She waited a beat, then nodded once. He started to walk and she reluctantly followed. They walked past piece after piece until he stopped in front of one that knocked the air from her lungs. It wasn’t the artwork that had her holding in emotion, but the simple fact that Jameson stared, rapt, at a painting of the little girl he helped create. Blush-pink and brown swirled into dark hair; pale yellow skin; eyes a mystic blue. A profile, hair whipping across her face, gaze looking straight into the soul of its observer.
Daisy swallowed hard and thought, if she were a stronger woman she’d tell him that this girl was a part of him and the kindest child to ever grace the earth. Her wit was unparalleled to any girl her age and her heart, it was filled with joy andgratitude. She was a helper when wanted and a listener when needed. She cried tears of happiness almost as much as she cried tears of sorrow. She was the best thing that ever happened to Daisy. She was her anchor, her lifesaver. And without her, the world would be just a little less bright.
“Who is she?”
But Daisy wasn’t a stronger woman; she was a smart one, one who would protect her daughter at all costs. “I don’t know. The piece is calledInnocence. I was just painting a child that exuded that word, that’s all.”
He stepped closer to study it, and Daisy worried he’d recognize the dimple, or the blue that matched his own. He didn’t ask again. Instead, he shifted to the canvas beside it.
“What about this?”
Relief and a short laugh escaped her. “Intrigued? Something you need to tell me?”
“What? No.”
She looked at the painting of a bare-chested man, abdominal lines enhanced by pastel. “It is appealing, Jameson. You know I wouldn’t care.”
“And you’ll never need to.” He leaned in, close enough that she caught spearmint on his breath. “I like women. Always have, always will.”
Her body woke up. His closeness beckoned her. With him, the room always fell away.
That was the danger.
She dragged her gaze off his. She wouldn’t be lured back into old feelings. Those were lies.
“It’s my boyfriend.”
“Hmm?” he murmured, as if he hadn’t heard her. She backed away and refocused her attention on the art.
“The painting. It’s inspired by my boyfriend.”
He didn’t move. “Oh. I had no idea.”
“That’s because you never asked.”
“Maybe I didn’t want to know.”
She ignored that. “His name is Matt. He’s a sports agent. We’ve been together for three years.”
“That’s a long time. Congratulations,” he said, flat.
“Thank you. He’s a good one.”
“And where is this boyfriend tonight?”
“He splits time between San Francisco and New York. He’s there now,” she uttered, while trying to hide her discomfort.
He should be here, she thought.Complicated or not, he should have come.
“Too bad this ‘good one’ couldn’t make his girlfriend’s big night,” Jameson said. “What a shame.”
Daisy bristled, defending a relationship that, at the moment, barely existed, at least until he was back. “He works hard. We do long-distance. Plus the whole absence makes the heart grow fonder thing?”
He nodded once suspiciously.
“Let’s just say the heart isn’t the only thing growing fonder.”
He cringed, and not subtly either. His mouth turned into an ugly frown while his brows knit close together and his golden face bared a hint of red.
