Greer hadn’t been kissed in a long time, and now she was kissing someone when her ex-boyfriend was nearby. Tacky. Totally tacky. Except that all day she’d had to endure Wesley and Serena’s cute couple-ness, right?
And this kiss was too good to turn down. The heat level was so off the charts, it made no sense. She’d have to find a rational reason for it later. Meanwhile, needs were needs. They trumped logic every time.
She couldn’t help little moans escaping her throat. Ford What’s-His-Name—what was his last name?—knew how to kiss. She put her hands on the back of his neck, beneath his waves of silky hair, and caressed warm skin over taut muscle and tendon with her fingertips. She was glad she’d only recently buffed her nails. His lipwork somehow got even better in response, and he took some liberties with his tongue that were way beyond first-kiss caliber.
She loved every second of it.
A makeout session at The Rooftop. Who ever thought Greer Jones would participate in such a public display of affection? Although she couldn’t really say affection … she liked Ford a lot, but she didn’t know why and didn’t want to examine why. True affection had to come from someplace deeper, a place where you were willing to go, and the object of your affection had to prove himself worthy of that feeling.
It would be more accurate to say she lusted after Ford.
That was it.
Finally, they both pulled back—it was during a kiss that slid off into nothing, one of those that went from sheer exuberance to sexual frustration because they’d reached the limits of what they could do without getting arrested. They were both sort of panting.
Greer looked up. She couldn’t see Serena or Wesley. Jill, on the other hand, shot her a wink from across the rooftop.
“I have a proposition for you,” he said.
“I can guess what it might be,” she murmured, propping her chin on her hand, her elbow on the tabletop. She was thankful Jill hadn’t installed the “Working Diva Without a Man” theme yet in her bedroom.
“It’s not that,” he said. “Although don’t get me wrong. I’d love to. You’re beautiful. Fun. Sexy.”
She grinned. “Wow, thanks.”
“Which is why.…”
She leaned forward. “What?”
“I’d love to paint you,” Ford said.
“Me?” She couldn’t believe it.
“Yes, you.”
Her mind was blown. “But … why?”
“All I know is that I get a feeling, and if I can’t shake it, I go for it. I paint whoever or whatever inspires me to get to the easel. Usually by the time I’m done, some wrinkle has been smoothed out in my psyche. But I never know what it’s going to be.”
She was still tongue-tied.
“So, what do you think?” His face was alight with enthusiasm. “It would require a commitment. Painting a portrait is time consuming.”
She felt mixed up inside. “I don’t know.”
“You want to look at my Web site first, and then get back to me?” he asked.
“It sounds amazing,” she said, “but I’m busy. I have to stay super-organized to be able to carry off what I do at Two Love Lane. I don’t have time to … to pose for a portrait. It sounds like something from olden times.”
“It’s true you have to make time. And you don’t move around.”
“I don’t know if I could handle that.”
He lifted his palms and dropped them. “From the first moment I saw you at the coffee shop this morning, I wanted to paint you.”
“You saw me there?”
“Yes. And I followed you to the auction.”
“Oh, my God,” she said, her hand on her heart.
“I’m not a stalker,” he said. “I’m a painter. And there was something about you…”
She laughed. “I suppose I’m flattered. But then you left me at the auction.”
“You weren’t exactly tuned into me. You were more into royal artifacts.” He paused. “My bad, as you say here in America, for backing down.”
“I’ll grant you that I wasn’t in the mood to talk. But then you saw me again, and didn’t ask then, either.”
“But we were with Wesley and Serena. I should have got your number, but it was an uncomfortable situation.”
“To say the least.”
“I knew where you worked—you told me yourself at the auction—and I decided to go see you there. But I didn’t have to. We met up tonight. Sheer luck.”
She lofted a brow. “The question is, what kind of luck—good or bad?”
“As yet to be determined,” he said, and leaned closer. “I didn’t plan that kiss. Honestly. But it worked, didn’t it? You looked busy and happy and completely over Wesley.”
“True. For a deflection strategy, it worked well. And it happened to be really, really good.” She drained her glass. Her heart was beating super-fast.
“I thought so, too,” he said.
A beat of silence passed, a thoughtful silence. Greer was thinking about sex. And portraits. She suspected Ford was, too.
“What do you think?” he asked her. “Will you say yes? This painting will go in a show in Manchester, England. An important one.”
Pierre’s gloating over winning the wedding gown, The Price Is Right, Miss Thing’s speech about taking risks, the shock of seeing Wesley, Serena’s adorableness, Ford’s hot-as-hell kiss … all of it conspired to give Greer an idea that would qualify as Miss Thing’s requirement for her to “do something crazy.”
She took out her phone. Fiddled with it.
“What are you doing?” he asked her.
“Turning this into an opportunity.”
“How so?”
She looked up. “I have fifteen minutes to get to La Di Da and sign up in the contest to win that dress. I could go without you, but in case Pierre challenges me, I’d like you there, please. As a friend.”
“I’m not following your logic. You’re not getting married. At the auction you said this dress was only an investment opportunity. But now you want it so badly? Why?”
“Because the heart wants what it wants,” she said. “You get that. You want me. At least as a painting subject. And you can’t explain it, right?”
“True, but I’m still not sure about this contest idea.”
“I’m a future bride,” she said. “The contest description never said I actually had to have a partner at this point in time to enter.”
“Wait a minute … give me that leaflet again.” He reread it and looked up. “You’re right. You should have been a lawyer.”
“Being logical is a strong point for me.”
“This isn’t logical. This is you following a yen. How many women pursue wedding gowns when they have no partner?”
“Just go to Pinterest and see,” she said. “Plenty of women have their entire weddings planned out before they find true love. It’s a thing.”
“That’s a thing?”
“Sure! So while I do me—with you as my supportive friend by my side, because this is going to be a little daunting—you can do you and paint me. I’ll get half an hour of support from you tonight. And who knows how many hours of posing you’ll get from me. I’ll pose as long as it takes for you to finish, if you can be flexible about my schedule.”
“I’m going to need to work fast. So I might be demanding of your time. I’m not sure that I can be entirely flexible.”
“Okay, so we’ll meet in the middle. Because to tell you the truth, Ford, I’m not sure how much work this contest will entail, either. I’m going to enter as a partnerless bride, but I might need some rabble-rousers cheering me on in the background. Are you in?”
“I’m in,” he said.
They shook on it.