His Gift 1(9)
Looking in front of me, staring at the amazing Kage painting, I couldn’t say it.
“I… try,” I said.
“You try to paint, but no colors come out?”
“Ha. Ha. I try to paint well. I’m not a painter like this guy, though,” I said, gesturing forward as though he could see.
Jeez. It was weird to be having a conversation through the canvas of a painting. Let alone this painting.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I’m not talented like he is.”
“You have no talent?”
“Well, not none. But this kind of work…” I trailed off.
“What do you like about it?” the man asked.
Although his voice was low, he didn’t seem angry. Or upset. If someone spilled a two-thousand-dollar cake onto my probably-more-than-two-thousand-dollar carpet, I would definitely be upset. But there was no hint of it in his voice. It made me breathe a bit easier.
I looked at the canvas in front of me. All of the qualities that had drawn me to the piece seemed silly to say aloud. I licked my lips.
“Uh, it’s… it’s perfect.” A burst of nervous laughter came from my lips. “I mean, really. Every line. It’s all perfect, it all needs to be there. It feels like every part of it should be there. And the lines are all so precise, but they add up to something that looks so organic. I, uh…” I faltered, not getting any visual feedback at all. “I just really like it,” I finished lamely.
“I see.”
“Where’d you get it? Was it a commission, or—”
“Who are you?”
“Uh,” I said, fear creeping back into my heart at the sound of his voice. “I’m Lacey.”
“Come around the canvas now, Lacey. I want to see you.”
The way he spoke the words, it wasn’t an order. It was just the tone of a man who had never been disobeyed. I found myself moving before I meant to move. I reached the edge of the canvas and hesitated.
“Come.”
Chapter Five
The man standing on the other side of the canvas looked up at me with something like surprise in his eyes.
He must have been shocked to see me after the parade of supermodels, I suppose. And I was shocked, too.
“You’re young!” I exclaimed.
“Excuse me?” he said, his eyebrow arching.
“I mean, you’re not old. I mean, I thought you were. Older. That is.”
Not only was he not old, he was hot. His eyes shone like green emeralds from under his dark, perfectly coiffed hair. He was wearing a dark gray tailored suit that fit his lines, accentuating his height and his broad chest. When he looked down at me, I had the strangest feeling that he was taking a picture.
“Sorry again,” I said.
“Lucas said that he was sending me something,” the man said.
“Oh, the—ah, the cake—”
“But where’s your collar?”
He tilted his head at me.
“Yeah, about that,” I said. “I’m not really into accessories. And I was just here to—”
“Where do you think you are?”
My mouth opened and closed like a mentally challenged goldfish.
“I—well, this is the top floor of the building—nice place, by the way—”
“This is my birthday party,” he said, answering his own question.
“Oh. Sure.”
“What have you heard about me?” he asked.
“You? What’s your name?”
The man smiled, the slow curve moving across his lips in a casual ripple of amusement.
“Jake Carville. Have you never heard of me before?”
“Uh, no. Sorry,” I said again. I felt like I was apologizing for everything. I deserved it, after all. “About the cake—”
“I’ll get someone to clean it up. Don’t worry.” The man waved his hand, as though he didn’t realize that it was a two thousand dollar cake. Then again, maybe he didn’t care. A flicker of hope bloomed in my chest.
“Then you really don’t know who I am,” he was saying.
“No.” I shook my head, trying to remember if I’d ever heard of a Jake Carville. I didn’t really follow the news, and I couldn’t afford cable TV. He could have been anything—an NBC executive, a Wall Street guru, a congressman—but I had no idea.
“Lucas did go out of his way, didn’t he?” he murmured. He stepped closer to me, and all of the breath ran out of my body. His cologne smelled faintly of peppermint, and as he leaned down to me I tried my best to stand tall. Even though I was barefoot.
“Lucas?” Steph hadn’t mentioned a Lucas.
“You’re very innocent,” he said. He lifted his hand and traced the line of my chin with one finger. His touch shocked me with its possessiveness. If it had been any other man, I’d have clocked him in the face at the first touch. But he was so… so calm.