Chapter Six

“Belli, come help me!” Paige blew at her bangs as she struggled with the side zipper on her saucy little black-and-white number.

“So, let me get this right.” Bellamy pranced into Paige’s bedroom, meeting her gaze in the vintage floor mirror. “You don’t like Richard, but you’ve agreed to go on a date with him because he sent you some ‘I’m sorry’ flowers?”

Paige didn’t respond. Instead she refocused her attention on the stubborn zipper. Her efforts to manipulate the fabric so it would close along her hourglass figure were in vain.

“Paige—”

“It’s not a date,” she huffed. “You know the Jaresiti exhibit is co-funded by my research. I have to be there. I need to rub shoulders and secure the last bit of funding needed for the new arts wing. Attending this event with Richard helps. He’s promised to introduce me to a few potential donors.”

Bellamy smacked her teeth. “Whatever. People who know art know you. Your graduate thesis is legendary and the entire creative community goes wild whenever you come out of hiding from Academic Affairs to teach a course. You don’t need Richard to help you rub shoulders.”

“Bellamy,” Paige snapped. “Please just zip me up.”

A long sigh of relief escaped Paige when Bellamy set her glass of Moscato on the vanity desk. Bellamy gripped the fabric and took the zipper between her thumb and index fingers before Paige felt the forceful tug. Their eyes met for a second in the mirror.

There was no need for Bellamy to continue voicing blatant dislike of her evening out with Richard. The College of Arts needed funding and publicity, and the scion of the country’s largest defense company could help the university reach its goal. After all, this was a campaign Paige believed in. Art had saved her life.

Perhaps Bellamy had forgotten that art was given to Paige as therapy after spending a year mute after the loss of her twin, but she had not. Paige still lived with the shame of being good at something that was meant to cope with loss. Yet, the benefits of being able to function in society far outweighed her personal embarrassment. Therefore, she would do everything in her power to ensure funding for the new arts wing was met. It was the only way to guarantee Andover had a dedicated art therapy center.

“I’m sure you want me to shut up, but I can’t. Richard is controlling and possessive, or has that slipped your mind?”

Paige turned her sights down to the floor. She closed her eyes, hating that she could recall the way Richard had begun accusing her of flirting and calling her multiple times within an hour.

“You really shouldn’t be going anywhere with him, Paige,” Bellamy huffed out loud. “You’ll suffer through this Godforsaken evening claiming to rub shoulders. And it’s all because you don’t want to think about the only man who fueled you with enough passion in one night to last a lifetime.”

Maybe. However, tonight wasn’t about her love life or the dreams of Brenden Jasper that kept her up into the wee hours pondering what-ifs.

As the bodice of the dress became fitted, Bellamy smoothed the zipline with her hand. “Is it me or have you gained weight?”

“It’s called Aunt Flow.” Paige shot daggers at her bestie. “The bitch has me feeling like a twenty-ton cow.”

Crisp golden liquid spilled over Bellamy’s glass as she laughed, and the tension between them flitted away. “Another reason for you to stay your ass home, pineapple tie your hair, and throw on some sweats.”

Paige stopped laughing and turned sideways in the mirror, checking to see if the monthly bloat was as bad as it felt. It wasn’t, and even if it had been, she would still go. The College of Arts needed her support, and her head was done running circles around the whole New Year’s-Brenden-Paige Saga.

“You look fantastic! Too bad it isn’t for the lieutenant colonel.”

Paige rolled her eyes, then turned away from the mirror and went to the bathroom. As she shuffled through her choices of eye shadow, Bellamy planted her bottom on the countertop, watching over Paige like a mother hen. But then, they were best friends, a title earned since before they could play double Dutch and learn Miss Mary Mack in second grade.

From grade school through college, they were inseparable. Even now they worked for the same university, just in different divisions. Bellamy was the sister Paige didn’t have, and Paige was the sibling Bellamy wished for. Their navy dads had formed a bond that passed to their girls, despite them being at odds the last five years.

“You’d rather me out with a man who demanded I be fired? Not happening.”

“Brenden didn’t know that little heifer was lying. I get you’re upset over how it all went down, but try thinking of it from his perspective. Kathryn is his niece. He’s her guardian and he loves her, wants what is best. You would’ve done the same. Hell, I would’ve done the same.”

