as breezily as she could. ‘I didn’t exactly give you an answer, if you remember.’ No, she had backed away, muttered something about needing to get things sorted, said, ‘Thank you for the offer to take today to start planning and see you tomorrow, thank you very much...’ and scarpered as fast as her feet could carry her, out of the studio and back to the safety of her own apartment.
‘I thought your mad dash out of the studio was answer enough. Why the sudden change of heart?’
Hope never admitted to needing anyone; she didn’t intend to start now. ‘You need someone to start straight away and spend the next two weeks at your beck and call. Well, whether I like it or not I am already at your beck and call. It makes sense.’
‘How very giving of you. So you’re offering because it’s convenient?’
Her fingers curled into a fist. He’d asked her—why on earth was she the one working to convince him? ‘And although I am more than capable of sorting this wedding alone it would be foolish of me not to use all the resources available. I barely know the city but you live here, your input could save me a lot of wasted effort—and this is the only way you’ll help. I’m big enough to admit that if I want Faith to have the best wedding possible then I need to involve you.’
‘Another altruistic motive.’ Hope’s cheeks heated at the sardonic note in Gael’s voice. ‘And very laudable but you’ve seen the other portraits. Sacrificial victim isn’t the look I’m going for. It’s not enough for you to agree to pose. I need you to want it. Tell me, Hope. Do you want it?’ His voice had lowered to a decadent pitch, intimately dark. Hope swallowed.
Did she want to pose for him? Lie on that chaise, his eyes on every exposed inch of skin?
Hope stared out through the black iron railings. She knew the view by heart. The buildings opposite, the tops of the trees. This was where she hung out with a coffee and a book or her laptop, too scared to venture out of the comfort zone she’d carved for herself. She didn’t mean to speak but somehow the words came spilling out. Another sad confession. ‘I meant to shake things up when I moved here. New York was my chance to reinvent myself. I started, I bought new clothes and chopped off some of my hair and thought that would be enough. But I’m still the same. I don’t know how to talk to people any more, not when it doesn’t involve work or superficial stuff. I don’t...’ She hesitated. ‘I don’t know how to make friends, how to have fun. Maybe this will help me loosen up. It’ll be a talking point if nothing else.’
‘You want me to help you loosen up?’ Her pulse quickened at the velvet in his voice.
‘Yes. No! Not you exactly. What I mean is that I need to try something different, to be different. Posing for you will be new, unexpected.’
‘Okay. Let’s try this.’
She hadn’t known how tightly she was wound waiting for his answer, how the world had fallen away until it was just the two of them, sharing an intimate space even though they were half a mile apart, until he agreed.
‘Great.’ She inhaled a shaky breath. ‘So what now? Do you want me to come over and...?’ Her voice trailed off. How was she going to do it if she couldn’t even say it?
The laughter in his voice confirmed he was probably thinking the same thing. ‘Not today. I think we need to warm up a little first. You, Hope McKenzie, have just admitted you need me to help you discover new things.’
That wasn’t what she had said. Was it? Certainly not in the way she thought he was implying. ‘And you think you can do that for me, do you?’
‘Maybe.’
She didn’t have to see him to know that he was smiling. Anger rose, sharp, hot and a welcome antidote to the sudden intimacy—but she wasn’t entirely sure if she was more angry with Gael for his presumption or herself for laying herself open like that. ‘How very altruistic of you, and what’s in it for you? A better painting or the virtuous glow of helping poor, virginal Hope McKenzie? Sprinkle a little of your privileged, glamorous Upper East Side fairy dust on me and watch me transform? Well, Professor Higgins, this little flower girl doesn’t need your patronage, thank you very much.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ Before she could respond Gael continued smoothly. ‘In that case why don’t we get started on planning this whirlwind wedding? Any venues you want to see?’
Hope glared at the laptop as if it were to blame for her lack of possibilities. There was no way she wanted to admit she didn’t have one idea as yet. ‘Yes. Meet me...meet me on top of the Empire State Building in an hour and a half.’ Did they do weddings? It almost didn’t matter. It was iconic and it was a start.
‘On top of the Empire State Building? How romantic. What a shame it isn’t Valentine’s Day. Am I Cary Grant or Tom Hanks in this scenario?’
‘Neither, you’re not the hero. You’re the wisecracking friend who ends up handcuffed to a stripper on the stag night.’
‘I must have missed that scene. Oh, well, there are worse things to be handcuffed to.’ And he hung up leaving Hope with a disturbing image involving Gael O’Connor, handcuffs and the red chaise longue. What was more disturbing was the swirl of excitement in her stomach at the very thought...
* * *
It was predictably busy at the top of the Empire State Building, the sun and the wind combining to make the walkway uncomfortable in the early afternoon heat, but none of the tourists seemed to be complaining, too busy taking selfies and pointing out landmarks to notice the conditions.
And they would all be tourists. No self-respecting New Yorker would be up here at this time, during the height of the sightseeing buzz. In fact Gael couldn’t remember the last time he had set foot up here. It had probably been for a photo shoot—that was why he visited most tourist locations.
Which was a shame because, even hardened local that he was, he had to admit the view was pretty spectacular, the blue of the ocean merging with the blue of the sky and the city rising from the ocean’s depths like some mythological Atlantis.
Gael walked around three sides of the viewing platform before he spotted Hope, bright in the same red dress she’d been wearing earlier. She was standing half turned away from him, leaning on the railing staring out over the city, the dark strands of her hair whipping in the wind. It was odd, he’d only met her this morning but her image was indelibly printed on him—probably because most women didn’t gatecrash his studio, demand he help them with a wedding and then blurt out their sexual history—or lack of—before nine a.m.
A smile tugged at his lips. He hadn’t seen that one coming and at this stage in the game he could have sworn he’d seen it all. Dammit, he had to admit he was intrigued. How old was Hope? He looked at her assessingly. Somewhere in her mid to late twenties, he’d guess. Which meant she had to be either holding out for true love or had a considerable amount of baggage and neither of those things appealed to him. Not that he was interested in Hope in that way. He just needed a model.
She shifted and her full profile came into view. Nice straight nose and a really good mouth—full bottom lip and a lovely shape to the top one. Almost biteable. Almost... ‘So, is this it? The perfect spot?’
She jumped as he joined her at the barrier, her cheeks flushing as she threw a stilted smile his way. ‘I don’t know. It looks a bit busy for a wedding.’
‘Which is a good thing because it turns out
