Moving In With Adam, page 9
“A person doesn’t have to fall in love to believe in it. I’ve been around Blythe and Dillon and Mom and Martin enough to know love is a very wonderful and powerful force.” She absently traced around the edges of a photo. “Love is caring passionately about another’s well-being, rooms lighting up when someone special walks in, bells ringing when he kisses you.”
“How many bells have you heard?” His voice was heavy with sarcasm.
“I’ll hear them. When I meet a man and fall in love with him in spite of his flaws and scars and wrinkles and imperfections, then I’ll know he’s the right man for me. I’ll hear the bells, and I’ll know it’s true love.”
“Bells. True love. Hell, you’re about as wise as Emily. True love’s a fantasy for children and fools. Spend a couple of days in court listening to divorce and custody cases.”
Adam moved across the room to stand at the window, one long arm bracing himself against the frame, his back to her. “I don’t take on divorce cases, but my partners handle some. If you saw the way people who were supposedly madly in love at one time turn on each other with hatred and anger…Their children become pawns in the cruelest, most vicious game invented by mankindcustody.” His voice resonated with loathing. “If there were such a thing as love, it wouldn’t be about hurting and destroying and winning at any cost.”
“Not all marriages are like that. Maybe those people weren’t ever really in love.”
“And maybe you aren’t the expert on love and marriage you think you are. Joanna and Christian were a well-balanced couple with common backgrounds, interests and goals. Sensible people go into marriage with their eyes open, not with the unrealistic expectations of a fairy-tale romance.”
“If you believe that, I feel sorry for you.”
Adam snorted derisively, turning to rest one hip on the windowsill. “Listen to who’s feeling sorry for me. A newly hatched chick. I’m only thirty-two, but those grayish-blue eyes of yours shine with such innocence, you make me feel I’m a hundred years old. You don’t have a clue what life is about.”
“Don’t I?” The photographs blurred before her unseeing eyes. “Life is your father dying, your mother remarrying a wonderful man, but a man in the military so you’re uprooted and hauled all over the country. Life can be very lonely, especially when you’re terrified another special person is going to be taken from you.” She forced the last words over the lump in her throat. “I know all about life.”
“Maybe you have had some rough times, but you’re still a dewy-eyed optimist. You’re the type who believes in a pot of gold at the end of every rainbow.”
“I know what’s real and what’s illusion. I know life can be cruel and unfair. And I know love can hurt, but you have to risk it.”
“You’re a great one to be talking about risk.”
The mocking words stung. “It must be difficult being the only flawless person in a weak and flawed world.” Sunny pressed her fingers painfully hard against the tabletop and took a deep breath. “If you want me to paint your brother, you’ll have to refrain from constantly attacking me.”
“Are you going to paint the portrait?”
She chewed her bottom lip. “I don’t know,” she said shakily. “I’m going to try.” When he didn’t answer she glared across the room. “And if it’s a disaster, don’t blame me. You could have found someone else.”
“I didn’t want someone else.” He strolled back to the table. “Let me show you some photos I particularly like. I have a pretty good idea how I want the portrait painted.”
“Fine. Go home and paint it. In the meantime, leave me alone. A person can’t order up a painting the way you order up a hamburger. I’ll decide what I’m going to paint.”
“Wait a minute. I’m paying you—”
“The money’s not important,” she interrupted impatiently. “If you like the portrait when I’m finished, fine. Ten thousand is too much, but I can always use the money. The painting will be for Emily. A celebration of the love between her and her father.”
“While I appreciate—”
“I don’t want your appreciation. I want peace and quiet so I can think. Go home.”
Hours later, Sunny tossed down her sketchbook and stretched aching muscles. Her stomach reminded her the dinner hour had come and gone. There was a hot dog buried in the freezer, and she dumped it in a pan of water to boil on the stove.
Thumbnail sketches littered the tabletop. Some were a few hastily drawn lines, others more filled in, but none were intricately drawn. These were preliminary drawings, done to get down on paper some of the ideas jostling around in her brain. Later would come detailed roughs and full-size sketches.
