Read Online Midnight Jewels by Jayne Ann Krentz - Free Book Online
Authors: Jayne Ann Krentz
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the scene. Perhaps immersing herself in her water-colors would help take her mind off Croft Falconer. Quickly she set about dragging her paint box and easel outside onto the small deck.
Half an hour later, when she saw the black Porsche ease into the parking lot, Mercy acknowledged that she had been half right. This was, indeed, the perfect chance to capture the view with watercolors, but the project hadn't done much
to take her mind off Croft. She realized as she stared down, watching eagerly as he climbed out of the car, that on some level she had been waiting for him.
He looked up with that riveting gaze as he closed the Porsche door. "Good morning, Mercy."
"Hello, Croft." She had to stop herself from adding that she thought he would never get there. Ridiculous to be so excited. Deliberately she made herself put down her paintbrush, get to her feet and walk over to the railing. She leaned against it, watching him climb the steps to her apartment. He was a fascinating foil for the warm summer light, a creature of the night roaming at ease during the day. Croft was wearing jeans and a dark, short-sleeved shirt that left his sinewy arms bare. The jeans were close fitting, riding low on his lean hips. The open collar of the shirt emphasized the strong column of his neck. The darkness of his hair caught the sunlight and absorbed it.
When he reached the deck he paused, his eyes going from her to the unfinished scene on the easel. "So I was right. You're the source of all the paintings on your walls."
"I'm taking lessons. As you can see, I've got a few things to learn."
He nodded, not denying it. "Yes, you have."
Mercy wrinkled her nose. "You could at least tell me I've caught a unique interpretation of the scene or that I've got obvious talent," she informed him.
He gave her a questioning look, as if to be certain she was teasing him. Then he apparently decided she was. "You've caught a unique interpretation of the scene."
"What about obvious talent?"
He hesitated and then said carefully, "If you've got any obvious talent, I'm afraid it's buried under all those layers of paint."
Mercy held up her hand, laughing ruefully. "Forget it.
You're not much good with the social compliment, are you?"
"I can produce one if that's what you want."
"Somehow it just wouldn't sound sincere now." She tilted her head, studying him curiously. "What are you doing here today, Croft? I thought you'd gone back to Oregon."
"Why would you think that? I told you, I'm going to Colorado with you."
"You've got a one-track mind," she said with a small groan.
He shook his head immediately. "No. Everything is interrelated. Understanding the whole makes it possible to understand the part. I try to focus my mind, but it's not the same as being single-tracked. There's a difference."
She threw up her hands in mock protest. "Enough. It's too nice a day to argue about your brains or lack thereof."
"How about driving into Seattle instead?" he suggested easily.
Her eyes widened. "Seattle?"
"We can have lunch there. Maybe walk through some of the galleries in Pioneer Square or take a ferry ride. How does that sound?"
"It sounds wonderful," Mercy said instantly. "Just give me a minute to put this stuff indoors." She turned and swooped down on the paints, easel and the unfinished water-color scene, gathering them up and hustling them into the living room. Five minutes later she brushed her hands on her jean clad thighs. "I'm ready."
"Just like that?" he asked.
"You want me to take another half hour to get ready?"
He grinned and there was an unexpectedly exciting, thoroughly wicked attraction in his rare laughter. "I'm not going to question my luck. Let's go."
They spent the afternoon as tourists, arguing over the merits of paintings in the galleries, eating a sidewalk picnic
lunch on the Seattle waterfront and browsing through some downtown bookstores that were open on Sundays. They skipped the ferry ride on the grounds that the afternoon was
Half an hour later, when she saw the black Porsche ease into the parking lot, Mercy acknowledged that she had been half right. This was, indeed, the perfect chance to capture the view with watercolors, but the project hadn't done much
to take her mind off Croft. She realized as she stared down, watching eagerly as he climbed out of the car, that on some level she had been waiting for him.
He looked up with that riveting gaze as he closed the Porsche door. "Good morning, Mercy."
"Hello, Croft." She had to stop herself from adding that she thought he would never get there. Ridiculous to be so excited. Deliberately she made herself put down her paintbrush, get to her feet and walk over to the railing. She leaned against it, watching him climb the steps to her apartment. He was a fascinating foil for the warm summer light, a creature of the night roaming at ease during the day. Croft was wearing jeans and a dark, short-sleeved shirt that left his sinewy arms bare. The jeans were close fitting, riding low on his lean hips. The open collar of the shirt emphasized the strong column of his neck. The darkness of his hair caught the sunlight and absorbed it.
When he reached the deck he paused, his eyes going from her to the unfinished scene on the easel. "So I was right. You're the source of all the paintings on your walls."
"I'm taking lessons. As you can see, I've got a few things to learn."
He nodded, not denying it. "Yes, you have."
Mercy wrinkled her nose. "You could at least tell me I've caught a unique interpretation of the scene or that I've got obvious talent," she informed him.
He gave her a questioning look, as if to be certain she was teasing him. Then he apparently decided she was. "You've caught a unique interpretation of the scene."
"What about obvious talent?"
He hesitated and then said carefully, "If you've got any obvious talent, I'm afraid it's buried under all those layers of paint."
Mercy held up her hand, laughing ruefully. "Forget it.
You're not much good with the social compliment, are you?"
"I can produce one if that's what you want."
"Somehow it just wouldn't sound sincere now." She tilted her head, studying him curiously. "What are you doing here today, Croft? I thought you'd gone back to Oregon."
"Why would you think that? I told you, I'm going to Colorado with you."
"You've got a one-track mind," she said with a small groan.
He shook his head immediately. "No. Everything is interrelated. Understanding the whole makes it possible to understand the part. I try to focus my mind, but it's not the same as being single-tracked. There's a difference."
She threw up her hands in mock protest. "Enough. It's too nice a day to argue about your brains or lack thereof."
"How about driving into Seattle instead?" he suggested easily.
Her eyes widened. "Seattle?"
"We can have lunch there. Maybe walk through some of the galleries in Pioneer Square or take a ferry ride. How does that sound?"
"It sounds wonderful," Mercy said instantly. "Just give me a minute to put this stuff indoors." She turned and swooped down on the paints, easel and the unfinished water-color scene, gathering them up and hustling them into the living room. Five minutes later she brushed her hands on her jean clad thighs. "I'm ready."
"Just like that?" he asked.
"You want me to take another half hour to get ready?"
He grinned and there was an unexpectedly exciting, thoroughly wicked attraction in his rare laughter. "I'm not going to question my luck. Let's go."
They spent the afternoon as tourists, arguing over the merits of paintings in the galleries, eating a sidewalk picnic
lunch on the Seattle waterfront and browsing through some downtown bookstores that were open on Sundays. They skipped the ferry ride on the grounds that the afternoon was
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