Stroke of Love

THICK BRANCHES SCRAPED the sides of the all-wheel-drive passenger van as it ambled along the narrow dirt road that divided the dense, unforgiving jungle. Sage Remington startled as a mass of giant leaves slapped against the grit-covered window. Plumes of dust billowed in their wake, swallowing the road, and Sage wondered if they were really heading toward civilization or away from it. The van keeled to the left, sending Sage and the other passengers flying across their seats until the bus rocked back to center and found its balance. Sage had never experienced anything like the trek to the remote village of Punta Palacia, and as he listened to the other passengers bitch and moan, he turned a deaf ear—and focused his artist’s eyes on the verdant jungle boasting some of the most vibrant and interesting hues he’d ever set his eyes on. He’d been living in the concrete jungle of New York City for the past five years and rarely had a chance to venture beyond the streets, offices, and subways. When he’d heard about Artists for International Aid (AIA), a nonprofit organization that brought educational, medical, and environmental programs to newly developing nations, he’d immediately volunteered to be a part of one of their two-week projects.

“This is such bullshit. Belize, my agent said to me.” Actress Penelope Price gathered her long blond hair in her hand and pulled it over her shoulder, fanning her face with an exhausted sigh. “Think beautiful beaches and sunshine, she said.” After some fancy twisting and poking of a long, gold needlelike thing, she looked as if she was ready for the red carpet—or at least her hair was. The rest of her body—and her legs, which were long enough to wrap around any man’s waist twice—glistened with sweat. “My Chanel is ruined!”

Sage shook his head at her Oscar-worthy performance. AIA worked with artists and celebrity volunteers, and as he listened to Penelope bitch, he wondered why she’d even volunteered for the project. He pulled a bandana from the pocket of his cargo shorts and wiped his forehead, which had long ago stopped beading with sweat and succumbed to the drenching wetness caused by the heat and humidity of southern Belize. Despite the sweat-soaked tank top clinging to his body like a second skin and the bitchy prima donnas he was traveling with, he didn’t regret his decision.

“Stop your bitching,” Clayton Ray snapped. Clayton was a country music star and—from what Sage had witnessed at the airport and during the long flight over—an asshole extraordinaire. “You’ll have air-conditioning when we get there.”

Sage hid his laugh behind a cough.
AC, my ass.
At least he knew what he was getting into. Apparently, the others hadn’t been clued in to the realities of Punta Palacia. Sage was looking forward to the simplistic lifestyle, braving the heat and humidity of the jungle, and maybe, just maybe, figuring out why the hell a man who had enough money to buy half of New York and a career doing what he loved most felt so damn empty inside.

“All I can say is that if there’s no air-conditioning, I’m heading back to Belize City. Pronto.” Cassidy Bay, a B-list actress, dabbed at her streaked eyeliner. “I can’t sleep in this weather, and without sleep, my eyes will be puffy.”

Penelope whipped her head around to commiserate. “We can do that? Then why didn’t we just stay there?”

Sage had been distracted and rushed when they’d boarded the van at the landing strip, and he had caught only a glimpse of Kate Paletto, the program director for AIA. He was six four and guessed she was about five two and weighed a buck ten soaking wet. He hadn’t gotten a good look at her face, but as she led them through to the van, he couldn’t help but notice her slim hips and sleek, feminine arms. From his seat in the second row, he could make out her long, silky dark hair, and he had a clear shot of her hand as it gripped the armrest so tightly her knuckles turned white. He wondered if it was from the banter or the bumpy ride.

“No, Penelope. We talked about this, remember?” Luce Palmer, Penelope’s public relations specialist, sat in the back of the van. She was known in entertainment circles for being a hard-nosed negotiator and, most notably, for being able to turn around any celebrity’s bad reputation. “You’re here to rectify the damage you caused to your image. This is two weeks of…hardship to show you care about people other than yourself.”

Hardship?
Hell, Sage would relish being away from the stress and distraction of New York City. He worked late into most nights on his artwork and rarely even heard the phone when it rang. Maybe being away would help him to pay attention to other, more important things, too, and help him to not get so lost in his work. Spending two weeks in Punta Palacia seemed like the opposite of a hardship to him.

Kate turned in her seat, flashing her vibrant blue eyes. She had dark lashes and the softest-looking skin he’d ever seen.
The face of an angel
.
Jesus, where did that cliché come from?

“I still don’t see why I couldn’t have gone on a vacation someplace else and gotten the same publicity,” Penelope said to Luce.

“Because you’re here for humanitarian purposes, not a vacation.” Kate spoke with the confidence of a seasoned drill sergeant. Her harsh tone contrasted sharply with her soft features, giving her a good-girl, bad-girl vibe that she appeared to be completely oblivious to—and that Sage could not ignore.

Sage had come to Belize with a plan. His artwork commanded six figures, earning him a fine living and drowning him in feelings of unease. He’d always felt a desire to give back to the community, but no matter how much money he gave to charities, or how many hours he volunteered in New York City, he still felt hollow, as if, in the grand scheme of life, nothing he did made a difference. He hoped that experiencing a different type of giving back, in a country that wasn’t so gluttonous, might spark a deeper level of fulfillment. And now that he’d smelled the humid jungle air and drank in the passing beauty of the jungle, an idea was coming to him—and a woman wasn’t part of the plan. Not even a woman as beautiful and as intriguing as Kate.

A whisper of a thought floated to the forefront of his mind while the others bitched and plotted about their
predicament
. Instead of just donating money, he could paint the local landscape and the people and send those paintings back to New York to be sold. The profits could come back to Punta Palacia. Surely they could use the money, and he couldn’t imagine anything being more fulfilling than doing what he loved for a bigger purpose. A few pieces each year could bring significant funds for areas that needed it much more than he did. His pulse kicked up as the idea took hold.