Gambling on the Artist Page 7

  Since no one was beating down the door, she used the time to work on her picture of Eli. She shaded his face with beige, light peach, and pink blush. Burnt ochre created a five o’clock shadow below his nose and along his jawline. As she worked on his mouth, she couldn’t help but recall his kisses, and the taste of his tongue. A flicker of heat bloomed inside her.

  The door chime interrupted her thoughts. Sam wiped her hands on a rag. “Welcome,” she said to the young woman.

  “Who’s the artist?” The brunette pointed to one of the paintings on the wall.

  “I am.”

  The woman slowly walked past the pictures, stopping under each one and spending several moments with it. “You’re good. My mom’s an interior decorator up in Gainesville. Mind if I take photos of these and send them to her? She’s always picking up works from up-and-coming artists for her clients.”

  Sam’s pulse quickened at the prospect of making a sale, or more than one. “Please, go ahead. I’ve got others I haven’t put up yet.”

  “Thanks. I’ll text her these. Maybe she can come to see the rest if she’s interested.” After paying, she left.

  Although she didn’t buy a painting herself, the woman gave Sam hope that her work could sell there. She couldn’t wait to share the news with Eli.

  When the door opened again a few minutes later, he came inside, arms loaded down with a paper tray that held two coffee cups, a square bakery box, and a plastic shopping bag. “Morning.” His gaze tracked over her body so fast that she’d have missed it if she hadn’t been looking at him.

  The heat of awareness flooded her system. She hadn’t drunk any champagne in a long time, but her stomach felt as bubbly as if she’d just had a couple glasses. She closed the distance between them and took the coffees from him. “Actually it’s afternoon.”

  “I had some errands to run. I guess time got away from me.” He set the box on the counter. “I picked up some stuff from the bakery a few blocks away. Hope you like chocolate-cherry tortes. Not a very nutritious lunch, but I couldn’t resist.”

  Glimpsing the bakery name on the top of the box, she squealed excitedly. “Ooh, Sugarland.” She opened the package and inhaled the sweet scent. “They make the best. They’re my favorite, any time of the day. Thank you.” Maybe her instincts about him were right. At least he was thoughtful. And he smelled even better than the pastries did. Renewed desire washed over her.

  Eli glanced up at one the paintings she’d added the night before. He gestured toward the picture of her father. “Tell me about that one.”

  “That’s my dad. I started on it the night I found out he’d passed away, when I knew for sure that we’d never get a do-over for our relationship.” Her eyes stung. Didn’t really matter that it had been her dad’s fault that they’d barely had anything to do with each other.

  “Is that the brooch you were telling me about in his hand?”

  She nodded. “I added that a couple weeks later after I got the jewel.”

  “Hmm.” Lines creased his forehead as he handed her one of the coffee cups. He looked at the painting again and frowned.

  Why had his mood shifted so suddenly? With her history of chasing guys away, it was likely her fault. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, fine.” But his furrowed brow made her wonder.

  Before she could press him about what was on his mind, a customer came in, and then two more. Eli helped her handle the rush. Business finally slowed a couple hours later.

  Eli rubbed the back of his neck. “I bet you’ll sell a painting soon. A few people have made comments about how good they are.”

  “Seriously?” She couldn’t keep herself from smiling.

  “Sure. I can’t believe you’re not rich and famous yet. You will be, though.”

  Thinking about how much money she’d made recently, she had to laugh. “Living on the edge, actually. You’ve heard of the starving artist? That would be me.”

  He glanced at the paintings again. “That’s hard to believe. How do you get by?”

  Sam’s cheeks warmed. Aunt Emma had occasionally sent her money in the last few years, but mostly she’d been living on the cheap, selling paintings and drawings, doing the occasional mural for businesses. “I manage, barely.”

  His lips flattened. “Feel free to tell me to shut up if this is none of my business, but why not sell that piece of jewelry you were telling me about, the one your father left you? I mean, you could put part of the money away, or buy yourself…a new car or a down payment on a house. Wouldn’t your father want that for you?”

