Page 20 of Painted in Love
If he touched her, she’d pick up the phone and have the concierge send out for another twelve condoms.
Instead, she backed to the door, put her hand on the knob, twisted it, and realized they hadn’t even locked it. Then she gave him her parting shot. “One time only.” She opened the door, hoping there was no one in the hall to see that he was completely naked, and slipped out.
Before she closed the door behind her forever, she said softly, “Believe me, that was the best one time I’ve ever had.”
Clay struggled into his clothing, almost tripping as he tried to get one foot into his pants. He felt like an idiot. Why hadn’t he dressed the moment she had?
There had never been a woman on earth who hadn’t said, “When can we see each other again?” It was programmed into their DNA.
Especially after a night like that. Clay had always been the one to put an end to things. He didn’t treat women badly; in fact, he gave them exactly what they wanted. He could gauge when a woman wanted something more permanent, and he steered clear, stuck to casual. He didn’t want to break hearts, but he’d never allowed a serious relationship to take his eyes off the goal. Relationships—and worse, love—were uncontrollable.
But no woman had ever said, Loved it, but it was one time only.
He’d thought their lovemaking would speak for itself. But now, he sat staring at the door, completely dumbfounded. In less than twenty-four hours, she’d become the woman of his dreams. And now she was gone? Just like that?
He sat there in just his slacks, his zipper still undone, his mind reeling. What the hell just happened?
He’d felt something for her when they had sex. He was positive she’d felt something too. Even if she wouldn’t admit it.
He needed to find her again.
But if he did, what would happen to his goals? He didn’t want to be like his parents, so besotted with each other that there was no room for anyone else in their lives, not even their children. They hadn’t planned for the future, leaving behind crushing debt when they died. It had fallen to Dane and Ava to bail out the family. The two of them had given up their university educations to go to work—Dane at a resort and Ava as an aide in a nursing home. Of course, Dane had turned that job into a resort empire, and Ava had loved working with older people so much that it became a calling, providing eldercare with more than a hundred facilities in the US and internationally. And now they’d both found love.
But Clay wasn’t sure he could split himself between his goals and a relationship. He wasn’t ready for an intense love that would devour his life. He had so many things to do.
But there was something special about Saskia. It wasn’t only the sex. It was the connection he’d felt as they talked. It was how she’d exposed herself to him by revealing her trust issues. There was so much more to her than what they’d done last night in this room.
It didn’t matter if he wasn’t ready for a relationship or a woman in his life. Or even love.
He had to find her.
But first, he called the robotaxi company and blistered them for almost running over the woman with whom he was completely infatuated.
Chapter Seven
Adrian’s office was almost next door to the hotel where Saskia had last night’s tryst with Clay. Seated at her desk, Adrian was alone, and Saskia walked right in.
Before she could ask about this big deal Adrian had mentioned, her friend and agent said, “First, the word is out about the new mural in the Mission District. The art world is going nuts for it.” Adrian arched one eyebrow in a practiced move designed to get the upper hand on anyone she was facing down. “But I had to hear about it on social media rather than from you?”
Adrian’s imperious eyebrow never worked on Saskia. “It’s been little more than twenty-four hours. I was going to tell you, but I slept most of the day.” How could the street art possibly get so much notice in just one day?
Remembering all the years when her art was barely seen, she was gratified that someone had found the new piece.
Adrian drummed the end of her pencil on the desktop. “Your work was noticed.” She rolled her eyes. “By someone big.”
Big or small, Saskia didn’t care. She just liked that people saw her art. Especially the stuff she didn’t do on commission. Those were the pieces that came straight from her heart.
Adrian was an excellent lawyer and an even better agent, and Saskia spotted the twinkle in her blue eyes. In many ways, they were complete opposites. While Saskia was tall, with dark hair falling to the middle of her back, Adrian was blond and petite. And curvy. She attracted men like flowers attracted hummingbirds. So far, no man had caught her.
“I can see you’re dying to tell all,” Saskia said. “So spill.”
In her precise British tones, Adrian said, “The guy who told me about it came here for a commission. He’s willing to pay just about anything. I mean an-ee-thing,” she stressed with bared teeth. “He wants a mural around the entire exterior of his warehouse. He’s a mega fan of your work.”
Saskia might prefer her street art to commissioned work, but commissions paid her bills. And Adrian’s.
“Tell me more.” Saskia slid into the chair opposite.
The high-rise office on Market Street overlooked the bay, and today the view was stunning. Now that the fog had burned off, the sky glowed bluer than anything she could find on her paint palette, and sailboats dotted the waters out by Alcatraz. She wasn’t a landscape painter, but this view was almost worth trying it.
