Love Unlocked (3 page)

Her melancholy faded in the face of the morning tasks that were becoming her routine. She dressed, pulled her thick black hair into a bun at the nape of her neck, and browsed through the morning’s news on her laptop while sipping espresso made from her thousand-dollar machine. She’d had to drive all the way to San Louis Obispo to get it, but each life-giving sip of caffeine was worth every mile and every dollar.

Keeping up with world affairs was proving a difficult habit to break. It no longer mattered to her what was going on in Rome, or London, or Geneva, but she’d been doing it so long, on the off chance that there might be a tidbit that meant something to her, that she found she couldn’t stop.

Her empty email inbox was a good sign, since John had promised to email her if there was anything she needed to know. Leaving her partner behind when she’d departed Paris had actually been a relief. She and John would continue to stay in touch, but she no longer had to worry about him knowing her too well, so well that it could get one of them hurt, or in trouble. He’d been brilliant at identifying opportunities and helping her with the technical side of things. He’d shown her how to pick her first lock and enter and exit a secure room without leaving a trace of her presence behind. She’d been useful to him, giving him access to legitimate sellers and buyers and getting into places that even he couldn’t. They’d worked out a rhythm, and it had been extremely lucrative for both of them.

They’d been a team for a decade, but it hadn’t taken long for John and her to realize they would never have a romantic entanglement. They made a splendid-looking couple, he tall, blond, and athletic, she diminutive and darkly elegant, and had used their natural chemistry to their advantage more than once. But he was light and tended to the frivolous, though that hid a razor-sharp edge. He was like a beautiful and extremely sharp knife; you admired the craftsmanship, but if you handled it the wrong way, you’d get cut before you even realized it. While that was useful in a business partner, it wouldn’t have suited her in a boyfriend. Not that she had much experience with what did or didn’t suit her. When she’d first come to Europe, she’d rushed into several ill-advised romances with dark, exciting men, only to have her heart broken. Then when her careers—as gallery curator and art thief—both took off, she had neither the time nor the energy to properly vet prospective boyfriends, lest they be Interpol plants or too inquisitive for their own good. So the relationships, if they could be called that, had been sporadic and brief. Was loneliness another reason she’d been so ready to chuck it all and return to America, land of her unresolved issues?

Annoyed at her self-pitying introspection, Eve shut the lid of her computer with a click and inspected the kitchen with a critical eye. The appliances were all installed, and most of the furniture had been delivered. She’d been living here for less than two weeks, but so far she was ahead of schedule. Should she start thinking about repainting the walls, or get to know the area better? Los Angeles and San Francisco were both within a half day’s drive if she were craving some culture. She’d always been good at finding things to occupy her time, but she’d have to get out of the house if she wanted activity. Opportunity wasn’t likely to literally knock on her door out here.

A knock sounded on the front door, making her smile.

The man on the other side of the door resembled Hudson around the eyes and the chin, but his lips were thinner, and his nose a different shape altogether. His dark brown hair was straight and cut short and he wore a wide gold wedding band on his left hand.

“You must be Will,” she said. “Come on in.”

Will Cleary was an intelligent, efficient man who, along with his apprentice, Carlos, had her new locks installed within an hour. He presented a more than adequate plan for the rest of the security measures she’d requested, with a few more of his own ideas added in and approved by Eve.

They sat at the kitchen bar on her new stainless steel bar stools, finalizing the plans and going over the estimate.

“I met your brother the other day,” Eve said, broaching a subject that had been niggling at her brain for days.

“He covers for me from time to time,” Will said. “Did he do a good job?”

“Oh, yes, fine. Silly of me to lock myself out in the first place.”

“It happens,” Will said easily, shuffling papers back into a folder with her name on it. “I’ve done it myself, believe it or not.”

She smiled and showed him out. Will was likable and she trusted her gut feeling that he was honest. She rested with her back to the door and thought of her lock pick set, gathering dust. If she’d had them with her the day she’d moved in, might she never have met Hudson?

