Under A Painted Moon Read online

  The warm hand on her back moved in tiny circles. She sighed and relaxed against him. There was no point being upset he'd checked up on her. Not when she wanted him to kiss her again.

  "Okay. You win. Thanks for being a good friend and looking out for us."

  "It's not about winning. It was just something I knew was the right thing to do. Especially when Tyler was in the house alone."

  "I wanted her to come live with me and Wayne. He refused to allow it."

  "Waynie-boy is an ass. He'll always be an ass."

  "And you told me not to marry him."

  "Why, yes, I did, didn't I?” He shifted beneath her, tumbling them over to rest comfortably on the throw pillows. Her legs draped over his thighs. He smiled at her, then lowered his head. His lips were soft on her neck sending shivers of fearful longing through her. Her skin prickled all over. Heat uncoiled in her belly.

  "This is more comfortable,” he murmured in her ear. She turned her head to look at him.

  "Are you implying I weigh too much?"

  "Oh, God,” he groaned. “No. I think you're perfect. Don't you know every guy likes this moment? There's something about that first time you get a woman off her feet."

  "Every guy! I'll have you know I don't let every guy I date fondle me!” She'd have let him fondle her if he'd just gotten on with it. But no, not him. He had to talk.

  He always had to say something.

  "That is not what I meant. I was talking..."

  "Keep digging that hole, McWaters.” She shoved at him, swinging her legs free. He grabbed her, pulling her back to him.

  "Be still."

  "I don't think so! Now let go of me. I'm going home."

  There was that look again. His green eyes regarded her coolly. Impartially. Whatever he was really thinking was hidden behind that enigmatic gaze.

  He was infuriating. Now when she wanted him to say something, he just gave her that look.

  "Are you going to follow me home?"

  His look changed. Surprise swept his features. He wet his lips in an effort to keep from grinning at her.

  "Just forget it, McWaters! That is not what I meant!"

  He roared with laughter, wrapping his arms tightly around her as she struggled to break free of his hold and get her feet back on the floor. The more she struggled, the more obvious it became he was much too strong. She'd only get loose by asking.

  "Let me go."

  "Say please."

  "Please my ass! Let me go!"

  "Your ass is pleasing. Too pleasing. It's making me nuts right now."

  She wiggled her bottom, which was pressed tightly to his hips. She made sure she applied a firm pressure to him, too. That should give him a cheap thrill. It certainly gave her one.

  "No fair, wench.” He pulled back enough to pat her derrière. “Keep it up and you'll get spanked."

  "Don't you ever try it,” she warned him through clenched teeth. “Now let me go!"

  He dumped her off the sofa onto the floor. She rose up on her knees, ready to do battle. She snatched up a throw pillow and hit him with it. He curled into a ball, laughing.

  The smug, egotistical, infuriating, maddening, annoying male!

  She whacked him again with the pillow.

  "Whip me, baby,” he howled, gasping for air and laughing.

  "I'll whip you, all right.” She grabbed a heavier pillow and swung it. He put his arm up to block it. She swung it again and he plucked it from her grasp and tossed it out into the aisle.

  Courtney screamed in annoyance and started throwing the pillows. He started throwing them back. He tossed one covered in silver damask with gold fringe.

  "That cost me fifty-eight dollars, McWaters!"

  He froze. His mouth dropped open in disbelief. “For a pillow?"

  It was all the opening she needed. She pounced on him.

  His hands dropped protectively into his lap as he curled up. “Watch the goods, Nichols,” he said, panting.

  "Laugh now,” she dared him. She straddled him, clamping her knees tightly to his ribs. She did a lot of walking. Her legs were strong.

  "Oh, jeez,” he wheezed. He twisted, throwing her off balance. She landed on her hands and knees.

  "Oh, jeez, Courtney,” he repeated. “Take your pants off and get in front of me like that, why don't you?"

  She whirled around, plopping down into a sitting position and glaring at him.

  "You pervert. You'd like that way too much."

