When I see him, I see a man far outside of my reach. Not that my reach is low--but Rowan has an immaculate body, made of muscular lines and angles, deep blue eyes that reflect his humor and generosity, and more money than I’m capable of understanding. And he doesn’t seem to care much about it--like he could take it or leave it and still be happy.
I’m sure he’d be disappointed if he couldn’t buy fresh goat cheese or new Ugg slippers at the turn of a winter season. I laugh at the thought, and Star gives me a a knowing look. We work until it’s dark and the stars we’re painting start to appear in the night sky above us. She nods to me and winks when Rowan pulls up in the Range Rover. I wipe my paint-stained hands on my shirt and jeans and tuck my paints away back inside of Star’s studio.
“You about ready to go, Miss Cadence?” I smile and follow him back out to his car. In the back are two silver boxes and one plain white one. He gets in and pulls away from the foundation, zooming up the highway that leads to his estate. The hills turn to mountains, and soon we’re on the road that leads up to his long, winding driveway. I glance back in the rearview mirror every few miles to look at the boxes sitting there. Neither of us have said much of anything since we got into the car, but I have more than an inkling that there might be a dress in one of those boxes.
My heart skips a damn beat every time we turn over a curve. This would constitute a gift, and a romantic one. Or would it be a practical one? Maybe he does need the artist at the fundraising event. Maybe it’s just the kind of thing you do for a friend who doesn’t have anything to wear. Maybe he wants me to be a part of Coming Home, like he said.
Generous. That’s all it is. It’s generous, not romantic.
When we pull up to the marble steps in front of his house, he parks and walks around to let me out of my door. The very gesture makes my palms sweat. My nerves nearly get the best of me, and I nearly fall on my face when I step out of the tall SUV. But Rowan is there to catch me, his hands on my forearms, holding me up from crashing onto my ass right in front of him.
“Ready for your presents? I have a few back there. Early Christmas presents, I guess.”
“I, um, uh. You didn’t have to do that. I don’t have anything for you.”
“You’re going to be my date to the fundraiser, and I got the distinct impression last week that you weren’t all that interested in going.”
“I am. I just normally don’t do these things. Not with anyone. Not handsome billionaires, for sure.” My whole body grows hot, electric sparks pouring through my body and centering right where he’s holding his hands on my arms.
“So I’m handsome?”
“Most--some--women would say so.”
“You just did.” He’s wearing a big, cheesy grin. “But I won’t push you on that, girl. Let me get the boxes, and we’ll go on inside. I’ll pour you a glass of wine, and I promise it’ll all seem a little less bizarre once you’ve had a glass of good Syrah.” He finally lets go of me and grabs all three packages out of the car. I keep still, standing there, watching him. My pulse rate increases, and the sparks that he always sends through my body start to increase as I watch him.
“It all is a little… not bizarre. Just, unexpected. I thought when I came out here that—” I don’t quite know how to finish that sentence, and he raises an eyebrow at me as he slams the car door.
He walks up to the door and holds it open for me while still hefting the packages with his other hand, gesturing for me to come inside. “Come on in, Cadence. I won’t bite.” He waits for a moment, and I walk up the steps and walk past him into the great room next to the kitchen. The ceilings are tall here, the walls made of polished dark wood, the furniture of leather and sturdy cotton canvas. I take a seat in on of the broad leather chairs, and Rowan follows to take a seat in the chair next to me. He puts the packages on the broad coffee table in front of us.
“You didn’t have to—”
“Don’t say that, girl. Not again. You’re making me feel like I did a bad thing, when all I did was get my social secretary to do what she loves best—go to Albuquerque and shop. She got your measurements, right?”
I nod. That was awkward in and of itself. “I don’t do too much that’s fancy—even though you’ve told me several times that New York is full of fancy people.”
He laughs. “Don’t worry. No fundraiser in Ruidoso, New Mexico run by a Texas boy is going to be all that fancy.” He puts his hand on mine in a reassuring gesture, but I want to jump away from it like it’s on fire, like it might burn me. Along with the fear is that leaping flame that starts deep in my body and pools between my legs—anxiety, confusion, and desire all at once. “And Cadence, please know that there’s no expectation. No pressure. This is between two friends, that’s all.”