Chapter Three

Three Months Later

Janna stood up and stretched, rubbing a bottom which had gone numb after an hour on the old stool in front of her easel. She let out a long breath, a critical eye on her work. The canvas was a study in the color green.

Since she'd moved to the Pacific Northwest almost a decade ago, Janna thought she'd never seen so many different shades of green in one place. This was the inspiration for the abstract watercolor series she'd been painting, she told herself. Not the memory of a certain pair of eyes.

She was still thinking about him, even though she hadn't seen him in months. Not that he hadn't tried. The day after "The Morning After," Janna received a gigantic bouquet of wildflowers, accompanied by a small card saying, "Call me if you decide to take a chance." It was signed "Brice, " and a phone number was scrawled below the signature.

The next day, another bouquet of flowers, this one comprised of two dozen identically-perfect yellow roses, with a card saying, "Praying to see my shy goddess again soon." And the day after that, she received a third bouquet, this one full of birds of paradise, with a card saying simply, "I miss you. Call me."

She hadn't called him, and after the third bouquet he'd given up on cards and flowers. A week after the party she'd received a delivery of dessert from the most expensive restaurant in town with a note saying, "I've got a standing reservation for dinner for two. Just name the date and time."

She couldn't bring herself to eat the delicate chocolate concoction. It sat in her fridge, a silent and untouched temptation. A week after that, a knock at the co-op door heralded a party of three uniformed technicians from a posh downtown spa. They dragged in their equipment and proceeded to give her the royal treatment.

Although she protested initially, a long massage eroded any further resistance. A manicure and pedicure followed, and an optional wax, while offered, was politely refused. Charging a waxing to someone you weren't even dating seemed inappropriate.

Despite all of the attention she was receiving, Janna wouldn't let down her defenses. Although his sweetness delighted her, and his persistence flattered her, she was afraid to even call him to thank him. The possibility of hearing his smooth as molasses voice made her tense. She considered sending him a note to say thanks but figured he would take it as a sign that her resistance was crumbling. Even if it was, she couldn't let him know that.

Although Janna might not be able to settle on a career path, using up most of her twenties flitting from intense program to odd job to new passion and back again, she had, unfortunately, the opposite problem with men. She wasn't a commitment phobic; she was a break-up phobic. It was easy to see only good things, to build a fantasy of forever once she let her guard down with a guy. So far, no guy had shared that fantasy with her. After her last break-up had left her in her pajamas for nearly a month, she'd sworn off serious relationships and thrown herself wholly into achieving her Ph.D.

If she caved and went out with him, she didn't know if she would be able to keep from committing herself to him, whether or not he wanted such a commitment. With a man like Brice Masterson, it was very likely he didn't. So instead of mooning around, dreaming about what could be, Janna threw herself into her newest distraction -- Elementary Watercolors. The class was what she needed to focus her attention away from the sexy, sophisticated man.

The gentle brushstrokes and the way the colors seemed to take on a life of their own once they hit the page soothed her. It awakened a calm inside her that burned much longer than the usual spark of something new. As it turned out, she had a talent for it as well. Her instructor had even submitted some of her work to a local art showcase, and she'd been accepted. Tonight three of her watercolors would be hanging at the Master's Gallery in the Promising Local Artists Showcase.

The proud glow that suffused her was tempered only by the sting of shame she felt at abandoning her dissertation yet again in favor of her new hobby. This sometimes happened, but usually, Janna was able to pull back her focus and get the job done. This time, however, she was barely able to get a line or two down on paper before she gave up writing and turned to her brushes and paints. She kept telling herself that it was only a hobby, that she'd have some fun during the term break and learn something new. Now with the winter break and most of the following term almost over, she was still obsessed with watercolors, her dissertation ignored, her advisor fobbed off with a series of increasingly less-convincing excuses. Even though her efforts had proved successful, and her work would be on display in a couple of hours, she still couldn't help feeling guilty about deserting the slender salamander. Her distraction from her distraction would be her downfall if she couldn't get her focus back soon.

