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CHAPTER 1
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Akiss?Seriously.
Baffled, Brooke put the paintbrush down, her gaze never leaving the painting she’d just finished. She was known for her “vividly realized oil landscape paintings,” as an art journal had once hailed one of her pieces. And recently, another critic had raved about her work, describing one of her paintings as “simple, bold forms expressed in strong strokes and richly saturated colors.”
Okay, lately, she’d moved away from only doing landscape painting and had begun to explore the human figure, but what she’d done on this canvas was something entirely different.
This was a kiss. No matter how or from which angle she looked at the finished work in front of her, there was no doubt about the subject matter.
The faces of the couple kissing were shadowy, their features indistinct, but they were kissing—that much was clear. Ardently kissing, to be precise. But gone were the “bold strokes and richly saturated colors.” Instead, muted hues created a dreamlike glow inside of which scratchy brushstrokes swirled around to form lips, kissing.
And why did the blurry features look so familiar?
With unsteady fingers, Brooke tried to comb back her hair. She hadn’t been sleeping well; that was probably the reason she was seeing things that weren’t there.
Irritated, she brushed another piece of hair out of her face. Why was her hair all over the place? Hadn’t she put it up in a ponytail that morning? Patting her head, she tried to find the scrunchie she’d used for the ponytail earlier. Where was it? Shaking her head, she dropped her hand. She couldn’t even remember, as she’d been so wrapped up in getting these images onto a canvas, in capturing the restlessness she’d been experiencing over the last few weeks. What she hadn’t expected, though, was that the end result would be...a kiss.
Grabbing a cloth to try to clean the worst of the paint on her hands, she checked the clock on the wall. Connor should be home soon.
She seriously didn’t have time for this. It was the second week in June, and there were still several paintings she had to finish for an exhibition in Seattle in the middle of July. The gallery in Livingston, the one that would be showcasing her work moving forward, also wanted more than the two paintings she was in the process of forwarding from a gallery in Missoula to them. On top of that, she and Connor would be moving to the ranch in two weeks’ time.
Schools were also about to close for the summer holidays, and when Connor was home, she didn’t get anything done during the day. She loved having her son around, but at nearly seven, her little boy had boundless energy and he kept her busy. Any work she was thinking of doing during summer break, she’d have to do once he went to sleep at night.
Determined, Brooke picked up the brush again. Okay, she hadn’t been kissed in a while. Quite a while, actually. That was probably the reason why her subconscious had conjured up this scene.
Fortunately, she had no qualms about changing a painting if she didn’t like the end result, and she definitely didn’t like this one. With a few strokes of her brush, she’d be able to transform it in seconds.
Purposefully, she moved toward the painting, but before she could bring the brush down, the door behind her flew open.
“I thought you must be painting; you didn’t even hear me knock! I’ve just been to my Pilates class and thought I’d better check and see whether there is still food in the house.”
It was her mother. Brooke swallowed a groan. Her mom had a knack for turning up at the least opportune moments and this was definitely one of those. The last thing she wanted to do was to try to explain what she’d just painted.
Moving so her body would, hopefully, shield the painting from her mom’s eyes, Brooke smiled. “Mom! So nice to see you. Come on, I’ll make tea—”
But her mother never missed a thing. Unceremoniously, she shoved Brooke out of the way. “I was wondering what’s keeping you so busy!” Clasping her hands together, she inhaled sharply. “Brooke...oh, my dear girl, this is so, so beautiful. Different from anything you’ve done before, but so powerful. Look at the emotion, the feeling, the heat. No wonder I’ve been struggling to get hold of you for days.”
“I don’t like it. I’m going to paint over it—”
Her mother turned on her, eyes blazing. “You’ll do no such thing! This is one of the best paintings you’ve ever done, and deep down, you know it. You simply must make this one part of your upcoming exhibition in Seattle. If you don’t want to do that, at least give it to the gallery in Missoula; they’ll be thrilled to add this to your collection. I’ll go with you—”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mom. I paint landscapes—”
“Yes, but you’ve been painting human figures, as well—”
“Those works are something entirely different.” Shaken, Brooke motioned toward the painting. “I have no idea where this one comes from, but it’s not something I’ll send to any gallery.”
“Of course, you will. Mark my words, people are going to be talking about this work for a long time.” She glanced back at it over her shoulder. “As for the subject matter—I don’t think it’s so strange for you to be thinking about kissing someone—”
“I’m not thinking of kissing anyone! Seriously, Mother!” Brooke exclaimed, more heatedly than she’d intended.
Her mother carried on as if she hadn’t spoken at all. “You’ve been alone since Adam’s passing three years ago, my dear. He was sweet, a wonderful husband to you and a great father to Connor, but it’s high time for you to think about kissing someone again.” Her eyes twinkled. “You’re right, your subconscious is definitely trying to tell you something. Maybe kissing someone like—”
“Don’t even say it, please, Mom, really—”
“—the very sexy Gavin Wilson.” Again, she glanced back at the painting. “I have to say, the one shadowy figure does look an awful lot like Gavin, don’t you think? And the woman?” She looked at Brooke. “She could be you.”
