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“I like your Snoopy T-shirt better.” It was fern green and matched her eyes.
“Feel free to wear it whenever you like.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her to let her know he wasn’t impressed by her comeback. Although, to be honest, he was a little. “What’s up?”
“Have you checked your email today?”
“Why would I do that?” It was full of people begging him to exhibit or to paint something new for them. He didn’t need that kind of pressure. “I put you in charge of my email.”
She huffed out a sigh, and he found himself mesmerised by that bow of her top lip again. The curve was sublime. Actually, come to think of it, Donna was full of curves. Knowing women, she probably thought she was fat, but to an artist’s eye—purely objectively, of course—he would term her more Rubenesque. Yes, he could see her in a decadent painting by Ruben, all plump flesh and come-hither gaze.
She stepped to the side, and the light from the open window caught her hair, making the many tones within it come alive in a halo of warmth around her face. His breath hitched. Not a Ruben, more like the carefree models in a Renoir. He could imagine her painted in wild, swirling strokes of colour that flowed out from her, carrying sensuality and softness into every corner of the canvas.
He was doing it again.
Planning paintings that revolved around Donna. He could even feel the tingling in his fingertips as they itched to move over canvas, spreading paint in their wake. His hands suddenly felt empty because they didn’t hold a brush, and he wanted to feel the texture of charcoal dragging over paper again. He felt the pressure of need building inside him and knew that soon, no matter what crazy objections he might have, he’d have to paint again.
And he wanted to paint Donna when he did.
“Are you listening to me?” she said.
He blinked at her, feeling as though he was coming out of a daze. “No.”
“Duncan.” She let out a gentle sigh. “Are you okay? Is today a hard day?”
Aye, it was. But probably not in the way she meant, and he hated to see the sympathy in her eyes. He wanted to see them blazing, the way they did when he annoyed her. That was when the soft green came to life and sparkled like emeralds. He’d render those eyes in Winsor Emerald, with a splash of Chrome Green and a touch of Cobalt Green. He shook his head to clear it.
“This damn house is closing in on me,” he said gruffly. Surprised that he gave her any explanation at all.
Her reaction was not what he expected. She barked out a laugh and her eyes danced. “This house is over eight thousand square feet. You could run a marathon through the corridors. There’s even a room that’s made entirely of
glass. Not your usual set-up for claustrophobia.”
She had a point. He felt the tension in his spine ease somewhat. “What were you saying?”
“There’s an email from Glasgow School of Art, they want you to take part in their visiting lecturer programme.”
“No.”
“You always say no. You sound like a toddler who’s only just learned the word. I think you should do it.”
Duncan stilled as he studied her. There was nothing in her demeanour to set alarm bells ringing in his head, yet they were blaring. “I don’t remember asking your opinion.”
“You never ask for it, but that’s okay because I’m happy to give it anyway. I think you should go to Glasgow and talk at your old college. Weren’t you just saying the walls are closing in on you? This is the perfect opportunity to get out there again.”
The bells in his head turned into wailing sirens. “Why are you so keen to get me out of the mansion?”
Her eyes widened further. A sure sign she was up to something. “I don’t care either way whether or not you leave the mansion.”
Aye, and she probably had a bridge somewhere she wanted to sell him too. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing.” A faint flush reddened her cheeks. “You’re so suspicious. Is it wrong that I think it would do you good to get away from the mansion for the day?”
“And spend it talking to a bunch of baby artists with stars in their eyes. No thanks.”
“What about giving back to the art community and doing your bit to encourage the next generation? What about getting out of the house and giving your staff a break from your angst?”
Her smile was sweet, distracting him enough that it took a second for the last question to register. “If the staff don’t like my angst, they can shov—”