  She’d considered exactly that until her aunt had warned her that selling the brooch would be a mistake. Sam had seen too many of Emma’s predictions come true to doubt her, which was why she based certain decisions on her advice. And knowing that the sapphire really was magic…well, that was a game changer. “It’s complicated. I just know I’m not supposed to sell it, not yet anyway.”

  Eli sipped his coffee. “I lost both my parents when I was a kid, and I’m sure that if they’d had anything of value to leave to my sister and me, they’d have wanted us to use that to make our life easier.”

  Why did he seem almost upset about her insistence that she didn’t want to sell the sapphire? Maybe it had reminded him of his loss. “I didn’t realize your folks had passed away. I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “It’s been a long time. Doesn’t bother me anymore.”

  “Are you close with your sister?” she asked.

  “Kind of. We’re half-siblings. She’s a lot older than I am. She took care of me after our mother died.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, and Sam sensed the loss was still painful for him despite his statement to the contrary.

  Sam squeezed his forearm. Sadness tinged his expression as he shrugged off her concern. “I understand how hard it is to lose a parent.” She thought about her mother. “Even when they’re still alive.”

  He pulled her into a hug. It felt so good to have his arms around her. She shut her eyes and leaned her head against the hard planes of his chest.

  Until his cell buzzed, cutting short the intimate moment.

  She wrapped her arms around herself, mourning the loss of his touch.

  Eli looked at his phone and frowned. “I need to take this.” He answered, then went outside.

  Busying herself with dusting the apothecary cabinet, Sam glanced through the window. Eli scrubbed a hand over his face. He appeared to be arguing with the caller.

  “Everything okay?” she asked when he came back inside.

  “Sure, fine.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. What wasn’t he telling her?

  A customer came into the shop, then another and another. Soon the place was as busier than it had been all week. When the rush finally ended, it was nearly four pm. Sam stretched to loosen her tense muscles. “I could use a break. Can I interest you in a Moon Pie?”

  “Let’s do it.” Eli gestured toward the back room.

  Sam grabbed two of the individually wrapped treats and joined Eli at the table.

  “I guess you’re as much of a health nut as I am, living on sugar and caffeine.” Eli tore open the plastic and took a bite. “Mm. I haven’t had one of these in at least a decade. Just as good as I remember.”

  She nodded. “Moon Pies never disappoint.” Unlike most everything else in life.

  “Did you notice how many people have been checking out your art?” he asked. “I can feel the excitement building. You’re going to sell every one of them.”

  “That’d be nice.”

  “I mean that, Sam.” He set down what was left of his Moon Pie and took her hand. “You’ve got real talent. It’s like you tap into your subjects’ souls. That sounds weird, but I don’t know how else to explain it.”

  Eli wasn’t the first person to say something to that effect about her work.

  His phone buzzed several times, but he didn’t take the calls. He just checked the display then stashed it back in his pocket.

  �
��If you need to return a call, go ahead,” she said.

  He shook his head. “You’re the only one I want to talk to right now.”

  “I bet you say that to all the girls,” she teased.

  With a shrug, he said, “Yeah, I do.” After a few beats, he cracked a smile. “Kidding. I like being with you.”

  Warmth wrapped around her like a fluffy blanket. Their gazes locked and held for several seconds. Until the door chimed. Sam pushed away from the table and returned to the front of the store to help the customer. The rest of the day flew past as she and Eli worked side by side. She was starting to get the hang of where everything was, and she could probably handle most of it alone. Only she was enjoying having Eli there with her. She couldn’t expect him to keep giving her all of his time, though.

  “Hey,” she said. “You’ve been a lifesaver the past couple of days. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

  “It’s been my pleasure, Sam.” His eyes darkened as he took a step closer, and his gaze fell to her lips, turning her into a puddle of a woman.

