“I see.” Max drank his coffee and leaned his elbows on the table. His legs pressed against mine again, and my stomach dipped. “Did you approach any of the galleries?”
Despite his serious expression, he somehow managed to make my insides tremble with his direct stare. Made me recall our mind-churning kiss from last night. And here he sat, so cool, unaffected. Like he hadn’t had his mouth on mine, demanding my surrender—
Hastily, I cut off the thought, lowered my gaze to my drink and shook my head. “When I’m ready, maybe then. Besides, I don’t really have the time to paint like I want to.”
He started on his next roll, and his gaze came back to me. “Will you show them to me, whatever you’ve done?”
“You know art?” I asked, a little skeptically.
His shoulder lifted in a half-shrug. “My mom used to drag me along as her date to those things. So a little.”
Whoa. I hadn’t expected that. “She did?”
“Yeah, I hated it.” A smile hovered on his sensual mouth.
“Why didn’t your dad go with her?”
His expression blanked out. His gaze shifted away. “Most times, it didn’t coincide with his schedule.”
With no idea what to say, I sipped my hot chocolate even though it had lost its appeal. The sounds of soft chatter filled the dense silence that had settled between us. I’d had no idea my innocent question would upset him so much. Obviously, it was a sore subject. Before I could open my mouth and apologize, he looked back. The immense pain in his eyes stole my breath. “Max—”
“She died,” he said abruptly, effectively cutting off further questions.
“I’m so sorry.” I reached out and touched his hand lying on the table. A nerve twitching on his jaw, he nodded, dropped the rest of his roll on the plate, and wiped his fingers on the paper napkin.
After a long silent minute, he drank more of his coffee, then went right back to his questions. “How long have you been painting?”
My entire being shut down at the answer. I’d finished university and had worked in an advertising company. Even though I’d been the youngest on the team, with my instinctive understanding of what my clients wanted, the future had looked promising—and demanding—until one more canceled date had destroyed everything.
“Two years,” I said, tone flat. Before Max could ply me with more questions and pry through the locks in my mind, I asked, “So, what do you study?”
A slight hesitation. “I compose music.”
That I didn’t expect. “You do? Do you play any instruments?”
He leaned back in his seat, stretched his long legs, caging mine again. Hurriedly, I tucked them back, but couldn’t escape him. Darn. With a faint curve to his lips, he nodded. Heat flared in my cheeks. Crap, he knew I was dodging his legs.
He unscrewed his bottled water and drank some. “You know, Logan, that’s the first time you’ve shown so much interest in me.” His gaze did the familiar slow, sensual skim over my face and made me far too aware of him. “I play the piano. A little guitar, some sax.”
“You do? Really?” Ugh, I sounded like a parrot.
“Yeah. Speaking of which, could I use the dining area to set up my keyboard? It’s a pain in the ass having to go to Jack’s to practice with the parties he keeps going for all hours.”
I was dying to hear him play. “Yes, of course. I’ll have to find you a different place to sleep. There’s a futon in my studio—”
The hint of a smile vanished. His jaw hardened. “The couch is fine.”
Great, I had to bring up what happened in my studio again.
My cell rang, breaking the tension. I pulled it out of my pocket. Out of habit, I put it on speaker and took another bite of my roll. “Dad?”
“Sweetheart, please tell me Ray’s not around to snatch the phone from you?”
At my father’s wry tone, I laughed. “No, she isn’t. I’m in town. Had a few errands to run.”
“Oh, good. You’re well?”
“I’m fine, really.” And I realized for the first time, I was. I’d hardly thought of Devyn—the horror of what had happened—and I knew why, too. The reason was watching me with fathomless lake-green eyes. If I let myself, I’d fall right into them.
