The Colors of Love (13 page)

Now it was done.

It was possibly the best thing she had ever painted.

She stared at the painting for a timeless moment, then carefully picked up brushes and poured fresh solvent into an empty jar. Her movements became automatic, her mind hazy in the aftermath of hours of frenzied painting as she carried her brushes to the kitchen.

On the floor, she found Squiggles's food bowl spilled, kibble spread across the kitchen floor. She left the brushes soaking, went for a broom, and cleaned the mess. Squiggles must have heard her rummaging because he appeared in the kitchen with his orange tail standing high as he wove between her legs.

"You've got food," she murmured, lifting him into her arms, but he twisted and escaped, digging his back claws into her arm as he leapt to the floor. When she opened the fridge, he wedged himself inside the fridge door.

"Out of there. Come on!"

Banned from the fridge, he paced faster, anticipating the taste of the tuna, perhaps already smelling it. She laughed and decided that she should have had a cat long ago, to put life in perspective. Meanwhile, there were brushes to be cleaned and plans to be made. Right at this moment she was empty, had poured everything into that painting, but with a meal and a few hours she knew energy and feeling would return. In the aftermath of finishing the painting, she would feel vulnerable, just as she had last night when Alex turned up on her doorstep.

When the phone rang, she dropped the brushes and ran to the hall to pick it up. She caught it on the second ring.

"Jamie," said her father. "I've only got a moment. What did you want?"

Of course it wasn't Alex on the phone. He might have taken part in that kiss, but he'd bolted afterward, and he'd been clear enough earlier. The man wasn't in the market for an affair.

"I'd like to take you out to dinner tomorrow night, Dad. We haven't seen each other in almost a month."

"Honey, I'm up to my ears in taxes. Why don't we grab lunch next week? Or—actually, next week's out, but the week after."

His response was predictable, but she felt a sharp disappointment.
Harden up,
she ordered herself.
Grow a shell.

"You have to eat," she said brightly. "I'll bring takeout and we can have a picnic in your office. You can put aside whatever file you're working on for twenty minutes, can't you?"

"All right, but we'll have to make it short."

"Tomorrow, then. I'll come by about six."

"Make it later, about seven."

"Okay." Afterward, she'd go downtown to the theater complex near Planet Hollywood. She'd pick the most tempting of the new line-up of movies and spend the evening in someone else's fantasy.

She was halfway back to the kitchen when the phone rang again. Her father, she decided, thinking better of tomorrow's plans. She picked up the receiver.

"Where the hell have you been?" Alexander Kent.

"Right here." Her heart was pounding.

"I called three times," he said irritably.

"I went out to lunch, then I was painting. I might not have heard the phone."

"I don't have time for this. Why don't you have an answering machine?"

Busy men
, she thought
. First her father, now Alex. Too busy to take time for life.

"Why did you call, Alex?"

Her question seemed to silence him for a moment, then he said, "I'm going to my sister's for dinner tonight. It's a business thing. My brother-in-law is working on something for me and I need to see him. Wear something casual."

"You're asking me to dinner with your family? Why?"

"Does it matter?"

Yes, she realized, it mattered.

"I'll pick you up at six."

Chapter 8

"You're bringing a what?" demanded Alex's sister.

"A woman. To dinner tonight."

"Alex, for heaven's sake! You could have given me some warning. It's three in the afternoon and we were going to have leftovers. What am I supposed to—Who is she?"

"Take it easy, Paula." He should have called his brother-in-law to make this announcement, not his sister. "Order something in if you want. I'll pay."

"That's not the point. Your date—"

"It's not a
date,
Paula. She's looking after one of my patients."

"A nurse?"

"No, she—You invited me to dinner tonight and I have to meet this woman, so I thought I could kill two birds with one stone." Damn! Why could nothing concerning Jamila go smoothly? "Paula, I've got calls to make. Do you want to bring take-out or not?"

"Of course not. I just wondered—Never mind, what time will you be arriving?"

"Six-thirty. See you then."

He should have realized Paula would be curious, hadn't thought of it, he supposed, because he was focused on his own needs.

Needs.
He frowned at the word, mentally replaced it with
objectives,
and reached for the telephone to call an eleven-year-old patient's mother. As he dialed the number, he pushed the image of Jamila's face and tumbling red curls firmly out of his mind.

Stiff,
Jamie thought when she opened the door to Alex, and discontent. She wasn't sure if he was frowning at his own thoughts, or her appearance.

He'd said
casual,
so she'd worn jeans and a black silk blouse topped with a multicolored quilted vest. Too loud, she wondered, or too casual? The moment of self-doubt made her uneasy. When had his disapproval stopped being a challenge and started to erode her self-confidence? She'd have to stop that erosion, right now.

"Good evening, Alex." She stretched up and brushed a kiss on his cheek, measuring his reaction as he seemed to become even stiffer.

"Let's go," he said.

Inside his luxurious leather-upholstered car, the engine hummed quietly. He hadn't turned the ignition off when he pulled up at her house. A man in a hurry.

She frowned as she fastened her seat belt. He got in and fastened his, then pushed a button on the dash, filling the car with music. Classical, again. Not Chopin, though. She didn't recognize either the composer or the conductor.

"Are we in a hurry?" she asked as he put the car into gear and reversed.

"Paula and Dennis are expecting us."

Paula and Dennis. At least they had names now, his sister and brother-in-law, but his grim silence baffled her. He'd asked her to come to dinner with his family, but had shown no pleasure at all when she greeted him at the door.

"Is this a date," she asked, "because it certainly doesn't feel like one."