  She drew a breath laced with his scent, and suddenly it was as if a switch inside her turned on. The temperature in the room seemed to rise a dozen degrees. “I can’t pay you for all you’ve done for me, but can I at least cook you dinner again tonight?”

  He backed away and folded his arms over his chest. “Definitely not.”

  Had she misread his signals? Her mood clunked.

  When Sam’s face fell, Eli drew her into his arms. At first, she was stiff and unyielding. “Sam, I was kidding around. I don’t want you to cook for me. I’d like to make you dinner.”

  Understanding softened the lines that had marred her brow. “Oh.” She backed out of his embrace and shook her head. “Sometimes I’m so stupid.”

  “If you ask me, you’re pretty smart. I was trying to be funny, but I obviously fell flat.”

  “I suck at reading people.” She rolled her eyes.

  Her self-deprecating comments cut straight through him. As if he didn’t feel like the biggest heel already. Clearly, she had no confidence in herself, which was crazy considering that she was smart, talented, and gorgeous. He wanted to make her see how amazing she was.

  If only the bank had agreed to raise his credit limit, but after two days of waiting for them to reply to his request, they’d called him back a little while ago, and he’d been unable to sway neither a customer service rep nor her supervisor. He had no other way to get his hands on enough cash to buy the brooch from Sam, even if he was able to convince her to sell it to him, which was a big if.

  As a last resort, he considered taking the gemstone and leaving her the money as consolation, but without the ability to get a cash advance, he was SOL. The more he contemplated that option, he realized he’d still be a jerk even if he left her payment. If it wasn’t her choice to part with the jewel, he was essentially stealing it from her.

  She put her hand on his shoulder. The simple touch set off sparks between them. “I’d love for you to cook me dinner,” she murmured, one corner of her mouth lifting in a seductive grin.

  Everything inside him yearned to take her up on her unspoken offer—everything except his conscience.

  “Text me your address.” She disappeared into the back room.

  Now what? How could he explain his crummy lodgings? What would she think? He followed her and cleared his throat. “The place where I’m staying now…let’s just say, you wouldn’t want to eat anything that was prepared there.”

  She eyed him for a long moment. “Is that really the reason?”

  The pain of past disappointments was written all over her face in invisible ink, but as someone who’d been there too—he saw it. God, he hated himself for not being completely honest with her.

  “I know almost nothing about you,” she said. “You don’t have a wife, or a girlfriend tucked away somewhere, do you?”

  “Did I neglect to mention my six wives and fifteen kids spread across four states?”

  She flattened her lips to a thin line, obviously not amused.

  Taking her hand, he looked deep into her eyes. “I swear that’s not it.”

  She pulled away. “Then what is? What’s your story? You’ve come here three days in a row. Don’t you have a job or something?”

  His mouth was suddenly dry as dust. He lifted his hands in surrender. “Okay, the truth. I’m staying at a fleabag motel. I’m not a nine-to-five kind of guy. I make my living playing cards, gambling if you prefer.”

  A ghost of a smile was there and gone in a split second. “Thanks for your honesty. What brings you to this neck of the woods? There are no casinos within at least a hundred miles.”

  “A card game.” Technically true. His cell buzzed again. He took it out, but when he glimpsed Rodrigo’s number, he immediately sent the call to voicemail, which would probably piss off the old man, but Eli didn’t care to deal with the shark’s insults and demands at the moment. He knew what Diaz wanted, and he was working on a solution—one that didn’t involve betraying the sweet, trusting woman he was quickly growing to care for. “Would it be okay if I cooked dinner at your house, or rather, your aunt’s?”

  She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Did she have any idea how sexy he found the gesture, that his brain scrambled at the mere sight? All he could think about was kissing those full, pink lips again, and so much more. Every nerve and muscle in his body strung tight.

  The door to the shop chimed, and the spell was broken, at least for the time being.

  “Excuse me.” Sam went to help her customer.

