Thoughts of Wes and his ulterior motives momentarily vanished as she lost herself in the story. A man falling in love with a dead woman simply by seeing an oil painting…She sighed. The best part of the movie was when the detective discovered that the woman wasn’t dead, but that a friend of hers had been killed when the murderer mistook her for the heroine of the story. It was a love story disguised as a harsh film noir.
As the detective on the screen started interviewing suspects, Callie lifted the armrest to her right and used the two empty chairs next to the window to stretch her legs out and then she rested her head in one hand. The weight of a gaze settled on her, and she tried not to look to her left. He was staring at her. Finally she couldn’t stand it anymore and glanced his way. He was in the most relaxed pose she’d ever seen him in. His legs were stretched out, his papers put away, and he was leaning his left elbow on the armrest. He rested his chin in his hand as he continued to gaze at her. Much like she knew a lion watched a grazing gazelle. Content for now to observe. It was only a matter of time before he struck. Her heart fluttered wildly and her blood began to pound in her ears. She was in serious trouble.
Chapter 4
She couldn’t think straight with him staring at her like that, all brooding and quiet intensity.
Clearing her throat, she attempted to start a conversation, even though the movie played softly in the background.
“Is Wes short for Wesley?” Where she found the courage to ask him that she wasn’t sure. She assumed it had to be, but it was like he’d said, they hadn’t really talked before, not unless it was about his sister or Fenn.
He held out a hand palm up, and she set the cuff links into his hand. “Yes. Wesley. It’s a family name. My grandfather’s.”
“Really? Did you know him?” She’d been too young to remember either set of her grandparents before they’d passed away.
Wes pocketed his cuff links and smiled. It was a small smile, but very warm and almost sweet. In the short span of time she’d known Wes, she’d never seen him look so affectionate. He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it, seeming unaware that he’d made a delightful mess of his normally combed-back hair. Callie liked it. It made him more approachable, less perfect. He was way too perfect.
“My grandfather is an old bear. I mean that in a good way. He is big and gruff, but a good man. He used to smoke Cuban cigars and drink cognac every Friday night, and I would sneak out of bed and go to his study. We’d sit in two wingback chairs by the fire, and he would tell me about the old days. He served in the navy during World War II. His stories kept me spellbound.”
Callie loved seeing Wes’s eyes soften and his lips move as he talked.
“He sounds wonderful,” she replied.
“He was. He was the one who taught me to love art.” Wes leaned forward in his seat and rested his elbows on his knees. “How did you come to love art so much? When Hayden first showed me your paintings at the ranch, I was astounded at the talent.”
She swallowed and heat flooded her face. He thought she was talented? Was he really serious about the bet they’d made? About getting her into art school? He had to be. She didn’t think Wes was a man who didn’t keep his promises.
“I don’t know how it started,” she admitted. “When I was little, after my mother died when I was four, I just kept thinking I wished I knew what she looked like because I couldn’t remember. So I started finding my father’s photographs and drawing her as much as I could. I didn’t want to forget her face.” She’d never told anyone that before. It was a secret she’d kept hidden even from her father because it felt too sad and yet important at the same time and she didn’t want to remind him of what he’d lost. Some loves hurt too much. She’d learned that the hard way.
“There can be no real art without pain.” Wes’s voice was low and gentle, and the intensity of his gaze had softened. “Someone who has never lived their life will never know what the depth of colors can evoke on a canvas or how to paint a scene that would move even the hardest of hearts.”
“Even yours?” she teased without thinking and then clamped her mouth shut in embarrassment.
He only laughed. “Even mine.”
Wes seemed to catch himself and he looked at his watch. “We have another couple of hours. The movie is almost over. Would you like to watch another?”
Almost over? She blinked. She missed her favorite movie because she’d been in a tortured state of distraction. Each time he’d shifted his body, or talked to her, she’d been so aware of her own body. It was strange, the way she couldn’t stop watching him, the way he positioned his body, stretched his legs out, or folded his arms.
“Well? What do you say? Another one?”
“Sure, but you pick this time since you seemed to know I wanted to watch Laura.” She had to admit, she was dying of curiosity, wondering what he would choose. The array of movies in the cabinet either indicated a wide variety of Wes’s interests, or it might be that they were his sister’s movies, since Callie knew Hayden loved movies.
Wes steepled his fingers, watching her for a long moment, as though the choice in movie would be found on her face. Then he got up and knelt by the cabinet and selected one. Because he was using his body to shield the case from her, she had to wait for him to hit play before she’d know what he picked. Wes sat back in his chair, but reached underneath the seat and pulled out a small pillow.
“Here, take this. If you want to stretch out, it works well on the armrest.”
She took the pillow hesitantly, measuring the row of seats they were on. If she lay down, she’d end up close to his lap. The idea sparked a wave of longing inside her. What would it be like to be so intimate with someone that you could do that? To rest comfortably against them and sleep. She couldn’t imagine. That was the price of being a virgin. And it sucked. Once, when she’d been fifteen, she’d been out late in town with Fenn, and he’d driven them home in his truck. She’d fallen asleep, her head resting on his shoulder. A deep sense of peace and warmth filled her. She trusted him, loved him, and it had been wonderful, except it had only mattered to her. Not to Fenn.
“What’s the matter?” Wes’s voice broke through the creeping gray ache in her chest.
“What?” she asked, voice a little husky as she sought to hide her pain and the way it choked her.
“You seem…upset. I didn’t mean to…” Wes trailed off, his blue eyes so dark they seemed almost onyx. It was clear, by the tic working in his jaw, that he was uncomfortable with the idea of upsetting her. Something softened in her chest toward this brooding, intense man. Maybe he didn’t know he was arrogant and rude and that he ran roughshod over people. He was probably used to people scrambling out of the way when he strode past. Well, he wasn’t going to make her cower, whether he meant to or not, nor would he frighten her.
She fluffed the pillow and set it on the armrest between her and Wes and then settled in, getting comfy. The credits appeared on the screen and the swell of a familiar love song gave her goose bumps. When the title appeared, her entire body went still and for a second she couldn’t breathe.
An Affair to Remember.
He’d picked that movie on purpose. He was sending her a message about the bet. The man was too cocky, but for some reason it made her want to laugh.
The idea of having an affair with him, well, she admitted it would be memorable. The certainty of it made her tremble. As much as she wanted to believe she was going to win this wager, she knew it was going to get harder and harder to fight her fascination and attraction to him. Could she sleep with him and not let her heart get involved? That was what worried her more than any bet. A little shiver rippled through her.