectionist like Merrick would notice. When all the tell-tails stopped fluttering and were smoothly streaming straight back she said, “How do you sail this thing by yourself?”
“I do it very well,” he said. “Now, tell me more about this complication.”