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He wasn’t in bed, now. He was painting. Of course, that was what he had to be doing.
If she hadn’t been distracted by that kiss and her newfound feelings for him she would have remembered their conversation in the diner sooner.
Throwing off the covers, Jessie paced to the room’s en suite bathroom and ran herself a glass of water. What did he paint? Whether or not he had any talent, he was certainly dedicated. He was at it every afternoon and most of the night.
Draining the glass, Jessie rinsed it out and walked back across the deep pile carpet to the bedroom window. She peeked out of the curtains. She felt silly, like an over-eager schoolgirl, fantasising about her first major crush and spying on him in the middle of the night. But she couldn’t help it. This intriguing new turn of events only made him all the more irresistible.
His lights were still on.
She was dying to see what he was doing. After all, art was her passion, too.
When she’d left college, she’d kidded herself for a whole year that she was destined to take the art world by storm.
After a series of rejections, though, from a string of different galleries, she’d had to admit that, although she was passionate about art, her talent—like her portfolio—had been woefully inadequate.
It wasn’t that she was dreadful; she just wasn’t ever going to be great. Being able to see her own inadequacies had been her curse, she’d thought this spring, when she’d finally given up her job as a layout designer in a tiny print shop in Soho.
She’d been miserable doing the mundane, boring designs for pamphlets. Not only did it waste what little design talent she had, it was also a million miles from the beauty and elegance that she’d once hoped to embrace.
When Ali and Linc had asked her to come out to America for the summer and help out with Emmy while Ali awaited the birth of her second child, she’d jumped at the chance. It would be a chance to forget about her miserable failure with Toby as well as her pathetic attempt to start a career as a designer. Linc had also arranged a working visa, so she could ‘keep her options open,’ as he put it.
Being with Ali’s family had lifted her spirits and now that she had her new job at the little gallery in Cranford, she finally felt as if she weren’t spinning her wheels any more. She was starting afresh at last. Time to get a new master plan. Maybe this was where her talent lay—in the appreciation of art.
Jessie let the curtain fall back down. But how the heck was she going to make a life’s work out of it if she had an artist living in the same house as her—or as good as—and it had taken her over a week to figure it out? Okay, so she had been slightly distracted by other things where Monroe was concerned, but really. It was totally pathetic.
Whipping the sheet back and climbing into bed, Jessie was struck by the sight of Monroe that evening when he had sai
d goodbye to her. That cocky grin back in place.
Well, okay, so Monroe had a pretty devastating effect on her, but she ought to be able to ask the guy to let her have a look at his work. Fluffing up her pillow, she plopped her head down on it. She would march over to his apartment tomorrow when she got back from work and demand to see what he was painting. How hard could it be?
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘MONROE, we need to talk.’ Linc’s face was set, his voice firm.
‘Yeah, what about?’ Monroe raised an eyebrow. He didn’t like it. They were standing in the kitchen of the main house. It was Saturday morning and, after the unsettling feelings stirred at last night’s barbecue, the last thing he needed now was a brother-to-brother chat.
‘Here.’ Reaching into the fridge, Linc took out two frosty Pepsis and handed one across the breakfast bar. ‘Take this and sit down.’
Monroe hooked a leg over the stool and opened his soda. He took a long drag, he’d been repairing the deer fencing most of the morning and his mouth felt as if he’d been chewing sand.
‘What’s the problem?’ Monroe was glad to hear the easy confidence back in his voice.
Jessie had spooked him pretty bad the night before with that crack about him being scared of people caring. He’d spent the night painting—and thinking hard about what she’d said. It had taken a while for him to sort it out—too damn long, in fact—but everything was cool now.
Why should Jessie’s comment bother him? She didn’t know him. Nobody did. By the early hours of the morning, he’d managed to dismiss what she’d said and think about what had happened after.
Jessie had made it pretty clear she might be interested in a little fun. Given that, and the fact that she turned him inside out with lust, it was going to be impossible for him to ignore her for much longer. But fun was all it would be. Simple and uncomplicated. He could give her a good time. He just had to make sure she understood fun was all it would be.
‘I want you to stop mowing the lawn.’ The sharp tone of Linc’s voice brought Monroe back to the matter at hand. Linc took a sip of his Pepsi, the movement jerky and tense. ‘And tuning the damn cars, and working so hard around the place, for heaven’s sake.’
‘The BMW needed a tune.’ Monroe kept his tone casual. ‘I can’t believe you’d treat such a beautiful machine with such little respect.’
Linc slammed his can down, knocking over one of the framed snapshots perched at the end of the breakfast bar. ‘The damn car’s never run better in years. That’s not the point and you know it. You’re a guest here. I don’t want you working to pay your way.’
Monroe took another sip, watched his brother over the rim. ‘I’m not a freeloader, Linc. I told you that from the get-go. Either you accept the work or I’m out of here.’
‘Hell.’ Linc drank down the last of the small can, crushed it in one hand and flung it in the trash.
