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Grayson didn’t get the joke. Of course, he never got the joke when it came to his art. “If her body doesn’t work naked, it won’t work clothed.” He put the canvas back on the easel and studied it. “Like I told Deacon, it’s not about getting the right lingerie as much as getting the right woman to display it. And Natalia is just not right.”
“She looks pretty perfect to me. Just choose her, Gray, and be done with it.”
Grayson shook his head. “Perfect isn’t what I want for the cover of the new catalog. I want… imperfect perfection.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
He cleaned off his paintbrush. “It means that I’m still looking for the right cover model.”
“Well, you better hurry up, little brother. If you don’t find someone soon, Deacon is going to find her for you.”
“I know. I have another group of models coming in tomorrow.” He released a long sigh that had Nash laughing.
“What a tough life you have, Gray.”
Grayson grinned. “Yeah, it is, isn’t it? And speaking of tough lives, what has you so tense lately? And don’t give me any crap about bra sales being down. Deacon is the one who worries about business. You usually don’t worry about anything.”
“What makes you think I’m tense?”
Grayson studied him. While all the Beaumont brothers had the same color eyes as their mother, Grayson’s eyes were also the exact shape with a clearness that made you feel as if they could delve into your deepest secrets. But Nash had worked too hard to keep his pain from his brothers to let any of it show now. So he told a half-truth to throw Grayson off.
“I met a girl. She’s a bartender.” That much was true. The escort part he would keep to himself.
Grayson tipped his head back and laughed. “It figures. You’re surrounded with supermodels day in and day out, and you choose a bartender.” He gave Nash the once-over. “So are you trying to impress her by dressing the part of an executive billionaire?”
“No, I’m not trying to impress her.” He walked to the windows. The view wasn’t as nice as the view from Deacon’s office. He couldn’t see the Golden Gate Bridge. But he could see an edge of the hotel where he’d given Eden her first orgasm. And if that wasn’t trying to impress a woman, he didn’t know what was. But little good it did him when he threw her out before she’d even come down from her high. He ran a hand through his hair. Damn, hewasscrewed up.
“So I guess this girl is different,” Grayson said.
Nash had to concede the point. Eden was different. She was an anomaly that he couldn’t seem to figure out. For an escort, she didn’t take orders well. She was sassy. And she had walked out of the room and forgotten to take the four thousand he’d left on the dresser. Or not forgotten. Escorts didn’t forget money. She had just chosen to leave it. Which made no sense whatsoever. She must need money if her side job was bartending.
Unless… she viewed her orgasm as being worth four thousand dollars. In which case, she had turned the tables and made him the hooker.
He turned back to Grayson. “Yeah, she’s different, all right.”
“By the sad-sack look on your face, I’m going to make a guess and say her difference lies in the fact that she’s unaffected by the Beaumont magnetic charm.”
Nash snorted. “You’re starting to sound like Dad. We both know that the Beaumonts have no more power over women than any other man.”
“Maybe Deacon and I don’t. But you’ve always had something, Nash. All you had to do back in Louisiana was smile, and the women flocked to you like ducks to a pond. And now you’re telling me that there’s a girl on God’s green earth that doesn’t like you?” One side of Grayson’s mouth quirked in a smirk. “I must meet this woman. Where does she bartend?”
Realizing his mistake in telling his little brother anything about Eden, Nash paused and tried to come up with a good lie.
Fortunately, Grayson wasn’t one to push things. “Okay,” he said, “if you want to keep her a secret, I’ll honor that. You want to get some takeout tonight? The LSU basketball game is on.”
Nash headed for the door. “That’s sounds good, but I’ve had enough takeout. I’ll cook. You want tacos or lasagna?”
“Tacos, and if you go to the store, get some more sardines for Jonathan Livingston. He ate the last can this morning.”
Nash shook his head. “We really have lost our redneck cards. We’ve gone from owning hunting dogs to owning a seagull that craps on our balcony. We should shoot the damned bird and be done with it.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Grayson said. “Olivia will skin you alive if you hurt that bird. He was her pet long before we moved into her house.”
Once Nash left Grayson’s studio, he went back to his office and tried to concentrate on work, but his gaze kept returning to the digital time displayed in the upper right-hand corner of his computer. Every second ticked closer and closer to happy hour at The Lemon Drop. But he wasn’t going. He damned well refused to go. He’d done what he set out to do. He’d given her an orgasm. And in return, she’d given him a permanent hard-on. One that was only going to get worse if he saw her again.
A knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts. He turned to find the UPS guy standing there.
“Mrs. Beaumont said you had a package for me,” he said.