Reviewing her evening’s efforts, Sunny felt the tiniest lifting of her spirits. She’d forgotten the excitement and anticipation stemming from embarking upon a new project. Even the ache of muscles was a satisfying ache. She bit into her hot dog, absently wiping mustard from her chin as the mortifying thought struck her that Adam might have been right about her.
Had she abandoned her work to punish herself because she blamed herself for Grumps’s accident? Even worse was the idea that subconsciously she wanted to be a failure to punish Grumps for not waiting for her to go for his walk. He wouldn’t have torn up his knee if she’d been along. And if he hadn’t been such a wimp about his pain and exercised his leg the way he was supposed to…Darn Adam Traherne for planting such wicked thoughts. Both of them wrong, dead wrong.
Her eyes burned. There was no getting around the fact that Grumps was bothered by the way she’d neglected her work. He’d specifically hired Esther in order for Sunny to return to her studio. He’d claimed Sunny’s hovering was driving him crazy, but she knew he was concerned about all the excuses she’d given for not working. He just didn’t understand how much he’d frightened her. She hadn’t realized how she’d repressed all her feelings about losing her father until she’d come close to losing Grumps.
A glimmer of an idea danced at the edges of her brain. She and Emily weren’t the only children to lose a loved one to death. People tended to overlook children’s grief and suffering, but their pain was real. As were their fears and bewilderment. The right sort of book could address these feelings, not as a cure, but as a shared understanding. She didn’t know if she was capable of creating such a book, but as Grumps was fond of reminding her, she wouldn’t know until she tried. Dear Grumps. He was going to be elated when he learned she was working again.
Night had fallen and through the uncurtained windows, lights glowed from the tall house next door. Sunny sipped from a can of pop. The single-minded, selfish bully who lived there needn’t give himself any credit because her urge to work had returned. Adam Traherne didn’t possess any special insight or understanding. He would have warned her that not painting would cause her hands to fall off if he thought it would get him what he wanted.
Slipping into her nightshirt later, Sunny mentally explored the drawbacks inherent in agreeing to paint the portrait of Christian Traherne. It was inevitable her ideas would clash with Adam’s. Visualizing him hanging over her, criticizing and suggesting and interfering, and generally driving her berserk, she fell asleep in the midst of plotting various nefarious schemes, all designed to rid herself of the pest next door.
With morning, the question of how to make Adam disappear was no closer to being answered. At least he hadn’t appeared on her doorstep laden with turkey sausage. Sipping her coffee, Sunny shuffled the photographs spread across the dining table. Her attention was caught by one of Emily riding her father’s shoulders in a swimming pool as they played some kind of game with Adam. Adam was holding up a large ball, the water streaming down his sinewy arms and muscular chest.
Sunny swallowed a bite of doughnut, an outrageous idea taking shape in her mind. Adam Traherne probably knew less about drawing than she knew about pleading a case in court. Put that lack of knowledge together with his obsession about Sunny painting his brother…
Sunny smiled with unholy glee. Adam Traherne had done enough blabbering yesterday about their cooperating on the portrait. She knew exactly what his idea of cooperation entailed. Her doing his bidding. It might be interesting to see if Adam Traherne was prepared to cooperate in other ways. Somehow she doubted it.
Her smile turned into a grin. By noon she’d have him running back to Denver with his tail tucked between his legs. She went straight to the phone. Dillon had insisted on giving her Adam’s phone number. In case of trouble, he’d said. There was more than one kind of trouble.
CHAPTER SIX
“YOU must be joking!”
At Adam’s outraged shout, Sunny held the receiver away from her ear. Although it was probably too late for her eardrum. “If you don’t want to…” She let the words trail off. “I thought you wanted me to do my best.”
“What you’re suggesting is ridiculous and hardly necessary. Work from the photographs.”