She’d tried not to think about him since he’d invited her to sit for him. The idea had thrown her, and not least because she had been certain he was going to ask her out when he had that cute, nervous, talking-too-fast thing happening. But he’d asked her to model instead of to dinner and she’d actually wanted to say yes to his—request? Offer? Who would turn down a chance to work with one of the most brilliant, not to mention, gorgeous, painters of the twenty-first century?

Getting involved with a man, a painter, no less, was not part of the plan. Eve was giving herself time and the space to think, to reflect, to decide what she was going to make of her life. The last decade had been some kind of bizarre dream, where she did things that regular people—
real
people—didn’t do. As a girl, she’d longed for glamour and adventure, and she’d gotten her wish, in spades. It had taken every ounce of her courage to walk away from that life and imagine a different path for herself. The still-rational part of her brain had known that if she didn’t walk away, that glamorous, adventurous life would end either in jail or death. Those were two adventures she could put off indefinitely.

But a life where the most pressing matter on her plate was picking a china pattern was not as fulfilling as she’d hoped it would be. Though she’d retired from her illegal activities, she didn’t want to be floating aimlessly for the rest of her life. The bulging manila envelope that sat unopened on the dining room table might have given her some direction, jump-started her progress. The name on the outside—Genevieve Walker—was the name of a stranger. She’d reinvented herself as Eve Caplin long ago and that was who she was now, for better or worse. Ruthlessly, she taped the envelope to the bottom of the table. It would be secure enough until her safe was installed. Until then, she wasn’t ready to open it. She might never be ready.

Home improvements were the best form of procrastination. She put away the tape, pulled out a pile of paint chips, and started debating between Swiss Coffee and White Dove.

Hudson rounded the point and slowed from a brisk jog to a fast walk. He’d tacked an extra two miles onto his regular beach run, and his thighs were burning. The sharp sea air cooled the sweat on the back of his neck and he felt invigorated, if no less frustrated.

He’d started the day the way he spent every Thursday morning, volunteering at Chelsea’s single convalescent home. Tomorrow, he was giving blood; he’d stop at the diner on the way home for a burger, to fortify his iron. He’d done something unusual after returning home from reading to Mr. Rosenbaum and holding the yarn for Mrs. Sinclair’s knitting project: he’d gone into his studio. Once in there, he’d sat down at his desk and started fiddling around with some images that had been rolling around in his head. They weren’t only Eve’s face, which he’d sketched over and over since he’d met her, each time not quite right. It had been nearly two years since he’d gone to his studio to do more than drink a beer and watch the rain fall outside the large plate glass windows that made up the entire northern wall.

Giving in to the need to sketch Eve had somehow reminded his fingers there was some life in there yet. The strangest thing remained how the large-scale abstracts he’d built his career on, that had fascinated him from his infancy as an artist, were nowhere to be found in the small pile of sketches. They were of chins, eyes, ears, recognizable features of the weathered looking man he’d seen at the gas station that morning, of his smallest niece, Caitlyn, even of Mrs. Sinclair, knitting needles and all.

He clearly had an itch, if only he knew where to scratch. If he was honest, that itch had started the day he’d set eyes on Eve Caplin, and hadn’t let up.

Her rejection still stung. He couldn’t console himself with the idea that he could ask her on a date. Dating had become as infrequent as studio sessions. If he could even begin to start thinking about painting again, then he could certainly manage a drink or dinner. Maybe after she got to know him, she’d reconsider. She couldn’t be blamed for being wary. She was a beautiful woman, and busy, besides. Modeling wasn’t everyone’s thing. It could be very hard work, which if she knew art, she’d be aware of. He could tell she’d been interested; she hadn’t let herself say yes.

He blew out an aggravated breath. He wanted to see her again, even more than he wanted to paint her.

He considered asking Will if he needed help completing her security system installation, since Eve had asked his brother to rush the work. But Will was close to done, plus the ruse was too hokey to work. He didn’t want to see her again as an employee, anyway. He wanted to see her as a man.

