skills on.”
“Is that so?” She reached for her wine. “Are you a little rusty?”
“That’s for you to judge.”
“Go on, hit me with your best pickup line.” Her eyes sparkled and a smile twitched on her lips.
This was about to go downhill. Fast. Pickup lines weren’t really his style. In fact, he excelled at meeting women in unconventional ways...like having them turn up at his apartment, bleeding.
He shook his head, laughing, as he took another bite out of his pizza. “I prefer a more casual approach.”
She planted her fists on her waist and flapped her elbows up and down. “Buck, buck, buck.”
“You did not just call me chicken.” Damn, the girl had sass.
“Let me hear your line, then.” She grinned.
“Oh, you’re on.” He reached his arms above his head, making a show of stretching his neck from side to side. Her eyes skated over him, wide and stormy. “I don’t have a library card, but do you mind if I check you out?”
“No!” She roared, throwing her head back and letting out a burst of laughter that was belly deep and totally disarming. Totally and richly at odds with the rest of her dainty, fairylike appearance. “That’s terrible.”
“Are you a fruit, because honeydew you know how fine you look right now?”
She gasped. “I didn’t think it could get worse—”
“Are you a parking ticket? ’Cause you’ve got fine written all over you.”
“Please.” She held up a hand, her shoulders heaving as laughter spilled out of her. The sound warmed him from the inside out. “Stop.”
“Your body is sixty-five percent water and I’m thirsty.” He pretended to brush the dirt off his shoulders. “I could go all night.”
“Okay, okay. You win.” She clapped her hands together and bowed. “You are the king of the worst pickup lines I have ever had the misfortune of hearing.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Fair. I promise to listen to you next time.” She drained the rest of her wine and immediately topped them both up. “I’m curious now. How do you usually pick up women?”
“I’m a bit out of practice.” He figured honesty was the best policy. Besides, the last thing he wanted to do was talk about the sad state of his love life right now.
“Me, too.” She nodded to herself. “Looks like we’re in the same boat.”
Over the course of the next hour they finished the whole pizza and made a start on another bottle of wine. A delicious and languid feeling spread through him, loosening his limbs and his tongue. Maybe it was her incredible cooking, the good drink or some combination, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt as connected to another person as he did with Wren.
She unwound her legs and untangled her skirt, stretching her arms back and thrusting her breasts forward. His mouth watered as the fabric stretched, making it sheer enough that he could see the shadow of her nipples through the fabric.
Nope, that woman did not need to wear a bra at all.
* * *
“THANKS FOR SHARING the pizza with me,” she said, trying to sound casual. “I get a little excited when I cook and I always end up with way too much.”
“I’m open to helping you deal with any leftovers that might come up.” Rhys flashed another pearly white smile and Wren wondered how many times that smile had drawn women to him. “But let me at least do the dishes.”
“No way. You saved me from bleeding all over the building, trying to find bandages.” She held up a hand. “Dinner was my treat. The dishes can wait.”
“Well, thank you. It was delicious. You sure you’re really not a chef?”
“No, I’m an artist.” The words slipped out and brought with them an immediate sense of guilt. “Well, what I mean to say is that I work in a gallery.”
“That’s not what you said.” His dark eyes scanned her face, curiosity obviously piqued. “You called yourself an artist.”
Shit. She’d been so desperate to have that title for so many years that clearly the idea still floated around in her brain like a piece of flotsam waiting to trip her up. Being an artist was no longer her dream. And after she finished using her art as a cover to find out what happened to Kylie, it would be out of her life for good.
“I dabble,” she said eventually, waving a hand as if to dismiss the idea.
“What sort of art?”
She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Painting.”
“I’m always fascinated by artists. I look at a painting and have no clue how the inspiration would have come to them, or how they would even know where to start.” He shook his head in wonderment and it was like a knife twisting in her chest.
Years of her life had been devoted to the inspiration that had clogged her head. More years had been spent perfecting her technique, channeling her passion. Years that were now a total waste.
“What do you do?” she asked, desperate to steer the conversation away from the part of her life she wanted to leave behind.
“I’m in IT for a security company. It’s like getting to solve a giant puzzle every day.” He laughed. “Nerdy but true.”
“People keep telling me that nerds will rule the world one day, if they don’t already.”
“I guess you could say that.” Darkness flickered across his face before the smile returned, bringing a cheeky glint to his eye. “I don’t suppose you want to show me any of your paintings? If they’re half as good as your pizza, I’m betting you’ll be the next Picasso.”
“I don’t know about that,” she said, knotting her hands in her lap.
“About being Picasso or about showing me your work?”
Part of her balked at the idea of showing him her art—of showing anyone her art—but his face was totally earnest. His interest in her work appeared genuine, and besides, what harm could it do?
This is New York, not some tiny hick town that thinks a woman’s body is a product of the devil.
“I’m no Picasso, let’s be clear about that.” She pushed up from her chair and motioned for him to follow. “Come on, my work space is through here.”
Rhys’s presence filled the air around her as they walked, his steps mirroring her own. He said nothing as she pushed open the door to her bedroom. Her mattress rested on the floor since she hadn’t bought a bed frame yet. The quilt she’d been using as her duvet was draped over it, creating a white puddle of fabric around the edges of the mattress.
Early
