fingertips before she stained her new clothes. “I want to sell your art.”
His expression closed. “You’re wasting your time. I don’t sell my art.”
“Your friend seems to agree with me that you should.”
“She’s always after me about something. It’s her way of getting back at me.”
“What did you do?” Vi tipped her head, curious.
“I cut one of her pigtails off when we were seven.”
She pictured him at seven, same brown eyes only with a less guarded sparkle, and smiled, charmed. “No wonder she’s after you.”
He stared at her mouth.
Was he looking at her smeared lipstick or imagining kissing her? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been kissed. Literally years. Charles was less than demonstrative, and in recent years sex had been rote and without frills like kissing.
Phineas had full lips and large hands. She shivered, surprised that she wanted to find out what it’d be like to be touched by them.
He leaned down, his gaze locked on hers. “Go away, and don’t come back.”
Before she could react, he stepped into his workshop and closed the door on her. The lock slid into place, the heavy sound a warning.
Hands on her hips, she tapped her foot. “Well, that didn’t go the way I’d envisioned.”
Viola was freezing.
Maybe standing in front of Finn’s studio wasn’t a good idea, she thought for the millionth time. And just like all the other times, she reminded herself what was at stake and that she had a good feeling about him.
When Titania had wanted Ian MacNiven to pose for a photo essay, she’d camped out on his doorstep, and look how well that had turned out.
Not that Viola wanted to get engaged to Phineas Buchanan. Quite frankly, she never planned on getting married again—ever.
Sex was another matter though.
“No sex,” she scolded herself. At least not with Phineas Buchanan. She was here for his paintings. Period.
Not that she’d turn down a kiss or two, but only if he initiated.
Clearing her throat, and rubbed her freezing hands together. She should have brought gloves. What was she thinking? She’d told Chloe to take gloves with her, but she couldn’t remember for herself? If only she could afford to splurge on a pair of cashmere gloves.
The door opened and Phineas stepped out. She knew the moment he registered that it was her by the way his face soured.
She held her hand out. “Just give me a chance to explain my vision.”
“Have you been standing out here all day?” He grasped her hand. “You’re freezing.”
Before she could say anything he tugged her inside.
Warmth enveloped her immediately, and she sighed in relief. As she thawed, she craned her neck to look around. The entry was surprisingly spacious and tidy.
“Are you daft?” he asked. “You’ll catch pneumonia like that.”
“You can’t catch pneumonia, and it’s a myth that cold weather sparks illness. You only get sick if you’re already feeling under the weather.”
He frowned.
She shrugged. “I have a teenager. She lives to correct me.”
“You are daft.”
“I can’t argue that.” She took a loan on her house, leased a space she couldn’t afford, and came to Paris on a wild-goose chase.
Phineas Buchanan looked her over, his expression as overcast as the city outside. Opening his mouth, he started to say something, but then he shook his head. “I must be daft, too. Come on, then.”
“What?”
“I’m hungry, and you need to eat. Besides, if we stay here, I can’t guarantee that I’ll remain a gentleman.”
“You’re a gentleman?” she asked as he dragged her outside again.
“I’m not.” He gave her a stern look. “And you’re tempting. It’s not a good combination.”
“Tempting?” She blinked. “Me?”
“Of course you.” He scowled. “Don’t you ever look in a mirror?”
She did, but she still saw the woman who’d been a housewife most of her life. “So you want to kiss me?”
“Unfortunately,” he said as he
His expression closed. “You’re wasting your time. I don’t sell my art.”
“Your friend seems to agree with me that you should.”
“She’s always after me about something. It’s her way of getting back at me.”
“What did you do?” Vi tipped her head, curious.
“I cut one of her pigtails off when we were seven.”
She pictured him at seven, same brown eyes only with a less guarded sparkle, and smiled, charmed. “No wonder she’s after you.”
He stared at her mouth.
Was he looking at her smeared lipstick or imagining kissing her? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been kissed. Literally years. Charles was less than demonstrative, and in recent years sex had been rote and without frills like kissing.
Phineas had full lips and large hands. She shivered, surprised that she wanted to find out what it’d be like to be touched by them.
He leaned down, his gaze locked on hers. “Go away, and don’t come back.”
Before she could react, he stepped into his workshop and closed the door on her. The lock slid into place, the heavy sound a warning.
Hands on her hips, she tapped her foot. “Well, that didn’t go the way I’d envisioned.”
Viola was freezing.
Maybe standing in front of Finn’s studio wasn’t a good idea, she thought for the millionth time. And just like all the other times, she reminded herself what was at stake and that she had a good feeling about him.
When Titania had wanted Ian MacNiven to pose for a photo essay, she’d camped out on his doorstep, and look how well that had turned out.
Not that Viola wanted to get engaged to Phineas Buchanan. Quite frankly, she never planned on getting married again—ever.
Sex was another matter though.
“No sex,” she scolded herself. At least not with Phineas Buchanan. She was here for his paintings. Period.
Not that she’d turn down a kiss or two, but only if he initiated.
Clearing her throat, and rubbed her freezing hands together. She should have brought gloves. What was she thinking? She’d told Chloe to take gloves with her, but she couldn’t remember for herself? If only she could afford to splurge on a pair of cashmere gloves.
The door opened and Phineas stepped out. She knew the moment he registered that it was her by the way his face soured.
She held her hand out. “Just give me a chance to explain my vision.”
“Have you been standing out here all day?” He grasped her hand. “You’re freezing.”
Before she could say anything he tugged her inside.
Warmth enveloped her immediately, and she sighed in relief. As she thawed, she craned her neck to look around. The entry was surprisingly spacious and tidy.
“Are you daft?” he asked. “You’ll catch pneumonia like that.”
“You can’t catch pneumonia, and it’s a myth that cold weather sparks illness. You only get sick if you’re already feeling under the weather.”
He frowned.
She shrugged. “I have a teenager. She lives to correct me.”
“You are daft.”
“I can’t argue that.” She took a loan on her house, leased a space she couldn’t afford, and came to Paris on a wild-goose chase.
Phineas Buchanan looked her over, his expression as overcast as the city outside. Opening his mouth, he started to say something, but then he shook his head. “I must be daft, too. Come on, then.”
“What?”
“I’m hungry, and you need to eat. Besides, if we stay here, I can’t guarantee that I’ll remain a gentleman.”
“You’re a gentleman?” she asked as he dragged her outside again.
“I’m not.” He gave her a stern look. “And you’re tempting. It’s not a good combination.”
“Tempting?” She blinked. “Me?”
“Of course you.” He scowled. “Don’t you ever look in a mirror?”
She did, but she still saw the woman who’d been a housewife most of her life. “So you want to kiss me?”
“Unfortunately,” he said as he
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