“I didn’t realize you wanted calendar art,” she said dismissively, “but if you don’t mind your brother looking like a wooden, two-dimensional stick figure…”
“It’s November. I don’t have a bathing suit with me.”
“I’m sure you can find one in one of the stores downtown. Estes Park is a resort town.” She winced as the phone at the other end of the line was slammed down.
If she was any judge of character, Adam would be calling back in about thirty minutes to tell her there wasn’t a single bathing suit to be purchased in all of Estes Park. Then she’d suggest he could model nude, and about that time he’d remember urgent business in Denver. In case he decided to make his excuses in person, she quickly sketched a few rough, lifeless outlines.
It was closer to an hour before Adam marched through her back door after a cursory knock. The look on his face was as black as the sweatshirt and pants Sunny was not surprised to see him wearing. Swallowing her laughter, she gravely inspected him, slowly shaking her head.
“Those clothes completely obscure the figure. I need to be able to see muscle structure and body mass, or your brother’s portrait won’t have any movement. It will be static, lifeless.” She wouldn’t have thought it possible for the look on his face to turn any blacker.
“It’s not exactly sun-tanning weather out there.” Yanking at the ties at his waist, he stripped the sweatpants from his legs and tossed them on the nearest chair. His sweatshirt quickly followed. “I don’t want to hear any smart-aleck remarks,” he said through gritted teeth. “It was the only one I could find that came close to fitting.”
Sunny blinked at the scrap of psychedelic fabric hugging his hips. She should have realized Adam would totally screw up her plan. He wasn’t supposed to consent to pose. Luckily she’d discarded her initial idea of suggesting he pose in the nude, or he might be standing in front of her without a stitch on. Which was the last thing she wanted.
Adam might be the usual muscles and bones and skin, but unfortunately for Sunny’s peace of mind, nature had fashioned those common components into an uncommonly sensual male figure. Adam Traherne was solid but there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. It shouldn’t have come as any surprise that a man with such dark hair and a constant five-o’clock shadow would also have legs and arms sprinkled with dark hairs. Not that his arms and legs interested her in the least. It was the sexy mat of chest hair she found so distracting. Her scheme was definitely not working as designed.
“Quit trying to think of something polite to say. I know I look ridiculous. Let’s get this over with.”
Thank goodness the man had flunked mind-reading. “You need to relax, loosen up. I can’t draw you when you’re all tense.” He wasn’t the only tense one.
“You’d be tense, too, if you were wearing nothing more than a wide neon bandage.”
“You needn’t be embarrassed. We frequently used nude models in drawing class. An artist’s only concern is getting a figure’s proportions correct or using the right colorwash for skin tones.” Certainly in those classes her mind hadn’t dwelt on wondering how it would feel to run her fingers through the curly hairs on a male chest. Unsure whom she was trying to convince, she added, “You’re nothing more than a bowl of apples to me.”
“How reassuring.”
The dry comment reminded Sunny of Adam’s reputation for astuteness. Cautiously she proceeded with her plan, circling him, tapping her pencil against her bottom lip, her face, she hoped, a mask of intense concentration. The chilly room air contracted his nipples into hard points.
Niggling doubts about the wisdom of her scheme poked at her, but Sunny resolutely ignored them. “Stand here, sideways to the window, in the sunlight. Widen your stance, not that much, and rest your hands on your hips.” His shoulders were broad; his chest tapered to a narrow waist. She moved across the room and gazed at him in deliberation. “Let your hands hang down naturally.”
“There’s nothing natural about any of this.”
Sunny couldn’t agree more. It certainly wasn’t natural for a man to have thighs like tree trunks and not look totally muscle-bound or fat. Adam Traherne was definitely neither. Even worse, he had the kind of tight bottom teenage girls swooned over. Only she wasn’t a teenage girl. She was a sane and sensible adult, too old to be mentally drooling over some hot-shot lawyer because he had a body designed for action movies.