Paige shrugged, siphoning a fuchsia-colored shadow to her makeup brush. “He treated me like what I was, nothing but a one-night stand. Mr. Jasper,” she mumbled. “Do you know how many times I called his freakin’ name that night?”

Bellamy tooted her lips and batted her eyes. “No, but I can imagine, if he’s packing a good almost nine thick-as-hell inches.”

“Won’t work, Belli,” Paige snickered, attempting to cover up the heat pricking her at the thought of Brenden’s huge cock.

“Whatever do you mean, darling? I’m simply stating the obvious. Which, by the way, the age-old saying isn’t always true. Getting under one won’t make you forget the other one. Especially if he happens to be a rich, self-absorbed pencil-dick like Richard Lowell. You’ll think about Brenden tonight while you’re out on this pity date.”

Paige hoped she wouldn’t be standing beside Richard and a potential donor thinking of strong, creamy hands caressing her curves. Forget reminiscing on the way full pink lips branded her with passion. Tonight, with her ex, needed to be a distraction that was good for business. Since the weekly deliveries of “I’m sorry” tulips started, Richard had gone the extra mile to place Paige in the pathway of potential donors for the College of the Arts fundraising campaign. He had also presented her with invitations to dinner, a cruise on his yacht, and an evening at the ballet.

Many of Richard’s attempts had been in vain until she saw Brenden in McPherson’s office. She fell harder than a junkie searching for the next fix. Tonight, for the next few hours, Richard would be her rehab, because she couldn’t afford another hit of Brenden. Not after the anger and disappointment he’d unleashed on her.

The chime of the doorbell forced her lids shut as she took a deep breath. When she opened them, Bellamy met her with a why-won’t-you-listen-to-me stare. Paige dropped her head in search of lip liner. “Would you grab the door?”

“But—”

Paige threw her hand up, ignoring Bellamy’s plea. She wouldn’t spend this weekend in the house dominated by daydreams of blue-gray eyes and tousled blond hair. The emergency house call her BFF orchestrated had failed.

Paige popped her lips, smearing a vibrant shade of pink before realizing it was way too quiet in her house. Not a good sign, given that Bellamy and Richard were like oil and water. Within a few minutes she slid on her shoes and put on earrings while moving quickly to the living room. She stilled in a dark corner for a second, shaking off giggles as she listened to Mother Hen interrogate her ex-lover.

“Rich.” Paige raked a gaze over the man she had affectionately nicknamed Toffee Martini. She then convinced herself to smile as she crossed the living room to the front door and entered Richard’s arms.

Dead. There was no spark, no passion. Nothing to pump her pulse to levels of sudden death. His thick masculine scent brought flashbacks of their tepid last six months together and forced her to remember why it had been so easy to be carefree and become Brenden’s one-night stand.

“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” he whispered then leaned in for a kiss.

Paige lowered her head, pretending to adjust her dress. “Thank you.” She looked up into his scrunched face, flashing a quick smile while fighting the urge to tell him goodnight. Except, people were counting on her. The university was close to its goal, which meant Paige would soon see the art therapy center she designed on campus. “It’s been a while since we attended one of these.”

He took Paige by the hand and led her from Bellamy’s overprotective guard. “Good thing it’s at one of your favorite places. Tonight will be fun.”

Paige waved bye to Bellamy. “You staying until I get back?”

“I should, to make sure I don’t have to hurt him.” The arrows Bellamy shot didn’t miss their target. Rich groaned and Paige gripped his hand tighter. “But I got a stallion to train before the morning.”

Paige buckled in laughter as she slid into Richard’s Bentley. The car was just like him: rich, neat, and screaming for attention. She silenced the inside voice begging her to stay home, and once again focused on the future for the College of Arts, and maybe a little on the handsome man beside her.

His smooth brown skin blended in elegant fashion with the charcoal blazer he wore, and Lord knows she loved his low-cut curly mane. Paige never doubted her physical attraction to Richard. Most importantly, he met her father’s rules. He was Black, college educated, financially secure, and a civilian.

She would want for nothing…except love.

“So, what’s your definition of fun, Rich?” She gave him a teasing smile.

“I’m glad you agreed to attend with me.” He reached over, taking her hand, and brought it to his lips. “I want this evening to go well so we can get us back on track. I’ve missed you.”

She swallowed hard, regretting that she needed him to make donor contacts, then looked out the window.