Right now, she needed to focus on getting cleaned up and dressed for the Showcase. She washed her brushes, then removed the paint off her hands and nails. Next, she took a quick shower and then raided her closet for something to wear. What did one wear to an art gallery? Something sophisticated. But she was also an artist showing at said gallery, so she needed to stand apart from the regular patrons. Bohemian chic seemed the only appropriate style. She dug out a knee-length navy blue linen skirt with a jaunty bow belt, and paired it with a fitted top with cap sleeves and a v-neck, in alternating black and white stripes. She finished off the ensemble with a pair of four-inch black heels with adorable black ribbons that tied around the ankle.

She decided that a simple hairstyle would make the most dramatic statement. She straightened her thick red locks, which now fell below her shoulders, as straight as it would go, which meant a gentle wave remained. Feeling the artist vibe lately she'd had her bangs cut across her forehead at eyebrow level, and she styled them out now to lay straight across her forehead. Throw in a few clunky bracelets, a smoky eye, and nude lip, and she was ready to go.

Janna checked herself in the mirror. Not for the first time she lamented that she didn't wear glasses. A trendy pair of chunky black frames would have taken this look to the next level. Oh well, she wasn't such a slave to fashion that she'd wear glasses just to complete an outfit. Another bonus, roomy pockets in the skirt, allowed her to ditch a clutch and stash her wallet, keys, and cell. And then it was time to go, and with one last glance around her crowded room, she headed downstairs.

A couple of her fellow students whistled and applauded as she made her way toward the door. For a moment she regretted telling Jessica, the garrulous girl who had the room next to hers, that she'd be part of the showcase. The whole co-op now thought that she was a respected artist as well as a scientist. Janna nodded and bowed, a bright smile on her face. She might be older than the average grad student, but she knew how to make an impact.

Pulling up to the gallery twenty minutes later made her wish the Volvo wasn't as ancient and unremarkable as it was. There was already a small crowd on the sidewalk outside the gallery, and she was embarrassed at her pitiful ride as she hurried to parallel park and hit the relative anonymity of the sidewalk. Soon she was inside, squeezing past other artists, sophisticates and would-be sophisticates, critics, hipsters, and lookyloos. She made her way toward the small table holding glasses of wine and what appeared to be exotic cheeses. Janna picked up a glass of chardonnay but skipped the cheeses, not willing to risk a breath that smelled like gouda.

As she sipped from her wine glass, her eyes swept the room, excitement warring with anxiety in her stomach. She'd always thought art galleries were the realm of the wealthy and elite, or those with true talent and taste. She didn't consider herself any of those things, but it was still exhilarating to float in circles with ones who did fit the description. And yet, as often happened when she wormed her way into places that her inner voice told her she didn't belong, she felt disappointed by the reality, and by her desire to imitate those around her in the first place.

She was an imposter in a world that seemed bright and shiny from far away, but up close you could see the tarnish. It was disconcerting. Janna thought that maybe she'd never fit in anywhere that she wished she could. And why did her insecurities push her to aim higher, to try to fit in with her betters when they probably weren't really better in any meaningful way?

With a deep breath, Janna emptied her mind. No time for dark thoughts. She was here to mingle, to make the scene. Her eyes finally caught sight of her own work across the room, and she made her way through the crowd to stand before her paintings. The three canvases were of different sizes, but each was a study in green. Looking at them reminded her of his mesmerizing eyes. She turned away, wondering if it was bad form to stand in front of one's own work. Janna wished she knew the rules of this world. At that moment she regretted not badgering Dani to come with her.

As she strolled among the artwork, she considered the change her friend had experienced in a short time. Ever since she'd chased him down at Brice's beach house, Dani and her handsome ranger had been inseparable. They'd moved back into his cabin out in the woods, and Dani was continuing her research, although she'd separated from the university.

Janna didn't blame her after the way things went down with Dean Fischer. They still had lunch once a week, but it was hard to get her friend's attention, Dani was distracted by love. That's why she hadn't bothered to invite her tonight. She didn't want to have to fight for her attention, or worse, be the third wheel if Caleb came along.