  "No, baby. You'd like that way too much. I promise.” He leered at her.

  "Ha! Don't be so sure of yourself.” Courtney rolled to her feet in one smooth motion and began picking up the scattered pillows. Barry hopped off the couch and followed her. He grabbed her by the hips as she bent over for one.

  "McWaters!"

  "You're only pretending to be disgusted with me. I bet old Waynie-boy never wanted to play. I bet you and old Waynie-boy only made love in the missionary position."

  "Just help me pick up this mess and shut up!” Courtney refused to respond further.

  He was right, but she didn't want him to know that. Making love with Wayne had slowly developed into a disappointment. He hadn't been an adventurous lover, but it hadn't mattered at first. She was in love, and she'd had adventure before.

  The problem on her end was, as time went by, and Wayne grew more and more disinterested in his marital obligations, it had started to matter a great deal. Courtney enjoyed being sexual. She enjoyed it in all sorts of ways from mere flirtation to making love on the cold, hard ground while camping.

  And it hurt that Barry had somehow seen that.

  And Barry and the world knew Wayne had been unfaithful to her.

  Barry was suddenly standing in front of her. He tipped her chin up.

  "I'm sorry, Courtney. I didn't realize how hurt you still are over Wayne."

  She sighed, the shared mood of playfulness vanished like smoke.

  "I still wonder what it was he wanted with me. What he thought he saw in me. It wasn't my trust fund. That's pocket change to him.” She said it, yet she knew the fact she had her own money had been attractive to her ex-husband. Not because he wanted it, but because she didn't need his.

  "I'm sure he saw a beautiful, bright, smart woman. That's what I see."

  "Don't lump yourself with him. You're way above him."

  "Hmm. You were supposed to say you weren't beautiful. Then I would be able to convince you that you are."

  He really thought that. She heard it in his voice, so low and soft. She just didn't agree.

  "I know what I am."

  "Do you?” He closed the space between them. Courtney stood her ground.

  He very slowly drew her to him. She rested her head under his chin, sighing tiredly. Maybe he'd just hold her for a few minutes, then let her go home.

  Instead he backed up, settling them on the sofa again. She smiled at him.

  "Didn't we start out sitting here?"

  "Yep. But we didn't get to where I want to go."

  "Where's that?"

  "Here.” He lowered his mouth to hers in a gentle kiss. It lasted the barest breath.

  He tipped her backwards, his arm strong beneath her. They ended up lying thigh-to-thigh on the sofa. She was afraid to look at him, afraid to raise her face to his for fear he wouldn't kiss her again. And for fear that he would. She buried her face in his neck, breathing in his scent. She sniffed, trying to figure out his after-shave. She felt more than heard him chuckle.

  "Old Spice.” His voice was low and rich. She heard the amusement in it.

  She heard something else, too. Something akin to contentment, and hope. It woke an echo of the same in her. The echo grew, swelling into a feeling that she could not, nor would not, embrace.

  "I would have figured you for some designer brand."

  "I'm too tight."

  "You mean you're frugal."

  "No. I mean I'm tight. I've not forgotten those twelve years as a starving artist. They could re
turn at any moment."

  "I'd give you your old job back. You're a good window washer."

  "That's nice to know.” He shifted to get eye-to-eye with her. “I liked my old job. I got to see you every day."

  "You were always under my feet. I almost fired you for it. Tyler wouldn't let me."

  "Tyler's not here to stand between us now. It's just you and me. I know what I want.” He touched his lips to hers. She arched into him and his gentleness fled.

  He rolled her beneath him and began plundering. She buried her fingers in his hair and gave him back all he gave her, and more. She was lost in him, aware of only him. His weight pinned her to the sofa, but instead of feeling trapped, she reveled in the feel of his maleness, and of his arousal pressed so firmly between them. There was no doubt he wanted her. And she wanted him.

  It had been so long since she'd felt this way. Her nipples tingled. Low in her belly, she ached. She didn't want more, not tonight, not when just the beginnings of arousal pulsed so sweetly within her.

