"You can if you want," she said. Her eyes half opened to look at him, tired and sated. He felt a spark of pride that he'd made her look that way. She was captivating.
But he said, "I think it's best that I go home."
She looked at him for a long beat, then said, "All right," and let her eyes slide closed again. "Is it okay if I don't walk you to the door?" she whispered.
"Of course. Go to sleep." He dropped a kiss on her forehead, then reached to pull the comforter up over her. "I'll text you tomorrow."
"Okay . . ."
He watched her for a minute. Her breathing turned slow and deep, and her features relaxed completely. He envied her sleep; he was ready to sleep for a week. He thought about just lying back down and doing that. It was tempting . . . She was tempting . . .
Nope. They weren't lovers. Lovers stayed the night. Friends with benefits didn't cuddle or sleep over, no matter how mind-blowing the sex had been or how much they genuinely liked each other's company. He gazed at her beautiful face for a few seconds longer, then got out of bed and went to get dressed.
Chapter Eighteen
Tess put down her brush and stepped back to better survey the canvas. Painting was both her love and her infinite frustration. She could never quite get onto the canvas the exact vision she had in her head, no matter how hard she tried. It seemed elusive. But she loved the process, the actual painting itself... She always lost herself in it.
She went to add some more cobalt blue to her palette when her cell phone rang behind her. She didn't answer it; she never answered it when she was painting, letting the call go to voice mail. Her head tipped to the side as she studied her work, trying to decide what to do next. She was so close to being finished with this painting, and it meant a lot to her. It wasn't often she gave away her artwork as a gift, but she had a feeling-hoped-this one would be appreciated. Her heart was in it.
The phone rang again two minutes later. And again two minutes after that. Annoyed, she finally stomped over to look at the screen. It was her father. "Hello?"
"Finally!" Charles II bellowed. "Why aren't you answering your phone?"
"Why aren't you leaving me a message when I don't?" she shot back.
He paused. "Well. Having a good morning, are we?"
"I was, until this." She so wasn't in the mood for him today.
"My, my. You sound a bit testy."
"I'm painting. You're interrupting. You know how I get."
"I do. So I apologize for interrupting." Her father almost sounded earnest. "But I'm tired of leaving voice mails and not getting a return phone call. I deserve better. I don't like being ignored."
"Sorry," she said. With a sigh, she sank into the armchair in the corner. She wouldn't be able to paint now, her concentration had been broken. "But what if I was on the slopes? Would you have kept calling for hours? Just leave me a voice mail, Dad."
"I told you, I'm tired of your not answering them." His tone gained a steely edge. "You've been away for six weeks. This is ludicrous already. It's time for you to come home, don't you think?" Ah, that was the Charles Harrison II they all knew. Demanding, surly, arrogant, expecting the world to stop on a dime at his command.
"No, I don't think," she said. "In fact, I'll definitely be staying here through March, possibly April too."
"What?" he shouted. "Why?"
"Because I have some things going on here," she said mildly, unfazed by his anger. "And until I see them through to completion, I'm staying here. I can do my work for the foundation from here, I'm not slacking. I'm just not physically in New York."
"What the hell's so important there that you're staying?"
"That's . . . my business. Sorry."
Blistering silence from him. She could almost feel him thinking, trying to work out an angle, trying to figure out how to find out what she was doing in Aspen. God knew he had the connections and wherewithal; if he dug hard enough, he could probably find out. He certainly had in the past. Her personal life was rarely her own; he'd dug into her business more times than she could count. Being his only daughter hadn't been easy, ever. The sense of ownership and entitlement where she was concerned hadn't been clear to her until her college years, but once she'd realized it, it'd been an eye-opening game changer.
"A secret lover? Good for you."
"It's no one's business but mine."
"Aha! Struck a nerve. Must be a yes."
"Stop," Tess snapped. "Now."
"I'll come out there myself if I have to," he finally warned in a low voice.
"Oh my God. Seriously? I'm turning thirty-eight in a few weeks," she said, fighting not to lose her cool. "What are you going to do, force me onto your private jet and take me home? Been there, done that. It'll never happen again."
He hissed out a stream of air in frustration. "You were what, twenty-one then? And still bringing that up? Come on."
"Twenty-two," she corrected him. "And being literally dragged onto a plane in Milan by your goons is something I'll never forget." Or forgive you for, she added silently. "So why are you coming out here? For what purpose? To bully me into coming home, aka doing what you want? That ship sailed long ago."
"Listen to you. My goodness. Is that really what you think of me?" he asked.
"Yup. Based on your track record." A burst of anger shot through her veins. "I'll never forget what you did. You're lucky I ever spoke to you again after that stunt."
"Let's not go off the rails, here. The past is the past," he said dismissively.
"Really? Past events affect the present."
"We're fine in the present."
"I am," Tess said. "But how about you? How's your family, Dad?"
He grunted in response.
"You lost Pierce," Tess said. "Dane and Charles barely talk to you. You ready to put me on that list too? The past matters. As for the present, don't you threaten me that you're going to come out here, because I have my own life. Don't threaten me, ever."
"I'm not threatening you!" he yelled.
"Wish I could replay the tape," she said. "Sure sounded like it to me."
"Excuse me for missing you," he spat. "For being concerned for you."
"Oh, stop it. You're not. You know I'm fine, or you would've heard otherwise. You just don't like that you don't know why I'm choosing to stay in Aspen, what I'm doing." She sighed. "You still want to control my life, even now. Nothing's changed."
"That's not true," he proclaimed.
"Sorry, Dad, but it sure sounds and feels like it." She rose and started pacing the studio. Stress wasn't good for her. She drew long, deep breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth. "If you simply missed me, you would've left me a voice mail saying so. Not called me a bunch of times, been obnoxious about it, then made demands when you reached me."
"I'd say you sound like your brothers," Charles II said, "but apparently you haven't been in contact with them very much either. You're not talking to any of us."
"Yes, I am," she said, but felt a pang. The truth was, she hadn't been good about returning texts and calls. It wasn't like her. Why was she shutting them all out this way? It was something she needed to examine more closely. "Dad, I'm fine. I didn't want to argue with you. Let me get back to painting, okay?"
"You haven't even asked how I'm doing."
"You sound fine to me. Same as always."
He snorted. "Sorry to bother you. Excuse me for caring." He hung up.
She growled as she set the phone down. Pierce didn't understand why she still talked to their father, why she stayed loyal and tried to keep communication open. Days like this, she didn't understand it either.
She went to the low table for her water bottle. As she sipped, she stared out at the scenic view outside the glass wall. Acres of evergreen forest stretched before snow-capped mountaintops in the not-too-far distance . . . The majesty of it never failed to move her. She gazed at it all as she calmed herself. She had been testy, and went straight into combat mode. But her father was capable of things . . . She knew him all too well.
Of course her mind went back to Milan. She'd gone to Italy the summer after graduating NYU, to travel and paint and find herself a little more. She spent a week in Venice, two weeks in Rome, then went on to Milan. There she'd met Paolo, on her second night in the city. She couldn't help but smile now as she recalled him. Handsome, sweet, sexy as hell, and nine years older than her, they'd hurled themselves into a passionate fling. She was only supposed to stay in Milan for a week. She ended up staying for three.