Reynner grasped her arm, drew her to the side as the men came out carrying more of her work.
“Hold this for me.” He handed her his shirt, then headed inside.
Eve crushed the t-shirt against her chest, struggling not to press the soft fabric against her face, like some schoolgirl with a first crush. She turned and met Joe’s dark gaze. He nodded and resumed his low-key singing of the jazzy tune.
As Reynner helped load the truck, Eve realized he could have single-handedly picked up the crates and done the job in a shorter time. Yet he didn’t let his immense strength show as he assisted the moving crew.
His body gleamed with a light layer of sweat. The muscles trapped beneath his skin rippled with his movements, the scars on his back just a fading red patch now.
Reynner paused when Joe started singing another song. “Satchmo?”
A wide grin flashed across Joe’s dusky face. “Hey, you like Louis Armstrong?”
“I saw him—his videos,” Reynner corrected. “Incredible musician.”
Eve realized then that Reynner had probably seen the man play live.
They finished in record time. Joe pulled out his kerchief from his overall pocket and mopped his face, his tee plastered to his skin. The heat rose off the asphalt, saturating them like a shimmering sauna. “We’re playing jazz down at Scorpions on Saturday. You want to come over and hang with us?”
The night of her show.
Reynner shook his head. “Thanks, but I have to be elsewhere that evening. Rain check?”
“Anytime, man.”
Eve watched the truck trundle off and inhaled an anxious breath. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she walked back into her studio and stared at the looming empty space. Her babies were gone.
Had she done the right thing?
***
Reynner followed Eve into the studio, his fear and ire at finding her gone from the apartment finally easing.
He took the t-shirt she’d left on the table and pulled it on. The place looked bare with all the sculptures gone, save for the tall one covered with a white sheet and the messy one she’d started last night.
A male, she’d told him. One who’d have to pose for her, judging from the tangled mess she made. He hated the bastard’s guts. Yes, small of him, but he didn’t care.
However, the sight of her tensed body pushed aside his irritation. He stopped beside her, and the desire to ease her fears, to soothe, took over. He stroked her back. “You have a good eye,” he murmured. “And an extraordinary gift with crafting metals.”
“Thank you.” Then she said in a quieter tone, “I’ve put everything I have into this. If it fails…”
“Eve—”
“Ignore me.” She raked a restless hand through her hair and leaned into his touch. “It’s just nerves. Once the show’s over, I’ll be all right.”
Hell, it would be so easy to pull her into his arms and offer comfort. But if he did, it would lead to the one place from which there was no return. She removed the tormenting decision by heading for her worktable and stopping to survey the mess there.
Reynner had no clue what she was looking for. Piles of sketches and a handful of colored pens and pencils cluttered the surface. Files were stashed haphazardly in a tray against the wall, along with her jar of colorful jellybeans.
His gaze caressed her face as she hunted through the things on her table.Urias, she was so damn beautiful. She seemed to glow from within. A brightness he realized he needed in his life with growing desperation.
She picked up the sketches then dropped them. “I can’t deal with filing now. I have work to do.”
He joined her at the table. “I thought you were done?”
“One more.” She nodded at the tall sculpture covered with a dustsheet. “I need to finish that… Chinese for lunch?” She scratched through the papers, looking for the menu.
Reynner watched her for a moment. She seemed distracted, jumpy, her thoughts all over the place. “I’ll get it. What do you want?”
