between them. “I know plenty about romance.”
She sucked in a breath and licked her lips. “What did The Blues Brothers teach you about romance?”
He tilted his head to the side and leaned in close to her. “Right now, the only thing I can think of is having a mission from God.”
She rolled her eyes but continued smiling. “What mission is that?”
He didn’t know if she recognized the quote from the movie or not, but right now, he felt like heaven was telling him to kiss this woman. “To do this.”
He covered her mouth with his.
His kiss was soft and gentle. But the power of his body was a constant vibration of energy beneath his skin. The promise of a passionate explosion simmered in the easy touch.
It was a player’s kiss. Sexy and teasing enough to make her want to lean in for more. The kind of kiss that brought fantasies of his lips caressing other parts of her body. He didn’t grope her or jerk her up against his body. Only his lips touched hers, and that made her yearn more than she had when she’d tried giving up coffee and potato chips cold turkey two years ago.
Then, as if he knew she was a second away from latching onto him the way she had the coffee and the bag of kettle-cooked salt and vinegar chips her sister brought to convince her to give up the madness, he eased back. Her eyelids were like weights as she slowly lifted them to meet his eyes.
The corner of his mouth was lifted cockily. His eyes held the intense focus of a hunter closing in on prey. Excitement and possession swirled in their depths. If she let herself, she’d agree to the affair he offered with just a look.
Except she had goals. Professional and personal ones. Her own exhibit. No relationship drama. No more getting caught up in the lies of a promised forever.
“What are you thinking about?” His voice was silky and mellow. Her thighs clenched with need.
Your exhibit. Remember your exhibit.
“Cabins,” she said.
He blinked several times. “Cabins?” He ran a hand over his lower lip. “Why are you thinking about cabins?”
Probably not the best lead-in after a fantastic kiss, but he needed to be brought down a notch or two. Kevin had thrown out the bait with that sexy-as-hell-but-not-quite-enough kiss, and she’d bitten. She could tell he was ready to lure her in, and oh, she wanted to be lured. Really, really wanted to be, but her life was about goals, not getting off.
“My next project. I want to document cabins.”
Kevin’s brow cocked. He still smiled but there was a definite dimming of the spark in his eye.
“I’m trying to focus on my next project,” she said. “You would distract me from that.”
“Ahh, now I get it.” He took half a step back. Just out of her reach. She ran her hands over her pant legs to stop herself from reaching out.
He leaned an elbow on the balcony. Nailed her with his full attention. “Tell me about your project.”
He couldn’t be serious? Could he? She hadn’t said that to make him run, but she hadn’t expected him to ask for more information. “Why?”
“Obviously, your project is important enough to distract you from what I thought was a damn good kiss.” He raised a brow in question.
She nodded, willing to concede to the truth. “The kiss was very good.”
“Yet you thought of cabins. I want to know about the project.”
“Seriously?” She’d expected some sly comment about him not being a distraction, or that they could just have a little fun before she moved on. Instead he’d asked for more information. Kevin was making it hard for her to not leave New York with a bang.
He waved a hand for her to continue. “Seriously. I’d like to get to know you.”
Jasmine eyed him and tried to tell if he was full of crap. He watched her expectantly. Eyes focused. The seductive up-tilt of his mouth was still there. Still tempting.
Fine. If he wanted to know, she’d tell him. If he thought her idea was dumb, then she’d save a lot of time trying to figure out if he was worth her serious consideration and move on quickly. If he liked the idea...maybe leaving New York with a bang, literally, wasn’t such a bad idea.
She took a deep breath. When she’d announced her plans to a few people in the fashion industry, they’d looked at her as if she’d announced she was packing up and moving to Alaska to become a pioneer woman. Maybe she was taking a drastic step, but she wanted to do something worthwhile. She didn’t care what they thought, but the idea of Kevin looking at her like that? Well, that made her stomach churn a little.
“Okay, so I was visiting relatives in Georgia last year,” she said in a rush before changing her mind. “When I was there, my uncle had a bonfire out in the field next to the house. They used to grow corn there I think, but anyway, there was this old cabin along the edge of the field. When I asked, he said it was the first house his great-great-grandfather built during the Reconstruction. He’d purchased the small bit of land, farmed it, fought the Klan on it and ultimately survived.”
“Damn. That’s cool as hell.” Excitement and interest infused Kevin’s voice.
“I know, right?” Her own excitement was piqued by his. She’d been thrilled to learn more about her mother’s family. She’d lost her mom when she was so young. Her dad remarried and she’d rarely spent time with her mother’s family. After her father later divorced and her stepmother completely disappeared out of her life, Jasmine had reached out to her mother’s family.
“So I took pictures of the place. Started a scrapbook with the family history I got from my uncle. I sent a copy to him. Then the rest of my family asked for copies. It gave me an idea to capture more old cabins and homes owned by black people. Capture where they lived and highlight their history with what I can track down. Kinda chronicling the everyday life of the regular people trying to make their way in a world that didn’t want them to find a way.”
“That’s what’s up.” Kevin nodded and sounded impressed. “Where are you starting?”
His response fueled her excitement even more. She’d gotten such a lackluster response from some of her colleagues. Kevin got what she was trying to do. That meant others had to get it, too.
“I’m going back to Georgia. I’ve been in contact with a historian who’s working to save slave cabins. I’m setting up a meeting with him to get an idea of where to go next.”
“What will you do after you finish?” All of the flirtation was gone, replaced by a genuine interest in her project.
“I have an agreement with Jordan and Jones to publish my findings.” That was the first time she’d said that out loud. Her disbelief at the leeway the publishing house was giving her seeped into her voice. “Angelero Gallery gave me the okay to exhibit