  The kiss went on and on. The only sounds she heard were the soft sounds he made in his throat, the deep rumble of longing in his chest. Her own breathing sounded harsh, strained. He was heavy, but she just didn't care. Breathing could be overrated sometimes.

  Barry flinched and froze, then slowly began pulling away from her. She clawed at him, catching his arms and clinging to him. The lights popped on, blinding her.

  She blinked, bringing Barry's still and cautious face into focus. He was staring past her head. She twisted to see what was going on.

  "Ms. Collins. Are you all right?"

  Courtney had never looked down the barrel of a .38 before. Her mouth went dry.

  "Officer Bob. I'm fine. Is that thing loaded?"

  Chapter 7

  "'Is that thing loaded?’ Jesus, Courtney.” Barry refilled his coffee mug. “Did you really think it wasn't?"

  "It was the first thing I could think of.” She pushed her mug at him for a refill, too.

  "You could have said I was your boyfriend or something so they'd stop aiming at me!” His hands were still shaking with the adrenaline rush. He'd sloshed hot coffee twice now.

  He had to work on his character. When faced with danger, his macho response had been flight, not fight.

  How manly.

  The only thing he could think of in defense of himself was that the barrel of that gun must have been six feet long, four inches across and pointed right at him.

  At least it had looked that way at the time.

  Who the hell with any intelligence at all would not have wanted to run for cover?

  They were sitting at her kitchen table. He'd followed her home after she given assurances to the stoic Officer Bob that he wasn't a thief or a rapist. Officer Bob, protector of small children and innocent women, had followed him.

  "They almost cuffed me, Courtney."

  "Yes, and you, you jerk! You told them it was okay but only if I did it!"

  He grinned at her.

  "Oh, don't get your hopes up, McWaters. Are you hungry?"

  "Are you fixing breakfast?"

  She leaned over and pulled a bag of cookies out of the cupboard. “This is my idea of breakfast. Take the offer or starve."

  Barry plucked three cookies from the sleeve. “It's a fine offer. Thanks.” He popped one in his mouth.

  "It's nice to know that the neighborhood watch is really watching.” Courtney dunked her cookie in her coffee. “Considering the recent break-in, I suppose I should alert the police when I'm at the shop late."

  "You shouldn't be there that late. Period."

  "It was a good day, sales wise. I was putting together a restock order."

  It annoyed him she'd put herself in a dangerous position for the sake of her inventory. He leaned forward. “And it couldn't wait until morning?"

  "Don't use that tone with me,” she snapped back at him. “And no, it couldn't. Since you wheedled your way into lunch again today, I wanted to get it finished."

  "So now it's my fault?"

  He knew it was a mistake as soon as the words fell out of his mouth.

  Her eyes narrowed. Her lips thinned.

  "You want to take the blame for it, McWaters, you can do just that. I don't give a flying fuck if you do. And as for lunch—I think I'd rather not."

  "I'm sorry.” He stood, lifting his hands skyward, palms open. “I'm sorry for every stupid thing I've ever said to you. I'm sorry for every stupid thing I will say to you in the future. As for lunch—don't even think I'm going to let you back out."

  "I am not having lunch with you."

  "Yes, you are.” He lifted her from her chair, wrapping his arms around her. She shoved against him, once, then stilled.

  "I don't want to fight with you, Court. I'm tired. I had a gun pointed at my head.” He knew better than to suggest she was just as tired as he was. Another hour and he'd hit the awake-for-twenty-four-hours mark. So would she, but he'd never say it.

  "I'll just go home and get some sleep. I'll pick you up at one and we'll have lunch."

  She relaxed against him. “Yeah, sleep would be nice."

  "You could invite me to sleep here."

  "Get out, McWaters.” Her arms slipped around his neck. “Go home and let me get some rest."

  "You have to let go of me first.” He brushed a kiss to her hair. She sighed and released him. His arms dropped away from her. She looked up at him, shaking her head.