An hour later, Paige stood beside Richard, unveiling the Jaresiti exhibit at the Metro Museum of Art, being introduced as his girlfriend. Each time “girlfriend” slithered from his mouth, her belly knotted. She hadn’t thought of them as a couple since their breakup.

When she eased Richard’s arm from around her waist, he gave her a possessive tug back into his side. A tight-lipped smile followed before he continued rambling on about a recent multimillion-dollar contract he closed for Lowell Defense. She didn’t even have the chance to advocate on behalf of Andover.

Why did Bellamy have to be right? Nothing had changed. Richard’s I’m sorry meant shit. Tonight had been his chance to prove her wrong and actually support a crusade she was passionate about while catering to her love of art. Unfortunately, the self-absorbed son of a bitch used the event to rub his own shoulders and display her as his little arm trophy instead.

Paige held her chin high in defiance while her nostrils flared, counting down the minutes until they were alone. The second the latest donor moved out of their orbit, she pounced. “How dare you bring me here, flaunting me as if we’re still the same couple from six months ago?” She pulled away from his firm hold and faced him, arms folded.

Richard muttered a curse as he acknowledged someone waving to him. A cold smirk then carved his lips as he refocused back to Paige. “We better be the same couple from six months ago if you want my money and connections.” He pressed his body against hers, stroking her cheekbone. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

“This was a mistake!” Paige hissed, stepping back from him as disgust feasted on her from the inside. “God, I shouldn’t have come here with you tonight.” She plunged into the crowd, fighting her way through the laughter and whispers of attendees.

A flurry of emotions rushed her—shame, disbelief, disgust. Still, she kept her head high, refusing to allow anything to cripple her steps as she stormed up the main staircase. Richard had confirmed her worst fears by melting her mask of confidence and allowing the social awkwardness she hid from to find her.

When her heels clicked against the marble of the second floor landing, she sucked down a deep breath. She was away from Richard’s imposing stare, protective grip, and the hordes of patrons crowding the new exhibit on the first floor. In slow motion, she moved toward an impressionist painting and began analyzing the strokes of oil on canvas.

She then went to another piece, taking an even deeper exhale. Her mind relaxed and she chased her frustrations away while studying the coloration of brown blending to green and then a color bordering the spectrum of yellow.

Now she could enjoy what she most loved, art. It was the one thing in the world that ever quieted her storms. And it was downright egotistical for Mr. Pencil-dick to offer his connections in attendance as a means to weasel back in. Richard knew how special art was to her and the importance of funding the center. Yet, he exploited her for personal gain in the same way he did with politicians whenever a defense deal needed to be made.

The scorn of being used stung hard. It slowly dissolved when the painting, Blue Dancers, caught her eye. Paige reached out, wanting to trace the perfect imperfection of blurred brushstrokes. A rich azure melted into cream and then to pink before a pointed toe shoe extended from a dancer’s leg. The way color blurred and shaped from nothing into something was why she always loved impressionist art.

And in this moment, she was the blank canvas in Monet’s studio waiting for random brushstrokes to come along and shape her into something more than what she was now.

Paige lingered a second longer, then took the less congested left corridor. At the end of the hall, she found a small unoccupied viewing room full of impressionist art. She took inventory of the works gallantly hanging from the museum walls, and again grew full cheeks at the sight of Degas’s Dancers in the Rehearsal Room with a Double Bass, and Renoir’s The Fisherman. She continued, passing a Monet, to which she gave a nod of appreciation.

A few more famous works garnered seconds of appraisal. However, one stopped her cold. She recalled Art101 from her freshman year of college, and then Art604 in graduate studies, where she became captivated with the paintings of Francois Denaiu. His vibrant colors and passionate brushstrokes were laced with innuendo, always provoking deep thought.

Just like now, the tint range of burgundy turning to red before bursting into orange and fading to yellow was a subliminal message of the transformation from immorality to righteousness. The imagery was prolific and made her feel as though the storm brewing within would find a calm one day.

“Some say Denaiu lost his muse as he painted The Fallen Abyss.”

Paige choked down a breath and closed her eyes, words failing to escape her lips. No way could she forget that sexy tenor. She peeked over her shoulder and met the eyes of the only man who had set her soul on fire.