It was time to apply more pressure and escalate the ouster-Adam campaign. He shifted his weight, causing corded muscles to ripple in his well-shaped upper arms. “You have to stand still,” she said sharply.
He scowled at her. “If you think this is so easy, trade places with me.”
“If you could draw, you wouldn’t need me.” She handed him a pillow. “Hold this up in the air. It’s Emily,” she answered his unspoken question. “She and your brother are in the pool.” Her hands on his smooth shoulders, Sunny twisted his sinewy upper torso, her palms gliding slowly over his skin as she experimented with various poses. The heat from his body singed her skin.
She cleared her throat. “There. Now turn your head.” She ran her fingers lightly over the black silken cap of hair that followed the contours of his head. “Like this.” Standing back, Sunny caught her breath. The tableau she’d created was designed to express paternal devotion and adoration, but in spite of the pillow and ridiculous swimming suit, the inner confidence and serene masculinity radiating from Adam Traherne endowed the scene with provocatively sensual overtones.
Resolutely ignoring a small quiver running through her middle regions, Sunny filled a large glass with tap water from the kitchen. She walked around him, frowning as she muttered about the light. “Turn—” she manipulated his shoulders “—like so. I want to check the effect of the sunlight.” She poured some water down his back.
He jumped as if electrically shocked. “What the hell?”
“Water. You’re supposed to be in a swimming pool, remember?” She viewed his back with disfavor. “You shook off all the water.”
“Was it necessary to use ice water?”
“Don’t be such a baby. You’re supposed to be in a pool, not a hot tub. Turn around.” She rained more water over his shoulders and down his chest.
Adam heroically limited his reaction to a few choice swear words. Droplets of water clung to the hair on his chest. His nipples pointed straight at Sunny. “Must you strive for total authenticity?”
“You want my best efforts, don’t you?” Biting her lower lip in a pose of total absorption in her task, Sunny studied him for a long moment before dipping her hand in the glass. Dribbling water down his chest again, she artistically spread the liquid over his skin and rearranged the dark curly hairs. His chest hairs were softer than they looked and several curled around her fingers. The water was cold, but his skin was warm.
Wetting her thumb in the glass, she carefully deposited one drop of water above Adam’s left nipple. The clear liquid bead slowly rolled down his chest until it caught on the small, hard tip. Just before the droplet fell off, Sunny caught it with her thumb and slowly pushed it back up his chest, her thumb catching momentarily as it moved across the pointed nub.
Once again, she released the tiny bead to begin its downward journey, once again catching it an infinitesimal moment before it splashed to the floor. Her thumb brushed his nipple.
The pillow fell to the floor with a loud thunk. A large solid hand closed around Sunny’s fingers, pressing them against his warm chest. “Having fun?”
“This isn’t about fun,” Sunny said. The tips of her fingers burned. “It’s about striving for accuracy.”
“Is it?” he questioned softly. “Or did you have something else entirely in mind?”
“Such as what?” She attempted to wrench her hand free.
He tightened his grip. “You tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” Maintaining innocence in the face of Adam’s penetrating gaze proved surprisingly difficult, and Sunny dropped her eyes. A mistake of maximum dimensions, as her view was composed mainly of dark, curly masculine hairs and one firm male nipple.
Taking a deep breath proved another mistake. His scent was disturbingly male. More bedroom than courtroom. Not an image to dwell upon. She forced her thoughts to the issue at hand. Getting rid of this man.
“You’re certainly making a big deal out of nothing.” She shrugged. “I didn’t realize you suffered from hydrophobia. That’s a fear of water,” she added in a kindly voice.
Adam appropriated the glass and set it on the windowsill. “What I suffer from is a fear of nitwits who don’t have the sense to realize they’re engaging in extremely provocative behavior.”
“I’m not a nitwit.”
“No? You intend the provocation? That puts a whole new complexion on your behavior, doesn’t it? I’m the nitwit—” grasping her other hand, he corraled both in the small of her back “—not to have realized when you insisted I come over here half nude that you were planning a little neighborly seduction.”
