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CHAPTER 14
His teeth tightly clenchedtogether, Gavin entered the gallery behind Charlie, Logan, Blake, Lindsay, and Eleanor.
He’d been at the office that morning when the rest of family had arrived for Brooke’s exhibition tonight. Over the last few days, he’d steadily become more and more ticked off with Brooke and had actually decided he wasn’t going to attend her opening night.
He’d tried to explain about Sarah; Brooke was the one who hadn’t read any of his messages when she still had her phone, the one who wouldn’t open her door when he’d just about broken it down knocking. She also hadn’t made any effort to communicate with him.
That had been the least she could do, damn it, after the night they’d spent together. But no, without giving him a chance to explain, she’d concluded he was going back to Sarah—what the hell?
Why hadn’t she talked to him? Okay, maybe he should’ve told her before he’d left to see Sarah he had no intention of ever going back to her, but Brooke should’ve known. They’d just gotten out of bed, making love, for crying out loud. With a sigh, he rubbed his face. Okay, in hindsight, he could see why she’d been ticked off that he’d left. In the shock of the moment, he hadn’t thought through how it would look from her perspective.
So here he was, showered and dressed for the occasion, looking forward to seeing her, touching her, kissing her. His sisters hadn’t even had to try to convince him to come. Brooke had him tied up in knots, and she was blithely unaware of it.
He looked down at the boy next to him. Connor had moved closer to him when they’d entered the gallery, and he now moved closer still. Smiling down at Connor, Gavin put a protective hand on his small back. There was a big crowd; he completely understood how overwhelming it might be for someone so close to the ground. Hell, he was overwhelmed.
“Oh, my darling girl outdid herself,” Eleanor was saying, her hands gripped tightly in front of her. “Look how magnificent.”
For the first time, Gavin looked at the paintings. His breath hitched in his throat, and for a moment, the whole room tilted around him.
Frame after frame showcased hazy figures making love. In some paintings, it was barely possible to recognize the couple, but if you looked closely, they were there—in the swirl of the paintbrush, in the stroke of the palette knife. And they were exactly as Eleanor had described them—magnificent.
As they stepped around a pillar, he searched for Brooke, but he didn’t see her anywhere, and when he turned back, his gaze fell on the two paintings behind a small podium.
Inhaling sharply, his heart just about jumped out of his chest. Every single painting was something special, but these two were glorious. The one he recognized immediately was the one he’d seen in her studio of two lovers kissing. In the other one, two lovers were sitting on a bed, facing one another just like...
It took him a few moments to process what he was looking at: she’d painted the two of them.
He remembered that particular moment when they’d been sitting just like that on her bed. The feeling of utter contentment he’d experienced then wasn’t something he’d ever forget. Being there with her, in that moment, had felt so right.
“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” someone observed.
He glanced toward a woman dressed in bright red who was now standing next to him. “Breathtaking.”
“Unfortunately, those two are not for sale. If you’re interested in buying any of Brooke’s works, rather do so sooner than later; they’re selling quickly. I’m the curator, by the way.”
“Hello, Michelle!” Eleanor interrupted as she approached them with outstretched arms. “I see you’ve met Gavin. Gavin, this is Michelle Martin, owner of the gallery and curator of Brooke’s exhibition. This is Gavin Wilson. You may recognize him?”
Michelle’s eyes twinkled. “I have, indeed.”
Gavin frowned. “What do you mean? We haven’t met before, have we?”
She motioned toward some of the paintings. “No, but I’ve seen you before tonight.”
He turned around, his gaze gliding around the room. He hadn’t noticed right away, but he and Brooke didn’t feature in just the one painting, but in every single one. All the paintings were about the two of them making love.
“Do you now understand why we wanted you to be here tonight?” Eleanor grinned.
“You mean you didn’t know?” Michelle asked.
Well, hell. It was one thing to know Brooke had painted them; it was something entirely different to have to talk about it to a complete stranger.
He pointed toward the two paintings behind the podium. “I want to buy those two.”
“As I’ve said...”
“I insist. Talk to Brooke. If she won’t budge, tell her I’d like to talk to her.”