Janna studied what appeared to be a multitude of miniature car wheels glued together to resemble some sleek automobile of the future and realized her glass was empty, then moved toward the table to obtain a refill. While debating whether to risk bad breath for a block of aromatic Havarti, she heard the loud buzz of a microphone and turned to the small podium that had been set up near the back wall. All thoughts of gourmet cheese were driven from her head with the velocity of a high-speed rocket.

Standing next to the well-dressed woman who was tapping the mic lightly for attention was Brice Masterson, and he looked phenomenal.

His dark suit hugged his body like another skin, his black dress shirt without a tie and barely a shade darker than his jacket and slacks. His blond hair was swept back, the top slightly longer than the sides, making a thick wave that Janna knew would feel like silk. There was a faint stubble on his face, which made him look slightly dangerous and even hotter than she remembered.

Damn, that's just not fair, she thought to herself, unable to pull her gaze away from the man. Suddenly their eyes met, and that addictive half-smile slid across his face. Shit, he noticed me!

Brice stepped to the podium after an introduction from the woman, apparently the gallery manager, which Janna ignored. Without taking his eyes off Janna, he began to speak.

"True beauty can be found in the most unlikely places and it's exceedingly fortunate when one finds it at home. The works of art surrounding us tonight come from artists in our very own community, and I'm sure you'll agree when I say that they rival any collection, whether in the Louvre or the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Let's give a round of applause to our artists, and appreciate the true beauty that is in our midst."

The room burst into applause, but Janna couldn't move. She was frozen like prey under the unflinching gaze of a master predator. His eyes had never left hers during his speech. She watched as Brice shook hands with the woman beside him, then left the podium, heading in her direction.

Wrenching away from his stare, she whirled around and took a hefty gulp of wine. She almost choked on it, setting the glass down on the table and closing her eyes while she caught her breath.

"If it isn't my shy goddess," a warm voice said from behind her. "Did you like my speech?"

With a deep breath, Janna turned, her eyes traveling from the little patch of light hair on his chest up to his neck, past the fleeting dimple in his chin, past soft lips curved in their customary half-smile, and finally to his eyes, a whirlwind of green that unsettled her more than she expected.

Seeing Brice again, up close and personal, made her itch in a very particular way. And there was only one way to satisfactorily scratch such an itch.

"Well," she said finally, "I think it was very...appropriate." She couldn't think of anything else to say; she'd barely heard his words, so distracted was she by his intense gaze.

He gave a nearly breathless laugh. "I don't think my P.R. manager will agree. He made me promise to mention that Masterson's Inc. provided the funding for this little shindig, and to plug the gallery since apparently we own that too."

Brice gave her a heated look. "But somehow all that just flew out of my head when I opened my mouth. You don't think my remarks were too...off the cuff?"

Janna smiled, reading between the lines. He wanted her to believe the speech had been inspired by her. A polished playboy who speaks from the heart. Too much like a crocodile shedding real tears to be believed. Still, for some reason this man made her want to tease him back. She couldn't give him a straight answer, not and keep her self-respect. "On the contrary," she said with a predatory smile. "As a man who could buy the Louvre and probably already owns the Metropolitan Museum of Art, you are uniquely suited to make such a comparison."

"Hmm...I was mistaken when I called you a sex goddess. Obviously, you are the goddess of wit and virtue."

"Wit I'll accept," she said with a wink, "but certainly not virtue."

"No," he said, his smile widening to show off his immaculate teeth, "I suppose not virtue. A virtuous woman would have called me back after being showered with romantic gifts."

Janna almost laughed but thought she saw a slight flash of hurt in the whirl of his green eyes. "Indeed." Her smile became smaller. "I thought about sending you a thank you note, but didn't want to give you the wrong impression."

"And what impression would that be?"

"That I was interested in...your pursuit."

"And you're not?" he asked, moving closer.

Janna didn't trust herself to answer when he stood so near. It was like a bolt of energy shot between them and held. She'd never felt anything like this before, but with Brice, it was almost expected.

She shook her head, and his smile tightened. Before he could respond, the gallery manager interrupted them, attempting to introduce Brice to an older gentleman in an expensive suit. Janna saw her opportunity to avoid the remainder of a painful conversation and moved away, heading toward the bathroom for a moment alone to process.

