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“Gar-a-a-son?” Natalia said in her thick Russian accent. “Is that you? I had heard that Paris made you a little more… how do you say in English… hungry? Just look at you. You look like my Uncle Bo-o-oris.” She stroked a hand over the stubble on his jaw. “But much younger and much sexier, of course.”
Grayson ignored the elevator doors opening at the parking garage and pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She didn’t protest. The times he had painted her, she made it perfectly clear that any advance would be more than welcome.
“Oooh, you are hungry,” she whispered against his lips as she curled her arms around his neck and her leg around his waist. Grayson guided her back against the wall of the elevator.
He wanted to feel desire, or passion, anything that would stop the panic. But all he felt was disappointment. Not in Natalia. She was a beautiful woman and kissed like she modeled, with enthusiasm and heat. No, his disappointment was in himself for using her. He didn’t use women. At least, he didn’t used to.
He started to pull away and apologize when the elevator doors opened, and he found himself looking into the big brown eyes that had started his downward spiral. Eyes that rolled up in disgust. At one time, he had found the habit endearing. Not anymore. A road trip had cured him from any endearing thoughts toward the woman. Paint her naked? Not in this lifetime. He’d rather be locked in a closet with a rabid wolverine than spend hours in a studio with Chloe.
With his eyes still locked on hers, he deepened the kiss, causing Natalia to moan and Chloe to release an exasperated grunt as she stepped into the elevator with a disgusted look.
Natalia finally noticed that they were no longer alone and stepped away. “Gar-a-a-son”—she swatted his chest—“you make me forget myself.” She turned her full model-smile on Chloe. “What is it with American men and elevators?”
Chloe sent him a smug look. “I think it has to do with having a woman cornered with no means of escape.”
Natalia laughed as she pressed the button for the tenth floor. “Perhaps you are right.” She glanced at Grayson. “Although I have no desire to escape.” Only seconds later, the elevator stopped, and she gave him a quick kiss on both cheeks before she got out. “I have to meet with Samuel in the design studio, but I should be done by five. Call me.”
Grayson should’ve gotten out with Natalia—not just to explain that he wouldn’t be calling her later but also to get away from Chloe. Instead, he watched the doors close and realized that now he had no means of escape.
“New pretty girlfriend?”
He turned to find Chloe studying him. She had cut her hair, something he had noticed during their road trip. The deep brown mop was short and choppy, with uneven bangs… and still she was the most breathtakingly beautiful woman he’d ever seen. The unwanted thought had him snapping a reply. “New bad haircut?”
She fidgeted with her bangs. “I know. I really butchered it. Maybe it’s a good thing that I can’t afford beauty school tuition. I probably would’ve flunked out on the first day.”
Was that why she wanted to pose for him? She needed money for beauty school? It seemed unlikely. Not only because he couldn’t picture her as a hair stylist but because all she had to do was ask Eden or Madison if she needed money. They would be happy to help their friend out. Of course, Chloe had never been the type to take handouts. Something she had proven time and time again.
“So what happened in Paris to screw up your painting mojo?” she asked.
It was his worst fear put into words, and he felt like she had kicked him with her pointy-toed boots right in the balls. “You think I can’t paint?” He poked himself in the chest. “Well, I can paint anything I want to paint.” He hated the way he sounded like a spoiled five-year-old.
Chloe’s eyebrows lifted beneath the fringe of uneven bangs. “Like an apple?”
“You looked at my painting?”
She shrugged. “I was curious.”
While he struggled to get his anger under control, the elevator arrived at the lobby. Chloe lifted a hand as she stepped off. “I guess this is goodbye.” But Grayson couldn’t let her go. Not now. Not when his pride was on the line. He got out with the intentions of telling her that a lot of talented artists painted fruit when the security guard took her arm.
“Ma’am, what did you do with the ducky floral arrangement?”
Hearing the guard, some muscled guy in a white polo with a flower on the breast pocket came hurrying over. “Is she the one who took my ducky?” He pointed a finger at her. “Give me back my ducky!”
Grayson wasn’t sure why he did it—maybe because he had never liked bullies—but he stepped in front of Chloe. “What’s going on?”
The flower guy gave him the once-over. “I don’t need some street bum butting into my business.”
The security guard spoke up. “That’s not a street bum. That’s Mr. Beaumont.” He turned to Grayson. “I’m sorry for the disruption, Mr. Beaumont, but this man says he had his flower bouquet stolen.” He looked at Chloe. “And I did see this young woman with a big ducky of daisies.”
“But I didn’t steal it,” Chloe looked at Grayson. “Tell them.”
For the first time since she had strolled into his studio, Grayson felt in control, and he wasn’t about to give up that feeling. He squinted his eyes. “I’m sorry, Miss, but do I know you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Very funny. Now tell them that I brought the floral arrangement for the birth of Deacon’s son to your office.”
Thoroughly enjoying himself, he smiled. “What exactly would I do with a ducky filled with daisies?”
Just that quickly, the belligerent young woman Grayson remembered so well made an appearance. And for some strange reason, he was happy to see her. “How about you shove it up your ass?” Chloe snapped.
