Just my name, and I sighed. “Fine. If you insist.”
I led the way into my studio, but Max hovered in the doorway, his gaze flicking to the futon. The last time he’d been in here was when he’d found out that I’d been painting a guy naked and had lost it. Not wanting that to ruin the moment, I grasped his hand and tugged him inside.
“Go on, look.” My stomach knotting, I pointed to several paintings stacked to one side and concealed with a sheet. I’d never shown them anyone.
He walked over. Pulling out a few of my covered canvases, he leaned them against the wall, then stood back. Nothing showed on his face as he studied each one.
I’d painted them during my turmoil and breakup. So the usually pretty, scenic places in San Francisco had taken on a dark, gloomy overtone, and some looked downright haunting. Yup, Wes Craven would probably love it for a scene setting for one of his movies or something. I rubbed my damp palms down my jeans and waited.
“Hmmm, never seen the city in this light before,” Max said, his gaze contemplative.
“Yeah, well… Told you it wasn’t any good.” Slipping past him, I hastily restacked the paintings and covered them again.
He watched me for a second. Didn’t say anything. Then, “How about we go out to dinner this evening?”
I glanced at him. “Okay.” And recalled his furtive smile from last night when I’d asked him about playing for his finals. It troubled me. I didn’t want him to get caught up in another scandal. “Uh, Max, about your finals?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
My stomach wound tighter than a spring at his words. “Please tell me you aren’t planning something reckless.”
He glanced my way and gave me one of those sly, sexy damn smiles I wanted to kiss right off his face—ack!
“You’ll give yourself an ulcer stressing. All’s good. C’mon, I’ll drop you off at work.”
As I followed him out to the Jeep, my uneasiness increased. Why did his words sound so ominous?
***
Later that afternoon, while I painted, Max worked on his music. He’d moved the keyboard to the studio, and I regretted that it wasn’t his baby grand. I’d love to see him play that.
But he had on his headphones so I couldn’t hear what he worked on anyway. He wore a faraway expression as his fingers lightly ran over the keys and he wrote things on his sheet. Strands of dark blond hair lay on his brow, and my fingers itched to swipe them back, but that would just break his concentration. Instead, I watched him.
How he had come to mean so much to me in a few short weeks, I still had no idea.
My cell rang, breaking the spell. Absently, I hit both answer and the speaker at once and started painting again. “Hello?”
“Ila, I’m back in the States for a week. Can you fit me in?”
At Titus’s voice, I cut Max a quick look. As if sensing my gaze, he looked up before I could take Titus off speaker. Whatever he’d seen on my face, he pulled off his headphones, eyes questioning.
Darn. I shook my head and answered Titus. “How about tomorrow?”
“No, sweet…” he sighed, taking me by surprise at the endearment, but then the artsy types rolled that way.
Max’s eyes narrowed.
“I have engagements straight through, and just two evenings off,” Titus said. “Tonight, and I’ll check my diary for the other.”
A time arranged, I ended the call and lifted a shoulder helplessly at Max. “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t say a word. Just went back to his work.
Sighing, I resumed mine.
At ten minutes to five, Max rose. “I’m going to Jack’s.”
I jerked to my feet. “But I thought we were going out to dinner? I’ll only be a few hours with Titus.”