The gallery bathroom was small, for single person use, and Janna was lucky that someone was coming out as she reached the door and there was no line. She headed in and locked the door, then splashed some cool water on her pulse points. Fanning her face with her hands, she tried to banish the embarrassing flush from her skin.

Damn that Brice Masterson! Why do I want him so bad? And why does he insist on wanting me back? Doesn't he know how hard that makes it to resist him?

Janna sighed, leaning against the wall and pressing her face to the cool tile to relieve the heat. A few moments later she heard a polite knock on the door and taking a couple of deep breaths, she washed her hands and returned to the showcase.

Janna looked around but didn't spot her millionaire. It seemed her time in the limelight as an artist was about to come to a premature end. She didn't want to stick around any longer and give Brice the chance to stalk and corner her again.

Janna made a final circuit, moving over to her paintings for one last glimpse. As she said a silent goodbye to her creations, a handsome hipster moved up to her side, eyeing her watercolors with a superior air.

"What do you think of these?" he asked, a smile on his urbane face. "What do you think the artist is trying to tell us?"

Janna wanted to laugh at the question. She faced him, liking his dark beard, mustache and slightly spiky faux-hawk. He even had the chunky black-framed glasses she'd lamented over earlier. Très chic.

"I think she just really likes the color green," Janna replied, then couldn't hold back her giggles at his boggled expression. Thinking it wasn't fair to laugh so without a proper introduction, she held out her hand to him. "Janna Puchina. I'm the artist. And I just adore the color green."

Faux-hawk took her hand and raised it to his mouth, kissing the back of it gently. "Enchanted. I'm Edward Green, and I guess I like that color too." This made them both laugh. "In fact," he said, an inspired light glowing in his eyes, "I think I'm going to buy one of these paintings."

Janna continued laughing, but he insisted he was serious and made his way over to the desk near the front door. He talked briefly with the woman behind the desk, gesturing at the paintings then shaking his head. Mr. Green gave a sigh and headed back, a frown marring his polished features.

"It seems they've all been sold already."

"What?" Janna said, confused.

"Someone else must like the color green." He shrugged. "Well, since I can't buy one of these pieces, perhaps I can commission another like it?" He smiled at her and she returned it, and he plunged forward. "In fact, would you like to grab dinner and we could discuss it?"

Janna's eyes widened in surprise. Wasn't he a smooth operator? It was tempting. Edward Green was attractive, with laughing hazel eyes, good skin, and a hip image. But where Brice was tall and athletic, Edward was short, barely reaching her own height when she wasn't wearing heels, and slightly stout, a beer belly hidden behind his ironic tweed jacket. Appearance wasn't important to Janna, not really. She'd been attracted to all types of men. But Edward wasn't doing it for her, not after her earlier run-in with Brice.

"That's a very nice offer, but watercolors are only a hobby for me. I'm actually in the middle of my dissertation and doubt I'll have time to take on any commissions."

Edward didn't give up easily. "Then how about just dinner? I thought you were a starving artist, but now that I know you're a grad student, you're probably even hungrier than I thought." She laughed at his remark but wished he'd given in gracefully.

Janna's eyes scanned the crowded room of their own accord, automatically searching for an excuse. They locked onto a pair of familiar green eyes and without thinking she blurted out, "I'm sorry, I'm seeing someone right now. But thank you for the offer."

Edward finally got the picture and backed off, and Janna stood alone by her paintings, still looking at the pair of green eyes that were looking back at her. With a shake of her head she broke their connection and nearly scrambled toward the door. Taking a peek with her peripherals she saw that Brice hadn't moved, but was in fact again in conversation with the gallery manager.

Thinking she had a moment to spare before she fled, and her curiosity now ratcheted up, Janna paused at the desk. "Excuse me," she asked the pretty brunette clerk, "but I'm the artist of those green watercolors over there, and I guess they've been sold."

"Ah yes," she said with a smile. "They were some of the first pieces go this evening. Congratulations."

"Um, thanks. I was wondering, how much did they cost?"

"Well, we'd marked the smaller one at $150, the middle sized one at $200, and the largest one at $300."

"Whoa," Janna said, exhaling. No small potatoes for a few afternoons' work.