He had her phone number from the day he’d let her into her house. He fished his cell phone out of the pocket of his running shorts. It would be a simple matter to press the buttons, let it ring, ask her to meet him for a drink.

He thought of her snooty little accent, her elite gallery experience, the way she’d icily dismissed his request, and he let the phone drop back into his pocket. Maybe he’d run another half a mile.

***

Hudson’s request to paint her had been rattling around in Eve’s head for days, distracting her at the oddest moments. She’d been taken aback by the request, and her answer had been stilted; she was afraid she’d come off as horribly snobby and uptight.

She’d wanted to say yes. The thought of posing for Hudson, clothed or not, was extremely erotic. What would it feel like to submit to his eyes, to his hands, as they searched out her secrets and put them on paper? He was more than talented; he was brilliant. She’d known it the first time she’d seen one of his paintings, before she ever knew his name or the sinfully handsome face behind it.

Saying yes would have meant prolonged contact with a man who couldn’t be counted on to disappear before he got too close. Men usually did what she wanted them to, eventually, but with Hudson, one couldn’t know.

Even though she’d come to Chelsea to start again, to make different choices and return some semblance of normality to her existence, there were still enough messy threads from her old life tangling up with the present that it made her think twice before adding one huge complication to the mix.

And yet, she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

What she needed was a new project. She’d finished appointing the interior of the house with furniture, appliances, and gadgets. The upstairs had been entirely repainted, and the security system was well in place. Her paintings had not yet arrived, so her walls were still bare. She opened the French doors and looked over her backyard, neglected brown grass that melted into a copse of native trees, over which she could see a generous band of twinkling silver ocean. Time to turn to the exterior.

With one hand, she pulled out her cell phone, scrolling down to the name of the contractor she’d met at the Home Depot in Pismo Beach. With the other, she started sketching the outlines of a deck. Nothing like endless home improvement projects to keep the mind and body off the subject of men.

After making the appointment with the contractor, Eve lost track of time, perfecting her vision for the deck. The sound of her doorbell caused her to jerk her head up. She slid the plans into a neat stack and smoothed her hair.
Always be prepared
.

The person on her doorstep was decidedly not Hudson. She was a woman of average height, slim build, but with hips and a fair amount of bosom. She wore her blond hair cropped close to her head, which made her look younger, but Eve guessed she was about thirty. She wore Levis and cowboy boots and a plain white tank top. Her arms were bronzed from sun exposure, and she had freckles on her nose. Her mouth was a generous slash and she smiled, holding up a jar of something the color of liquid amber.

“Hi, neighbor, I’m Rue. I live back down the road at Honeydale Farm, and this is some for you. Honey, that is.”

Eve couldn’t help the grin that split her face. “Would you like to come in for some coffee?”

Rue moved nonstop, setting the honey on the kitchen bar, inspecting the top of the line espresso machine that Eve had recently mastered. “Fancy,” was her assessment, but she readily agreed to a cappuccino.

“I didn’t know there was a farm nearby,” Eve commented as she readied her tiny porcelain cups for the rich brew. She had a set of eight, but so far had used but one, washing it in the sink since she didn’t have enough dishes to run the dishwasher. Reinventing oneself had been lonely so far. She hoped she didn’t sound desperate for company, but it didn’t matter. Rue continued to inspect the kitchen, chatting freely as she did so.

“It’s not much of a farm, yet. I raise bees for honey and for renting to other farms, and we have some chickens, vegetables, a pig. I sell the honey at the farmers market in town, and we also sell to some fancy foodie places from Carmel to Santa Barbara.”

“You’re a beekeeper,” Eve said in wonder.

“That’s right.”

“Wherever did you learn?”

“You know the usual tale. I graduated college with absolutely no direction, so I hoofed around Europe for a while. I ended up doing some woofing in England at a honeybee farm. Turns out I had a way with bees, and I stayed for a year. The owner really took me under his wing, so to speak.”

Eve laughed. “Woofing?”