  "What did I do wrong now?” Barry was ready to go show old Waynie-boy the receiving end of his fist. Surely whatever was wrong now had to be because of something Wayne had done to her in the course of their marriage.

  "You could kiss me before you leave."

  She didn't have to ask him twice.

  He lowered his mouth to hers. She tasted of coffee and ginger snap cookies. Her lips opened under his. He fought the urge to accept the invitation to deepen the kiss. He teased her upper lip with the tip of his tongue, then pulled away.

  She was tired. He was tired.

  And there was suddenly all the time in the world.

  * * * *

  It was after eleven when Barry woke. He fixed a cup of instant coffee, grimacing at the taste and wondering why he bothered to keep the stuff on the pantry shelf. He doubted he'd finish it.

  He checked his email. There was one from the owner of Hawke Gallery. It stopped him cold. He said a little prayer and opened it. It was better than he'd hoped.

  It was an invitation to have another show there in the fall of next year. He took a deep breath, checked his calendar and replied in the affirmative.

  He'd worked all his life to be able to support himself by his art. He'd arrived. He'd achieved success. It would have been nice if he'd realized the fear of sudden failure that went along with it. That was something he'd never anticipated and he didn't care for it much.

  It was probably a normal response and there was likely a whole string of psychobabble that explained it but he didn't care. So what if he was a modern man and in touch with himself? He still didn't like feeling fear from time to time.

  There wasn't any point going to his studio. He'd do better to finish his correspondence, then reorganize his calendar. He had a loose schedule of when certain pieces needed to be finished. That needed to be tightened up and the initial planning for the next Hawke Gallery show worked out.

  He always figured in additional time on every project. Better to be finished early than late. It had already given him the reputation for meeting deadlines and he meant to keep it intact.

  The Elizabethtowne series would be completed in time for the Hawke Galley show. It wouldn't be a problem to have them included. Nichols-Morgan, Inc. would be listed as the distributor. Past that series, he still needed to develop at least thirty additional pieces, approximately three a month. It was very doable.

  He sent a second email to the gallery owner letting him know that he'd have approximately ten photographic pieces in addition to paintings. It was a gamble sin
ce he'd not even test marketed any photos, but he'd take it.

  His plan for the day was to take Courtney over to Sparks for lunch. They could take a few back roads and maybe find a few old buildings. That series would work for the show, too. He checked his camera and accompanying paraphernalia, then had to rush to get showered and out the door on time.

  Courtney was sitting on her front porch when he pulled up. She smiled at him when he walked around to open the car door for her. The breeze lifted her hair, blowing it across her face. He brushed it from her cheek, then kissed her lightly. She stepped closer to him, resting her hand on his chest.

  He kept the kiss brief. To linger might amuse her neighbors and he didn't want to do that to her. He handed her into the car and quickly walked around to his side and started the engine. He shifted into reverse and slowly backed out her driveway.

  "You're going to miss a paved drive if you buy that old house."

  "They lay blacktop every day. I'm sure I can get them to pave that driveway. Where are we going to lunch? I'm starving."

  "You should have fixed breakfast,” he teased.

  "I should have done a lot of things. How about you?"

  "Oh, yeah.” He changed the subject before he told her he should have thrown her down and made love to her right there in her kitchen. “I got an interesting email this morning. The owner of Hawke Gallery invited me back next year."

  "Oh my God! That's wonderful! You did agree, didn't you? Say you did. Oh! You'll want the Elizabethtowne series for that, won't you?"

  Barry struggled to keep the smile off his face.

  "So you think it's a good idea? Do you think I should accept?"

  She stopped babbling and stared at him with her mouth open. “You're not going to do it? How can you turn that down? You idiot!"

  The swift change in her was too much. He grinned.

  "Stop the car, McWaters!"

  "Why?"

  "So I can hurt you for scaring me like that."

  "I'll stop if you say you'll kiss me."

  "Keep driving.” She waved in the general direction of forward. “Are you ever serious?"

  "All the time. I'm serious about the kiss."