“Say what?”
Making air quotes with her fingers, she said, “My work.” She shrugged. “I have some paintings I can show you. Nothing serious. Just...whimsy.” Snagging his hand, she pulled him from the chair and started for the living room. “I’ll give you one minute to look, then you have promises to keep. Or maybe I have promises since I did say I’d seduce you, not the other way around.”
He went along, loving how her backside looked in nothing more than those sexy little panties that showed as much as they hid. When she stopped and gestured at the wall, his eyes refocused on the artwork he’d noticed before, and then widened.
No way. “You did these?”
“Yup.”
He dragged his attention away from the artwork to better scrutinize Vanity. She had her fingers laced together, her eyes downcast. Modesty?
She had no reason for it. Putting his arm around her, he pulled her into his side and went back to the paintings. “These are amazing.”
“Really?”
He nodded at the cottage. “It’s personal to you?”
Her face lit up. “That you realize that is a huge compliment.”
“I can see it in the way you’ve painted it. It looks like...” He searched for a word and settled on, “Home.” Only that didn’t make any sense. She claimed to be rich, and the cottage, while not exactly small, wasn’t the home of the wealthy or elite.
Leaning her head on his shoulder, Vanity went silent. When she finally spoke, something in her voice told him this was important to her. “The house is where our gardener, Carl, used to stay before he died. I loved it. He always had something blooming. Even in the winter he’d grow bulbs indoors and in his small greenhouse.”
She looked at the painting; Stack looked at her. “You had a gardener?”
“We had a lot of staff, but Carl was my favorite.”
The way she stared at the painting, with memories in her eyes, told him things she hadn’t said.
She turned her face up to his. “Carl showed me how to plant gardens so that something would always be in bloom. We experimented around the cottage.” Her smile flickered with a memory, then went sad. “When he died, my parents hired a landscaping company instead. They didn’t live on the premises, so the house went empty.”
Sad. “You kept planting flowers there?” In his gut, Stack already knew the answer.
“Yes.” She eased away and plastered on a very phony smile that didn’t fool him and didn’t reach her eyes. “I moved into the cottage for a while. My rebellious stage, according to my mother. But it was such a nice little cabin, cozier and warmer than our house.” She looked at the picture again, then moved on to the next. “These are hybrid roses he helped me to grow.”
Stack watched her touch the painting of a trellis that should have been run-of-the-mill artwork, except that...it wasn’t. Not being an art critic or authority, he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was about the roses. But he liked the way she’d painted the sunlight behind the petals. The image looked as though it’d be warm and velvety to the touch.
Like Vanity.
On the other side of the cottage painting was another depiction of flowers, these a mix of wild colors and patterns.
“We planted these behind the cottage, where my parents wouldn’t see. They always told me wildflowers were weeds, but Carl would say they were painted by God’s hand.”
She looked at Stack, and something twisted inside him when he saw the sheen in her eyes.
She didn’t cry. Vanity wouldn’t. She had this thing about proving her strength that was both endearing and provoking.
“He said that about the sunrise and sunset, too. And stormy skies or clear skies, fall leaves or the spring buds...” Her smile, a genuine one this time, made him smile, as well. “Carl loved nature, so he had the perfect job.”
Stack touched her cheek. “And you loved Carl?”
She swallowed, searched his face, then gave one short nod.
“You have other paintings here?”
Gesturing to the side, she said, “A few. In the basement. But—”
Stack took her hand and got her moving back toward the kitchen. “I want to see.”
She tried to protest, but he kept her going. For the first time, he felt he was actually starting to know what made Vanity tick, and damned if it didn’t fascinate him.
She fascinated him, in bed and out. He wanted to know all the complicated, contrasting facets of her personality. And he wanted more time to explore her sexually. One way or another, he’d figure it out—and along the way he’d learn all her secrets.
Making air quotes with her fingers, she said, “My work.” She shrugged. “I have some paintings I can show you. Nothing serious. Just...whimsy.” Snagging his hand, she pulled him from the chair and started for the living room. “I’ll give you one minute to look, then you have promises to keep. Or maybe I have promises since I did say I’d seduce you, not the other way around.”
He went along, loving how her backside looked in nothing more than those sexy little panties that showed as much as they hid. When she stopped and gestured at the wall, his eyes refocused on the artwork he’d noticed before, and then widened.
No way. “You did these?”
“Yup.”
He dragged his attention away from the artwork to better scrutinize Vanity. She had her fingers laced together, her eyes downcast. Modesty?
She had no reason for it. Putting his arm around her, he pulled her into his side and went back to the paintings. “These are amazing.”
“Really?”
He nodded at the cottage. “It’s personal to you?”
Her face lit up. “That you realize that is a huge compliment.”
“I can see it in the way you’ve painted it. It looks like...” He searched for a word and settled on, “Home.” Only that didn’t make any sense. She claimed to be rich, and the cottage, while not exactly small, wasn’t the home of the wealthy or elite.
Leaning her head on his shoulder, Vanity went silent. When she finally spoke, something in her voice told him this was important to her. “The house is where our gardener, Carl, used to stay before he died. I loved it. He always had something blooming. Even in the winter he’d grow bulbs indoors and in his small greenhouse.”
She looked at the painting; Stack looked at her. “You had a gardener?”
“We had a lot of staff, but Carl was my favorite.”
The way she stared at the painting, with memories in her eyes, told him things she hadn’t said.
She turned her face up to his. “Carl showed me how to plant gardens so that something would always be in bloom. We experimented around the cottage.” Her smile flickered with a memory, then went sad. “When he died, my parents hired a landscaping company instead. They didn’t live on the premises, so the house went empty.”
Sad. “You kept planting flowers there?” In his gut, Stack already knew the answer.
“Yes.” She eased away and plastered on a very phony smile that didn’t fool him and didn’t reach her eyes. “I moved into the cottage for a while. My rebellious stage, according to my mother. But it was such a nice little cabin, cozier and warmer than our house.” She looked at the picture again, then moved on to the next. “These are hybrid roses he helped me to grow.”
Stack watched her touch the painting of a trellis that should have been run-of-the-mill artwork, except that...it wasn’t. Not being an art critic or authority, he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was about the roses. But he liked the way she’d painted the sunlight behind the petals. The image looked as though it’d be warm and velvety to the touch.
Like Vanity.
On the other side of the cottage painting was another depiction of flowers, these a mix of wild colors and patterns.
“We planted these behind the cottage, where my parents wouldn’t see. They always told me wildflowers were weeds, but Carl would say they were painted by God’s hand.”
She looked at Stack, and something twisted inside him when he saw the sheen in her eyes.
She didn’t cry. Vanity wouldn’t. She had this thing about proving her strength that was both endearing and provoking.
“He said that about the sunrise and sunset, too. And stormy skies or clear skies, fall leaves or the spring buds...” Her smile, a genuine one this time, made him smile, as well. “Carl loved nature, so he had the perfect job.”
Stack touched her cheek. “And you loved Carl?”
She swallowed, searched his face, then gave one short nod.
“You have other paintings here?”
Gesturing to the side, she said, “A few. In the basement. But—”
Stack took her hand and got her moving back toward the kitchen. “I want to see.”
She tried to protest, but he kept her going. For the first time, he felt he was actually starting to know what made Vanity tick, and damned if it didn’t fascinate him.
She fascinated him, in bed and out. He wanted to know all the complicated, contrasting facets of her personality. And he wanted more time to explore her sexually. One way or another, he’d figure it out—and along the way he’d learn all her secrets.
