Had she fallen in love? Surely not. Granted, they’d been dancing around each other from the time she’d arrived, but they’d only been lovers a short time. Surely it wasn’t possible to fall in love so quickly. Or had it been quickly?
She mentally shook her head and focused on her art. She couldn’t fall in love because she was going home. A place she missed with all her heart. Yet, lately, being with Danny had meant more to her.
Enough. She had to focus or his mother would never get a portrait of her son.
“So, how long does this take?” Danny asked, his voice laced with impatience.
She sighed. He’d continued to ask that question since they began. She had him sitting for hours, only taking short breaks. She felt that it wouldn’t be long before all was over and she’d be free to return to Ireland. She wanted to finish this before then.
“Another hour and you can go. I’ll finish it from memory or have you come up for a short while.” She had remembered every feature of his strikingly handsome face, whiskey-colored eyes, dirty-blond hair, and strong, sculpted physique. She could’ve painted the entire portrait without him sitting for her. Having him with her had been fun, though. Including his lack of discipline in sitting still.
“You really like this? Sitting for hours, painting?”
It was her life, but how to explain that? Non-artists didn’t understand the need to hold the pencil or brush and create something using every emotion the artist carried. Each piece was an extension of her creative mind. “I love it. I can’t imagine not holding a paintbrush in my hand.”
“Better you than me. I couldn’t stand doing the same thing for hours at a time.”
She stopped herself, before adding a brush stroke to canvas. “Don’t you sit for long periods of time when you’re out there doing your protection thing?” Because of her earwigging—she reminded herself it was eavesdropping in America—she’d heard some of their stories, and she thought they’d discussed sitting and waiting for hours at a time.
He rubbed his jaw and she wanted to swat at him to be still but said nothing. He’d been pretty good most of the day—when he did sit still—so she’d give him that one without saying anything. Throughout the day, she’d said plenty. “Yeah, I guess so. Sure,” he sounded more confident in his answer, “we do sit and wait a lot.” He laughed. “It’s not the same, yet it is. I’m no artist, but I get doing what you love, no matter the time commitment.”
“How did you come to work for HIS?”
He shifted a bit and smiled. The smile she wished he’d worn for the portrait. His mother would’ve loved it. “Easy. I met Brad Hamilton in a bar. We were each drinking in solitude, commiserating about women.” His grin turned shy, and she could’ve sworn he blushed. “He got into an argument with someone and it led to a fistfight.” He looked at her, before shaking his head. “He didn’t provoke it. The men came after him.”
“Men?” Really, the men in HIS didn’t seem to do things halfway.
Danny chuckled. “Yeah, three of them. Now, being my new drinking buddy and all, plus I’d had a few beers, I jumped in to help him. After that, we met up at the bar a few times, and he asked me all kinds of questions about myself and my career. Then one day, he invited me for an interview with HIS. The rest is history.”
It was Moira’s turn to chuckle. “That’s a unique way into a job. I can’t imagine many consider getting into a bar fight a quality behavior they’d choose.”
With a shrug, he said, “No big deal. They unfairly targeted him anyway.”
“And you just had to jump in?”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Moira rolled her eyes. Men. She’d never understand their logic.
“Are we done for the day?”
She distinctly remembered telling him another hour, but she caved. Truth was, she also needed a break. “Okay, for today. Tomorrow you owe me an hour.”
With lightning speed, he jumped from the chair and approached her.
“Oh, nay,” she said. “You can’t see the artwork in progress.”
He shrugged. “I’m not after it. I’m after the artist.”
“Give me a few minutes to clean out my brushes. Then I’m all yours.”
Leaning over but using a hand to shield his eyes from seeing her work, he kissed her gently and lightly. “I’ll be down in the kitchen getting supper together.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I’ll do a stir-fry with plenty for the team. They could use some vegetables. Or so my boss’s wife tells me.” This time he rolled his eyes.
“I’ve never cooked stir-fry. I’ll be glad to learn.”
“It’s easy.” He glanced at his watch. “But lots of vegetables to cut so let me get moving.”
He kissed her once more before departing.
She sighed with contentment. Her world rocked. Playing house with Danny was more fun than she’d ever imagined such a position would be like. Would she ever find something like this when she returned home? Being comfortable around each other? Feeling cherished by another? Treated as precious cargo yet with faith in her strength? Feeling loved?
Nay, scratch the last one, but feeling close to it. And that almost sent her into a panic attack. What if he fell in love with her? She was moving back across the ocean. That was a bit too far for a long-distance relationship.
Slowly, she brought her erratic breathing under control. The whole mess would be wrapped up shortly and Danny wasn’t in love with her. And she wasn’t in love with him. Liar, a little voice said.
Moira shook her head and rinsed out her brushes. Sometime later, she ventured downstairs to Danny watching TV from the kitchen with a large knife in his hand, half-raised, ready to chop something. He probably was, but the frozen stance made her giggle.
“What do I need to do?”
He turned and smiled.