"But the buyer didn't pay that," the clerk continued.

"Oh." Janna was confused. Did they already mark down her paintings? Could someone haggle over art prices?

"He insisted on paying a thousand dollars for each."

"What?" Janna almost shouted, sure she had heard the woman incorrectly.

"Yes, and as soon as the show closes next month, you'll be receiving a check for $3000 from the gallery. Again, congratulations."

Janna couldn't say anything. She just walked out the door and onto the sidewalk in a daze. Digging in her pocket, she pulled out her keys and staggered toward her Volvo. Three. Thousand. Dollars. Who on earth would pay that for some community art lesson watercolors?

"Leaving so soon?" a well-known voice said from behind her, and Janna suddenly put the pieces together.

She whirled around, pointing her car keys at his chest. "You! You bought my paintings."

"Guilty." Brice held his hands up in defense. "I think they'll look lovely in my solarium. I would have shown you my solarium if you hadn't run away so fast the morning after the party." He crept closer, his half-smile dazzling her, like the swaying of a snake before its prey. "I would have shown you a lot of things."

"Brice," Janna said, her voice coming out weaker than she expected. "I feel like a mouse who's been running and running--"

"And I'm the piece of cheese?" he interrupted with a big smile.

"No," she countered. "You're the cat."

"Ouch." He moved his hands to cover his heart. "You know, I can't figure you out. You come to my party and insult me, then you melt into my arms, and we have some of the most amazing sex I've ever had, and next you accuse me of being a playboy and flee. Then, when I chase after you, you ignore me. And to top it all off, when we meet again you once more try to insult me for being rich, then are angry when I use my money to buy the only piece of you that I can get. What gives?"

Janna could see how her actions would be confusing, but they had all seemed justified to her at the time. "Look, Brice, you're a fantastic guy. Any woman would be lucky to have you--"

"Except you?" He took a step closer.

"No, that's not it, it's just that I can't have a relationship right now."

"Can't have or won't have?"

"Does it matter?"

"It does to me." His half-smile was gone, and his eyes had a feral quality that Janna found strangely exciting.

"Okay, I won't have one."

"With me, or with anyone?"

"With you or anyone."

"But especially with me."

"Yes, alright!" Janna couldn't help it; his interrogation was getting to her. "I won't have a relationship with you."

"Why?" he asked, his voice getting soft, husky, making her bones melt. "And don't give me any excuse about not having time. You're only writing a dissertation and painting several masterpieces. I'm sure you can squeeze in a date now and then."

"Fine, it doesn't have anything to do with my schedule. It's you. And me." She groaned in frustration. "Look, you're a millionaire who could have any woman he wanted. And I...well, I'm me."

"And...?" Brice waited for her to go on.

"And rich playboys don't settle down with women like me. You'll wine and dine me, I'll fall for your charm and sophistication, and then before I know it I'll find you in the society pages with some new debutante on your arm, and it'll be curtains."

Brice closed the distance between them, grabbing her arms and pulling her into his body. "You're jumping to a lot of conclusions, sweetheart. I told you before that I haven't been in a serious relationship for years, and if you think it's easy putting your heart out there for constant rejection, you're kidding yourself. And furthermore, you lied."

"When?" she asked, in awe of the passion in his words.

"You lied when you said I could have any woman I wanted. The only woman I want right now is you."

His head swept down to capture her lips. She gasped in surprise, which gave his questing tongue an opening. As they stood on the sidewalk near the entrance to the gallery, Brice Masterson, millionaire playboy and owner of three recently acquired watercolor homages to his eyes, ravished her mouth, kissing her breathless. When he finally pulled away, Janna had to hold onto his arms to keep from falling off her four-inch heels.

He held her head in his large hands, turning her face up to meet his eyes. "I'm not asking for much. Go out on a few dates with me, and don't make a thousand assumptions about what I'm thinking or what I might do in the future. If I'm dating you, there won't be any debutantes on my arm, because you'll already be there."

His lips came down again to brush ever so gently against her lips. "Say you'll let me see you again. Please."

"Yes," she breathed out finally, and his smile returned to his too-handsome face.