  “I’m looking for an obsidian scrying mirror,” the middle-aged woman told Sam.

  Sam searched the shelf where her aunt displayed similar items with no luck. “Hmm, I don’t think we have that. You might try Cheshire Apothecary. That sounds like something they’d carry.”

  After the woman left, Sam faced Eli. “She was easy to get rid of.”

  He nodded. And it gave him an idea. If he told Diaz that Sam no longer had the brooch, he’d have to give Eli a different task. Could it be that simple? Diaz couldn’t know if Sam had sold the jewelry to someone else, or even lost it. He had to try, for Sam’s sake and his. “Are we on for dinner?”

  Her expression brightened. “Sure.”

  The prospect that he might not be forced to betray her—and the notion of spending the evening with her, or longer—gave him hope. The weight that had been compressing his chest since he’d arrived in town, eased. He rubbed his hands together. “I should go pick up some groceries. I feel like lobster tail and champagne. What do you think?” He might be jumping the gun, but he had a good feeling about this.

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Sure. What’s the occasion?”

  “Good things ahead for both of us.” Feeling more optimistic than he had in a week, he left the shop and strode to his car. From there he phoned Rodrigo but got his voicemail. “Mr. Diaz, it’s Eli Kincaid. Sorry I missed your call. I do have some news, though. I’m afraid Samantha no longer has…the item you’re looking for. She must have sold it.” He considered asking if there was anything else he could do to repay the debt, but why buy trouble? Diaz would no doubt give him another illegal task, or impose some ungodly interest on the gambling debt. Anything that didn’t involve Sam would be better.

  With that hurdle out of the way, he turned his thoughts to planning the evening ahead—a romantic dinner with the most fascinating woman he’d met in a very long time.

  Chapter Six

  Sam set the small table for two using her aunt’s good china and silverware while Eli cooked. As he worked on cutting open the lobster shells, his hair slipped forward over his forehead, strand over glossy strand, and she recalled how soft that hair had felt as she’d run her fingers through it last time he’d been at the cottage. Her heart did that little fluttery thing.

  He smiled at her over his shoulder. “What?”

  Who wouldn’t find a man like Eli attractive? Between his chiseled f
eatures and rock-solid physique, he reminded her of a male model she’d seen on billboards. “Nothing,” she said. “I guess I’m impressed by all the stuff you know how to do in the kitchen.”

  “I’m impressive in other rooms, too.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, and her legs turned to noodles.

  She picked up a piece of Aunt Emma’s mail from the counter and fanned herself with it.

  Eli slipped the pan under the broiler. “Dinner in five minutes,” he said. “I hope you like champagne.”

  “Sure.” Tonight she was determined to limit herself to only one glass. She liked Eli a lot. Trusting him was a different story, and after growing up with an addict for a mother, she was well aware that certain substances clouded judgment. Any decisions she made tonight would be made with a clear head.

  Eli handed her a champagne flute and trailed his gaze over her, and the heat of desire wound through her.

  Veiling his eyes, he tapped his glass to hers. “To new friends.” Clearly, he hoped they got very friendly, and Sam was’t opposed to the notion.

  Eli maneuvered the kitchen like a sculptor creating a masterpiece. When the oven timer dinged, he pulled out the lobster tails and set them on the stovetop. Then he topped the broccoli with homemade Hollandaise sauce, finishing it with the tiniest dash of salt. His hands moved so deftly she could hardly make out what he was doing. The way he pulled everything together at once reminded her of the guy at the carnival who worked the shell games.

  The comparison jarred her like a slap of icy morning air. Eli had said he was a gambler. Did he swindle people like the carnies had? No, Eli wasn’t that kind of person. In the few days she’d known him, he’d been nothing but wonderful to her. Traveling around her whole life, never staying anywhere long enough to make good friends, she’d had to size people up quickly, and every indication told her that Eli meant her no harm. So why not drown her loneliness in those strong arms? No commitment, no promise of anything more than a good time.