His smoldering gaze made her heart flatline. Recovery became damn near impossible as she took in his handsome face and tanned, muscular physique decked out in a tailored Italian suit just feet away. The smile he gave spoke to charm, and the debonair swagger radiating off him was mindful of Cary Grant in An Affair to Remember. Her only coherent thought was for Brenden to take her in his arms and kiss her the way he had on the night they first met.

…

Brenden watched Paige tilt her head at him. He hated the way her beautiful eyes pierced him, as if she could see the flaws of his soul, the monster within. A sharp intake of breath came as she sized him up from head to toe before turning her attention back to the piece hanging before her. If she were upset by his presence, he couldn’t tell.

In fact, he couldn’t get a read on her at all. A rarity, given he’d spent years training to read and understand the body language of enemy combatants for interrogation purposes.

“An artist paints what’s inside. What you see on the canvas is but an expression of the emotion felt within. Denaiu had just lost his lover to typhoid,” she said, taking a step closer to the hanging canvas.

Brenden slid his hands into his pockets and walked toward her. He stopped inches away, marveling at the intensity within her eyes as she examined The Fallen Abyss. He then watched the hard rise and fall of her chest before she spoke again.

“Loss can evoke darkness. The black swirled within white symbolizes Denaiu was lost but would find his way.” She walked over, pointing to the upper right corner where sunrays peeked in.

Her ass was molded to perfection within a black-and-white dress as her silky, jet-black hair hung down her back. He caught a whiff of her and was transported to an exotic island with hints of plumeria, vanilla, and some intoxicating champagne. He had never been happier to trace and track a civilian down.

“The burgundy signifies his rage, and yet the burst of orange with tinges of yellow illustrates a happiness to come. I daresay Denaiu’s muse had never been so alive.”

Brenden met her innocent gaze, and some strange jolt of electricity coated his veins before striking his heart. He wondered if she could hear the thuds of his heartbeat hammering against his chest as he stared into her almond-shaped eyes. They held a truth he wanted to discover.

“And what about this one?” He pointed to a small fifteen-by-seventeen hanging to their right. Her smile made him mush and then she brushed past him, stroking the flames of the fire they kindled New Year’s Eve.

“This is a favorite. Classic actually, I tried painting it after…” Her smile faded before she looked him in the face. He didn’t like not knowing what had brought about the sudden change. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

Paige shrugged. “There’s not much to this painting. The card tells us—”

“Everything about you.” He stood an inch from her. His breath became hers, and the heat of her body called to him unlike anything he had ever felt before.

“About me?” she asked, spinning until they were face-to-face.

He nodded. “For starters, do you entertain apologies from naïve uncles?” He paused at her small grin, feeling lighter on his feet already. “But, most importantly, who’s the prick you’re here with tonight?” Her laughter made him smile as he scoped the perimeter for her douchebag date. His charade came to an end when a cocktail server approached offering glasses of champagne. He took two, passing one to her. “I’m serious, Dr. Nichols.”

She raised the glass to her lips, then paused. “Perhaps…and he’s a distraction.” She took a long gulp of champagne, refusing to meet his eyes.

“No, that’s what you are.” Brenden sipped his champagne and moved closer until his chest was stitched to hers. He fingered a stray hair behind her ear, then traced the profile he’d dreamed of for the last two months.

Her head snapped up to look into his face. He didn’t miss the wide eyes, sudden stiffening in her posture, or the flush entering her cheeks. The woman had no idea of the effect she was having on him.

He wanted to tell her he’d thought of her every day since their night together. However, he thought about the life he lived, the secrets he kept. Telling Paige his thoughts meant opening himself up to her, making him vulnerable, and proving she was the complication he should avoid.

“Uhh, Paige?” a distinctly male voice entered their chat.

Brenden sipped his drink, eyeing Paige as she whirled around. The man she had arrived with stormed toward them. Brenden sensed her uneasiness and instinctively felt the way he had earlier when he watched the couple engage: protective.

“Excuse me,” Paige said under her breath and walked away.

Brenden swallowed hard as Paige moved to the man’s side. The other man’s eyes met his with silent menace before he wrapped an arm around her waist and led them from the room.

Brenden’s hand clenched and unclenched as he watched the woman he wanted squirm from her date’s grasp. The monster within Brenden was tempted to come out of hiding. Determined not to succumb to the dark side, he did an about-face and set his sights back on Denaiu’s masterpiece. Replaying her interpretation made him think of the darkness still holding him hostage, and hoped one day he could find the light.