Read Online Midnight Jewels by Jayne Ann Krentz - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jayne Ann Krentz
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the view through a window. Every minute seemed somehow very important. They ate dinner at a popular pier restaurant and drove back to Ignatius Cove as the late summer sun began to set.
The afternoon jaunt to Seattle represented the first time Mercy had actually relaxed around Croft. She savored the feeling, hugging it to her during the drive back. But by the time he had parked the Porsche in the lot below her apartment, a niggling sense of doubt had risen to ask if she hadn't been
meant
to relax.
In the morning she would be on her way to Colorado and Croft had told her more than once he intended to accompany her.
She climbed out of the Porsche with a return of the uncertain feeling that had been pleasantly absent for the past several hours. As she closed the door of the car she looked at Croft over the low roof of the Porsche. He stared back at her, waiting.
"I'm still not going to invite you to go with me to Colorado, you know," she said with what she hoped was a casual firmness.
"The evening's not over," he pointed out, not bothering to sound casual at all. "I thought I'd come in for brandy."
"Did you?" Her pulse throbbed in her throat.
He didn't say anything else. He simply took her hand as she walked around the car and started up the stairs. She probably ought to halt him at her door, Mercy thought.
But she knew she wasn't going to do that.
At the door he took the key from her without a word and turned it smoothly in the lock as if he had every right. Mercy took a deep breath and stepped inside her apartment, flipping the light switch on the wall. Across the room the unfinished watercolor scene confronted them. Croft's eyes went to it.
"I'll get the brandy," Mercy said softly. She hurried into the kitchen. Perhaps it wouldn't be totally impossible to take him with her to Colorado. She was only going to spend two nights with Gladstone. If her client objected too strongly to her bringing along a guest she and Croft could always stay at a motel. If she could convince Croft not to embarrass her by making his desire to own
Valley
too apparent, then maybe…just maybe…
A week in the Colorado mountains with Croft Falconer stretched out before her, tantalizing her unmercifully.
She shouldn't do it. It was a bad idea. She barely knew Croft and she didn't want to embarrass herself in front of her client. Besides, although she believed him when he said he wanted her, there was no doubt that he was equally interested in that damn book. Mercy didn't want to play second fiddle to a piece of eighteenth century pornography.
There were so many excellent reasons for not letting Croft accompany her.
He was still studying the watercolor scene when Mercy returned to the living room with the two glasses of brandy in her hand. He glanced at her assessingly as she moved to stand beside him. He looked as though he were choosing his words carefully.
"I should warn you, I don't take criticism well," Mercy told him, handing him his brandy.
"You're taking the wrong approach with your painting," he said very seriously.
"It's just practice for my art class." She glanced idly down at the scene on the easel. "Seemed like a nice day to catch the view. Do you paint?"
"I've studied watercolors."
She sipped her drink. "That surprises me."
"Does it? I found them very," he paused, "satisfying."
"Why?" she asked with sudden interest.
"Because on the surface the medium is very transparent. Very straightforward and obvious. There aren't multiple layers of paint to get in the way of the viewer, just a clean wash of color. Watercolor painting lets the artist create an impression with light. What could be clearer than light?"
Mercy shook her head. "You said watercolor painting is that way on the surface. But I don't think it would have held your interest if there had been nothing more to it."
"You're right. The transparent quality is fascinatingly complex when you study it. It reveals so much with so little. And that's where you're going
The afternoon jaunt to Seattle represented the first time Mercy had actually relaxed around Croft. She savored the feeling, hugging it to her during the drive back. But by the time he had parked the Porsche in the lot below her apartment, a niggling sense of doubt had risen to ask if she hadn't been
meant
to relax.
In the morning she would be on her way to Colorado and Croft had told her more than once he intended to accompany her.
She climbed out of the Porsche with a return of the uncertain feeling that had been pleasantly absent for the past several hours. As she closed the door of the car she looked at Croft over the low roof of the Porsche. He stared back at her, waiting.
"I'm still not going to invite you to go with me to Colorado, you know," she said with what she hoped was a casual firmness.
"The evening's not over," he pointed out, not bothering to sound casual at all. "I thought I'd come in for brandy."
"Did you?" Her pulse throbbed in her throat.
He didn't say anything else. He simply took her hand as she walked around the car and started up the stairs. She probably ought to halt him at her door, Mercy thought.
But she knew she wasn't going to do that.
At the door he took the key from her without a word and turned it smoothly in the lock as if he had every right. Mercy took a deep breath and stepped inside her apartment, flipping the light switch on the wall. Across the room the unfinished watercolor scene confronted them. Croft's eyes went to it.
"I'll get the brandy," Mercy said softly. She hurried into the kitchen. Perhaps it wouldn't be totally impossible to take him with her to Colorado. She was only going to spend two nights with Gladstone. If her client objected too strongly to her bringing along a guest she and Croft could always stay at a motel. If she could convince Croft not to embarrass her by making his desire to own
Valley
too apparent, then maybe…just maybe…
A week in the Colorado mountains with Croft Falconer stretched out before her, tantalizing her unmercifully.
She shouldn't do it. It was a bad idea. She barely knew Croft and she didn't want to embarrass herself in front of her client. Besides, although she believed him when he said he wanted her, there was no doubt that he was equally interested in that damn book. Mercy didn't want to play second fiddle to a piece of eighteenth century pornography.
There were so many excellent reasons for not letting Croft accompany her.
He was still studying the watercolor scene when Mercy returned to the living room with the two glasses of brandy in her hand. He glanced at her assessingly as she moved to stand beside him. He looked as though he were choosing his words carefully.
"I should warn you, I don't take criticism well," Mercy told him, handing him his brandy.
"You're taking the wrong approach with your painting," he said very seriously.
"It's just practice for my art class." She glanced idly down at the scene on the easel. "Seemed like a nice day to catch the view. Do you paint?"
"I've studied watercolors."
She sipped her drink. "That surprises me."
"Does it? I found them very," he paused, "satisfying."
"Why?" she asked with sudden interest.
"Because on the surface the medium is very transparent. Very straightforward and obvious. There aren't multiple layers of paint to get in the way of the viewer, just a clean wash of color. Watercolor painting lets the artist create an impression with light. What could be clearer than light?"
Mercy shook her head. "You said watercolor painting is that way on the surface. But I don't think it would have held your interest if there had been nothing more to it."
"You're right. The transparent quality is fascinatingly complex when you study it. It reveals so much with so little. And that's where you're going
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