He didn’t reply. Instead he just stared at her, and she realized that the snobby receptionist must’ve been talking to her friend about Grayson. His intense eyes felt like they were looking right through her and reading all her dark secrets and desires. And the last thing Chloe wanted was someone discovering her dark secrets. She looked away and started organizing the paint tubes on the table by color. Who knew that there were so many shades of yellow?
“So what changed your mind?” he asked. “I believe your words were, ‘The last thing I’d want to do is be exploited by a paint-by-numbers billionaire.’”
She cringed. Obviously she’d been bitchier than she remembered. Instead of apologizing again, she tried a compliment. “Well, that was before I saw some of your work. You don’t exploit women as much as immortalize them.”
He snorted. “Sell that to someone else. You aren’t the type of woman who cares about being immortalized or famous.”
She finished organizing the paint tubes and centered the rubber ducky bouquet on the table before turning to him. “You’re right. I don’t want to be immortalized. In fact, I don’t want you to paint my face.”
His eyes studied her with their disconcerting intensity. “The last time you didn’t want your face shown, it had to do with bruises. What’s your reasoning this time?”
“I’m shy.”
His gaze sizzled down her body. “And yet you’re willing to strip naked for me.”
The possessive way he said for me had heat sweeping through her body, flushing her cheeks and settling in wet warmth beneath her Romeo panties. Annoyed by her reaction, she snapped, “Look, do you want to paint me or not?” She glanced at the divan. “It would have to be more exciting than painting a wormy apple.”
One of the things that annoyed her about Grayson was that she could never get a good read on his emotions. But for once she read the pain that crossed his handsome features extremely well. It flickered through the lavender fields of his eyes for just a moment before it was gone. He set down the paintbrush he’d been cleaning and moved out from behind the easel.
“Sorry you made the trip for nothing,” he said. “But I’ll have to pass. I don’t paint women anymore.” Then, without another word, he walked out.
Long after the door slammed, Chloe stood there feeling stunned. Not only because she wasn’t going to get the money she needed but also because of his parting words. He no longer painted naked women? It didn’t make sense. Anyone who saw one of his paintings knew that the man had been born to celebrate the beauty of a woman’s body. And now he was going to give that up to paint fruit?
Curious about what had changed his creative thinking, she stepped around the easel to study his painting. She expected to see a perfect, shiny red apple. Instead there was nothing on the canvas but a big black X.
It appeared that women weren’t the only things Grayson couldn’t paint.
CHAPTER TWO
Grayson had lost it. He knew this and had known it for the last six months. But he just hadn’t known how much he had lost it until Chloe McAlister had walked into his studio wanting to pose for him. Until that moment he’d thought there was a chance that he could pull himself back from the deep, dark abyss that threatened to consume him. After all, he was the levelheaded Beaumont, the one who could stay calm in any given situation. But he didn’t feel calm now. He felt as if he’d toppled right over the edge of insanity and was flailing around trying to grab on to anything that would save him from hitting rock bottom.
He headed for the elevators. He had just bought a brand-new Bugatti sports car, and he planned to drive until the desperate panic that clawed at his guts subsided. But on the way down to the parking garage, the elevator stopped at the lobby. And when one of French Kiss’s top models stepped in, he changed his plans.
“Gar-a-son?” Natalia said in her thick Russian accent. “Is that you? I had heard that Paris made you a little more…how do you say in English…hungry? Just look at you. You look like my uncle Bo-o-oris.” She stroked a hand over his beard. “But much younger and much sexier, of course.”
Grayson ignored the doors opening at the parking garage and pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She didn’t protest. The times he had painted her, she’d made it perfectly clear that any advance would be more than welcome.
“Oooh, you are hungry,” she whispered against his lips as she curled her arms around his neck and her leg around his waist. Grayson guided her back against the wall of the elevator.
He wanted to feel desire, or passion, anything that would stop the panic. But all he felt was disappointment. Not in Natalia. She was a beautiful woman and kissed like she modeled, with enthusiasm and heat. No, his disappointment was in himself for using her. He didn’t use women. At least he never had before.
He’d started to pull away and apologize when the elevator doors opened and he found himself looking into the big brown eyes that had started his downward spiral. Eyes that rolled up in disgust. At one time he had found the habit endearing. Not anymore. A road trip had cured him of any endearing thoughts toward the woman. Paint her naked? Not in this lifetime. He’d rather be locked in a closet with a rabid wolverine then spend hours in a studio with Chloe.
With his eyes still locked on hers, he deepened the kiss, causing Natalia to moan and Chloe to release an exasperated grunt as she stepped into the elevator.
Natalia finally noticed that they were no longer alone and stepped away. “Gar-a-son”—she swatted his chest—“you make me forget myself.” She turned her full model-smile on Chloe as she pushed the tenth-floor button. “What is it with American men and elevators?”
Chloe sent him the same look she always seemed to give him—hatred mixed with contempt—and pushed the button for the lobby. “I think it has to do with having a woman cornered with no means of escape.”
Natalia laughed. “Perhaps you are right.” She glanced at Grayson. “Although I have no desire to escape.” Only seconds later the elevator stopped, and she gave him a quick kiss on both cheeks before she got out. “I have to meet with Samuel in the design studio, but I should be done by five. Call me.”
Grayson should’ve gotten out with Natalia—not just to explain that he wouldn’t be meeting her later but also to get away from Chloe. Instead he watched the doors close and realized that now he had no means of escape.
“New girlfriend?” she asked.
She stepped closer, and just that quickly his creative brain became consumed with her perfect features. What oil paint colors would he need to mix to re-create the creamy porcelain of her skin? The flushed peach of her cheeks? The blooming rose of her lips? And if he used a thousand different shades ranging from burnt sienna to gold ochre, he would never completely capture the depth and entrancing beauty of her eyes. It was too bad that her beauty was only skin deep.
The thought had his logical brain regaining control, and his gaze moved to her choppy, uneven bangs. “New bad haircut?”
She fidgeted with her bangs. “I know. I really butchered it. I guess I should check beautician off my career list.” She shot him a glance. “So what happened in Paris to screw up your painting mojo?”