Stunned by his reply and his nonchalance, she grinned. “If you own a Monet, I’ll be yours forever.”
The partition between front and back slid down just then and she heard what might have been a choked-back laugh from the front seat. Jason cast a forbidding look in that direction.
“Henry seems amused,” she noted.
“Based on your comment, Henry is apparently already making plans to see that we get to the church on time,” Jason said wryly.
“In other words, you have a Monet.”
“Or two,” Jason corrected.
Actually, there were four, Callie discovered to her amazement when they arrived in Jason’s penthouse. All were small, all were lit with exquisite care unequaled by any gallery she’d ever visited. The sight of them, so close she could touch them, brought tears to her eyes.
“Are you crying?” Jason asked as he turned her around gently. He scanned her face with obvious bemusement. “You are. Why?”
“They’re just so magnificent.”
She noticed then that Jason’s expression as he gazed at the paintings wasn’t one of awe or even real appreciation. Vaguely disappointed by what she thought she’d discovered, she asked, “They’re just possessions to you, aren’t they?”
He shrugged. “I suppose.”
“Proof that you’ve succeeded,” she guessed. “Or do they represent some sort of competitive victory at an auction?”
Eyes suddenly shuttered, Jason turned away without answering. “Would you like a cabernet with dinner? Or maybe champagne?”
“I’d like an answer,” she insisted.
“Why?” He tossed the question over his shoulder as he opened the door to an impressive wine cellar.
“Because I want to understand you.”
He stood slowly, the wine temporarily forgotten. His gaze remained averted. He seemed to be staring out at the Manhattan skyline. His reflection showed a face that was distant and moody. Callie almost regretted pressing him, but she knew this was too important to let it pass.
“And the reason I bought those paintings will help you to do that?” he asked.
The stiff set of his shoulders told her the response to that was yes. She gazed around at the rest of the exquisitely decorated but impersonal apartment and knew there were no real answers to be found in anything except those paintings. They had some deep meaning to him, meaning that had nothing to do with their actual worth in the art world or their beauty.
“I think so, yes,” she said quietly, silently commanding him to look at her, to tell the truth. The soft classical music Jason had flipped on when they’d entered the apartment built to a crescendo, emphasizing the air of expectancy as she waited.
He turned then and looked directly into her eyes. “Maybe someday I’ll tell you,” he said, dangling it like a carrot for their future.
“But not tonight,” she concluded.
“Not tonight.”
“Then I think I ought to be going.”
To her regret, he seemed amused, rather than dismayed, by her mild touch of defiance. “Because I won’t answer all your personal questions?”
“Because you don’t trust me.”
His bold gaze clashed with hers, defiant and dark with unexpected passion. Callie trembled, but she couldn’t look away. He took a step toward her, then another.
“But I want you,” he said with such stark hunger that Callie was taken aback. “Isn’t that enough?”
He reached for her before she could answer and crushed her lips beneath his own in a kiss as urgent and demanding as anything Callie had ever known. He plunged his tongue deep into her mouth, tasting her, possessing her as surely as he had claimed those Monets.
For one brief, determined moment, Callie fought him, struggling to keep her senses from spinning out of control. Then the fire of his need swept through her, heating her blood as it clearly had his. The paintings, her unanswered questions, the wine, everything was forgotten except the sensations stirred by his touch.
The demanding hunger, the hint of yearning, should have come as a surprise, but it didn’t. Not really. It had been simmering just below the surface for weeks now, practically from the moment they’d met.
Callie knew she was lost. Desire, uncontrolled and desperate, blinded her to everything except the slow slide of his fingers under her shirt, the rough caress of his thumb over her already sensitive nipple. Her body hummed. Instinctively, she fit herself to him, molding soft curves to hard contours.
As if he sensed that she was his, his mouth on hers gentled, coaxed, tasted, even as his caresses teased, inflamed.
She wanted him. Too much.
He wanted her. There was no mistake about that.
Callie wanted more. To her amazement, she realized that she wanted his heart. But for now, if this desperate need and the promise of magnificent fulfillment were all he had to give, she would content herself with that.
15
Regina woke on the living room couch Sunday morning, her arthritic bones stiff and aching. She was aware instantly that Callie hadn’t come home. She would have awakened if her daughter had come in.
She was embarrassed to admit she’d been waiting up for her as she had when Callie was just a girl. She promised herself it would be the last time. Callie would probably call it being overprotective. Just as important, she was too old to be sleeping all cramped up on a couch.
She thought about the implications of Callie’s absence. It appeared she had stayed overnight with that nice young man. Regina tried to work up the sort of moral outrage that her husband would have, the fly-off-the-handle temper that would have caused heated words to be exchanged and doors to slam shut. Even after all those years of marriage, she couldn’t manage it.
The truth was, she liked Jason Kane, even if he was in television. He was strong-willed and sure of himself, a man who’d already achieved what most men never even dreamed of accomplishing. Callie needed someone like that in her life, whether she knew it or not.
She’d also seen the way he looked at Callie, the way his gaze followed her every move. He had stars in his eyes, all right, whether he knew it or
