Whereas Reynner was beautiful in a masculine way, James was pretty with his pale skin and sharp features. He looked up.
“Eve, so good to see you, girl. David swung by earlier—” Then he did a double-take when his gaze landed on Reynner. Hastily, he cut off his call and rose to his feet, interest gleaming in his baby blues. “Eric’s at the warehouse. Let me show you.”
Eve snorted. As if she didn’t know who had garnered James’s sudden interest in playing tour guide. “Thanks, James. I’m sure I can find my way.”
“Wait-wait.” he stopped them, his attention still on Reynner. “I saw you at David’s show.”
Reynner nodded, his expression like stone. Eve was sure it wasn’t because of the subtle, sexy vibes James was sending him, but rather that David had been mentioned. After last night—and Reynner’s reaction this morning—she’d have to be blind not to realize he didn't like David.
James stopped and stared at them in confusion, then shook his head and went back to his desk.
“What did you do?” she asked Reynner, because she knew James. He wasn’t one to walk away that easily.
“I willed him to leave.” Reynner cut her a grim look. “It saves time. Where’s the warehouse?”
“Fifth floor.”
Not wanting to be boxed in with him again, she ignored the elevator and headed for the stairwell and took the dimly lit stairs down, Reynner behind her.
Moment’s later, Eve shoved open the door to the warehouse. The drone of voices and the sounds of wooden lids clattering to the floor, welcomed her, easing the tension building inside her.
Eric, in tattered jeans and a faded blue tee, supervised several workers unpacking her sculptures. He saw her and closed the distance easily with his quick strides and a smile.
“Eve, good, you’re here.” He rubbed her arm in greeting then frowned at Reynner who stood beside her, looking all hard-eyed lethal with that edge of anger she still sensed in him.
“I wanted to check on the sculptures,” she said quickly, pulling Eric’s gaze back to her. “But they seem to have survived the journey. I better reassemble them.”
“What do you need to do?” Reynner asked her.
She cut him a quick look as she pulled out the box of clamps from her bag. “It’s a simple procedure putting them together. I’m good.”
“Eve.”
He said her name in that low, inflexible tone, which meant he expected an answer. And she really didn't want Eric drawn into whatever this thing between them was. “Okay. Let me show you.”
“So, Eve, you going to introduce us?” Eric’s dark brow climbed up in a manner that told her there would be questions. She stifled a sigh. That’s what happened when you grew up with someone who knew everything about you—well, almost everything.
Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she made the introduction. “Eric, this is Reynner—Reynner, my friend, Eric Randall.”
As was his habit, Reynner nodded. Eric probably took his cue from Reynner and responded in kind.
Okay, then. She could do without the tension-filled non-bonding going on.
Eve glanced at the sculpture closest to her,“Trees in a Storm.” The piece was several inches taller than her, the metal branches bent over, blowing in one direction. She set the clamps on the crate. Quickly and efficiently, she reassembled several of the lower branches, showing Reynner how the clamps worked to attach them. The top was tricky, needing a specialized bracket.
The large, empty crate was still near the sculpture. She kicked off her flip-flops, shook her head when Reynner stepped up to help her, and clambered, unaided and undignified, onto the crate to attach the branch and clamp it into place.
“It’s really easy,” she murmured and turned to hop off the box.
Reynner grasped her around the waist. Startled, her hands fluttered to his shoulders. She met his dark, determined stare. Her heart raced around in her chest as he set her on the floor. Despite everything that had happened between them, Eve wished desperately for him to hold her just for a minute—a second. But he dropped his hands and stepped back.
Eve lowered her gaze and slipped on her flip-flops, disappointment sliding to her stomach like a ball of copper wire.
“Eve, a word,” Eric said. His expression hard, he nailed Reynner a cold look. Aw, crap, Eric had to have seen that little exchange between them.
Eric led her between several large crates to the far end of the storeroom. He lowered his voice and got straight to the point. “Who is he? And what are you doing with him?”
She sighed at the brotherly grilling. When her folks died, Eric’s parents became her guardians. They had been friends since she was a little girl. Several years older than her, Eric had been the one she’d leaned on while she’d grappled with her devastating loss and came to terms with the horror of not being able to touch anyone.
