“Do you want coffee?” she asked, moving away from the door and taking the painting out of his hand. She leaned it against the wall with the others and pulled him out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Jamal stopped their progress and stared down at her for several moments, his brow furrowed.
“Sorry if I intruded,” he said. “I came upon the room by mistake. I was looking for a pantry because I was going to make coffee foryou.”
“It’s okay.” She tried to pull him farther into the kitchen.
He didn’t budge. “I’m getting the sense that it really isn’t.”
Phil expelled a frustrated breath. “It’s just that I haven’t worked on any of that stuff in a really long time. Whenever I step into that room, it’s a reminder that I’ve been neglecting my painting.”
“Why did you stop? Too busy with your restoration work?”
If only…
“That’s one of the reasons,” she said.
“But when you’re that good at something, you need to make the time.”
“Really? So, before last night, when was the last time you’d played your sax?” she tossed back at him.
“Touché,” he said, a grin pulling up the corner of his mouth.
God, his mouth was gorgeous. And so very, very talented.
“However, since I did play last night, I think you should paint today,” he reasoned.
“I will,” Phil said. “I’ve got panels of wainscoting waiting for a fresh coat of paint. Why did you let me sleep so late? We should have been at the Victorian hours ago.”
He shook his head. “We’re not working on the house today.” She started to protest, but he stopped her. “I just spoke to my contractor. His crew finished their previous job early, so they’re starting on Belle Maison today. We can afford to take a day off.”
“Since when?”
He leaned over and nibbled her ear. “Since I discovered the sounds you make when your friend Bob and I work together.”
Phil’s entire body blushed. Just the mention of what he’d done to her last night heated her from the inside out.
“Come on, Phylicia. We can pack lunch and drive out to Ponderosa Pond. You can finish that painting.”
“We can’t,” she said, but her protest lacked conviction.
The moist tip of his tongue traveled down her neck. “What will it take to convince you that we can?”
A shudder rolled through her body.
“I’ll get dressed,” she said.
“I’m going to run to my place and get something more comfortable than the clothes I wore last night. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. Be ready.”
Twenty minutes later, Phil pointed to the dirt road off Highway 439. “Turn here,” she told Jamal. He took a right, his shiny black truck kicking up dirt she saw in the rearview mirror.
“How much farther?” he asked.
“It’s just beyond that curve.”
They rounded the bend in the road and a small meadow opened up, the pond in the distance. The left side of the water was blocked by a copse of trees of varying heights.
“Who knew this little slice of paradise was hidden back here?” Jamal commented.