"Why don't you just go with the flow or whatever it is artists do?"

Wait and see, as if she were a child who needn't be told the destination. When she'd decided that she would become his lover, the decision had seemed simple, even inevitable. She hadn't anticipated his unwillingness—it certainly hadn't been evident in that first kiss.

She studied the economical movements of his hands on the steering wheel as he turned west, and couldn't suppress a shiver of memory.

Heat, she had thought. Heat and fire, flames consuming and energizing, the way the fire of her painting consumed and energized her. It hadn't even mattered that he didn't like her much. She'd liked him, unaccountably had trusted him on some deep level. Sex, she'd thought, and although she'd never been with a man before, the desire had flared like a match in dry tinder—hadn't she vowed that she would never again ignore the needs of her heart, her passions?

But now, somehow, it had changed. Perhaps because he told her there was another woman, although she couldn't understand how he could tell her he intended to marry this Diana, and then when Jamie asked for a kiss—She didn't know
why
she'd asked, knew only that she had needed the feel of his lips again, the joy of his subtle male fragrance, the swirl of sensation tingling in her veins just once more. She wanted to hold each sensation and keep it for a memory, a tool for her painting. An experience preceding good-bye, and then perhaps she could grow the kiss into a painting.

Instead... surrender, scorching heat, driven hunger, and she'd awoken this morning in some juvenile state of uncertainty, yearning for a phone call from the man who said he wanted another woman, and certainly didn't approve of her. What did it matter if a short-term lover approved—but Alex wasn't a lover, and somehow it
did
matter. She'd spent the whole day in adolescent uncertainty, calling Liz for reassurance about her painting, then her almost begging her father for a bit of his time.

When Alex had called, finally, she'd dressed with excitement, anticipation... yearning—despite the offhand way he'd issued this invitation. She'd run to the door when he knocked, needing to see welcome in his eyes, but finding only cool distance and tension.

Blanketed in chamber music within the walls of his car, she felt as if her own self were draining away. In defense, she reached out and punched a button on the dash. Silence.

"You don't like the music?"

His voice was cool, carrying the soothing quality he'd used with Sara, settling the child's anxiety with quiet confidence.

Conversation.

They
needed
conversation.

"Sara was thrilled to see Squiggles yesterday," she told him, whether he wanted to know or not. "She plunked herself down on one of the basket chairs, then when Squiggles escaped, she followed him around the house, trying to get him to play with a toy mouse she'd brought. She got a real kick out of feeding him."

"Hmm."

Jamie tangled her fingers together and stared at the car ahead of them. "I don't understand why she can't have a cat. Her mother died last year, she's got no brothers and sisters. It's lonely for her in that apartment. I don't think that Mrs. Davis who baby-sits is much comfort to her." She was talking too fast, using too many words. "Her dad says the building owner won't allow pets, but for heaven's sake! A little kitten—"

"You don't believe in rules, do you?"

She twisted to see him, couldn't read his face. He seemed to be focused on driving, hadn't turned to glance at her. "What are you talking about?"

"Sara's building has a 'no-pets' rule. What would you do? Break it?"

" Why should I respect an unreasonable rule? What harm would a kitten do?" She saw his mouth tighten, said, "You believe in rules, of course."

"Without them, we'd have chaos."

"Too much order and the soul dies. A little chaos can be a good thing."

He didn't believe that, of course, and although she disagreed, tonight something inside her cringed from the battle. Last night they'd exchanged insults, and although she'd given as good as she got, she realized now that his words
had
hurt.

She smoothed imaginary creases in her jeans. "You mentioned you had business with your brother-in-law. What sort of business?" Nosy, she thought, and decided she had a right after he'd dragged her out here without explanation.

"Dennis is my CPA."

"The accountant you left my father for? Family loyalty?"

"Hmm."

Something in the pitch of his voice made it perfect for calming, soothing. She wondered if he knew and used it consciously.

He signaled for a turn and she saw his eyes flash to the rearview mirror. To her right, a large statue of a draped Grecian figure marked the edge of a private drive. They'd left the ordinary world behind and entered the spacious estates of Laurelhurst.

"Rogoza? Your brother-in-law is Dennis Rogoza?" He nodded and she said, "He and Dad sit together on a CPA ethics committee." She picked an orange cat hair from the sleeve of her blouse. "I don't think I've ever met him. How long has he been married to your sister?"

"A few years."

She made a frustrated sound. "Do you guard your personal history with everyone, Alex, or is it just me?"

Without answering, he swung the car into a wide drive marked by a wrought-iron sculpture. Still craving some kind of response from him, she asked, "Your sister lives here?"

"Hmm."

"Nice house." She unsnapped her seat belt as he stopped the car, scrambled out before he could come around the car to open her door. Grounds, trees, an impressive view of Lake Washington.

"Such fascinating conversation," she said with false brightness. "Why did you bring me?"

If the evening didn't improve very quickly, she'd call a taxi and go home... or downtown to watch a movie. She didn't need to put up with his rudeness. If his sister's attitude matched his, this would be a very short visit!

But Jamie liked the house, liked the way the architect had designed it low and sprawling, with simple lines that left the beauty of green lawn and rich red-branched madrona trees undisturbed.

When Alex stepped behind her, she quickened her steps toward the low stone staircase. At the top of the stairs, a door opened and a small woman with short sandy hair stepped outside.

"Alex. You're right on time." She stepped down two steps, holding her hand out to Jamie. "I'm Paula. Alex didn't tell me your name—?"

"Jamie." Paula's hand was warm and firm, though her smile seemed cool. "Thank you for inviting me."