MisMatch (A Humorous Contemporary Romance) (19 page)

“Just kept what, Jess?”

“Stroking and teasing me. You wouldn’t let
me come. Didn’t give me what I needed.”

“And how did you feel then?”

“Frustrated. And annoyed.”

“And how do you feel now?”

“Oh, about the same.”

“You were so soft when I touched you. So
fucking tight when I slipped a finger inside you. The way you slid
your legs up and down the backs of my thighs—I thought you'd
squeeze the life right out of me.”

She squirmed uncomfortably on the desk. She
needed him. And worse yet, he knew it. “I still didn't get you to
make love to me right there. I don’t know why you made me
wait.”

“You think if I’d made love to you there,
you would be talking to me now?”

Point taken. “So you deliberately picked me
up.”

“I made sure you wanted me bad enough to
actually talk to me later. Everything about you said man eater, and
I wanted to protect my delicate heart.”

“I'm no man eater.”

“Not exactly, but you do have a way of
getting under a guy's skin.” He moaned low and tight.
“Jessica?”

“Yeah, Eli?”

“Am I forgiven?”

“I-I’m still thinking about it.”

“Fair enough. Destiny’s benefit is tomorrow
night.”

Jessica’s heart seized. Destiny had called
and offered an invite for Eli and begrudgingly invited her as well.
Then why did it still hurt that he was going? “Yeah. I hear it’ll
be a fun party.”

“You still want to go with me?”

She stalled for time. “Oh, Eli, did you hear
back from your friend looking into Michael?” Since her PI hadn’t
come back with anything, she’d been hoping for a miracle from
Eli.

“No, but he’ll be there tomorrow.” He
hesitated then added, “I was thinking if you could bring your
mother’s bracelet to me, I could have my friend look into it.”

Jessica shook her head. “I feel like I’m on
a wild goose chase. But if you think it’ll help.”

“It might.”

“Then I’ll get it. Tell her I’m wearing it
to the benefit or something.”

“Does that mean you’re coming?”

“Looks that way.”

What was the worst that could happen?

Bad news didn’t sit well with Eli. Vince had
called on his way home from the office. They’d found a sympathetic
judge.
I’m working to have those records
unsealed.
Vince's words formed a constant running loop in
his head over and over and over again.

He tossed his keys on to his kitchen
counter. How the hell had shit gotten so out of control? That
stupid signature. And now Samson’s life was gone just like that.
And there wasn’t anything Eli could do about it. Except wait to see
if the precautions he'd put in place would hold.

He eyed the closed door of his sculpting
room.
Damn
. He kept picturing Jessica in
there, touching his pieces, fingering them in a sexual way. Hand
tentative, he turned the knob and switched on the light. Working
always helped clear his head. Or it had.

Sitting at his table, he picked up his
chisel and started to work it over the soapstone with his hammer.
For what seemed like hours, he worked to form the exact curve he
was looking for, but nothing worked, every angle was too sharp.
Every cut too deep.

“Fuck.” What the hell had he been thinking?
This is what happens when sexy artist managers
get under your skin. You start thinking you can do anything. Even
when you can’t.

Leaving his tools and the soapstone where
they were, he let himself out of the room. He wasn’t an artist.
He'd leave that mantle to his brother. He closed the door softly
behind him, but firmly. He’d given up the artist in himself years
ago. He wasn’t ready to open his chest and start bleeding. If
visiting his former self couldn’t soothe him, then maybe it was
time to face his present.

He grabbed a beer from the six pack he’d
bought on his way home. Flopping onto his sectional, he pulled up
the reports he’d brought from work. The thing about bad news is
that it never waited for a more convenient time. Eli squared his
shoulders as he read the lab report on the last five paintings. All
of the paintings contained the same signature.
Shit, shit, shit
. Eli felt like a steam engine roared
through his head. Was this Samson? Nausea seized his gut. It didn’t
matter what Eli did. He was destined to fail his brother.

Eli had to be sure. After everything. He had
to know. He'd been practically bleeding to make sure Sam got a
legitimate fair shake on his second chance at redemption. Shit,
he'd even tied himself up lying to a woman he could actually care
about to make his brother happy. No point overreacting until he
talked to Sam.
Just relax.

This all could be a misunderstanding. Just
like Jessica and those flowers. A misunderstanding. Just like when
she finally found out who he was and what he did. A
misunderstanding, by way of one party deliberately lying to
manipulate and destroy the other. Yeah, some misunderstanding.

Then he found what he was looking for. To
convince himself to believe what he was reading, he read it out
loud. “On both specimens, the paint chemical makeup, the strokes
patterns, and time period is similar enough to indicate that the
same source painted both specimens.”

The questions that plagued Eli rang louder
and louder in his skull. What if he couldn’t save his brother? It
wouldn’t take long for Vince to come calling about how the
signature mirrored this old sealed case from thirteen years ago.
One Samson Reynolds would morph into Samson Marks. Shit, Eli had
thrown enough money at the system and paid off as many people as he
could afford so none of it would blow back on his brother.

Once Samson cleaned up, Eli had made him a
promise to protect him the way he couldn’t when they were younger.
The only thing he asked for in return was for Sam to tell him the
truth always. No matter what it was and no matter how terrible.

But something wasn’t right. Had Eli risked
everything for nothing?

Eli's phone buzzed in his pocket as he
endured Vince’s task force meeting. Surreptitiously, he pulled it
out of his pocket to see who it was. Jessica.

I can still taste
you
.

His knees almost buckled. He texted back.
Tease
.

Not a tease when I
actually make you come
.

Eli rolled his lips in to stop himself from
moaning. He did a quick scan of the room to see if anyone was
watching, but no one paid him any mind, not even Vince.

His phone buzzed again, this time it warned
him there was an image attached. He opened it and had to support
himself with his arm against the shelves in the back. This time
everyone turned to look at him. Vince raised an eyebrow, and Eli
muttered a brief apology. She would kill him.

He sent a brief text back.
Jessica, you keep teasing me like this, and I swear, I’ll
spank you.

Remember, I kind of like
the freaky shit
.

Plain and simple, she was literally going to
kill him. Slowly. And he'd sure as shit die with a grin on his
face. But he’d be dead none the less.

Vince’s booming voice echoed in the room.
“On to the next matter. Millionaire doubles. We’ve run into several
road blocks with getting access to those sealed files. They
involved several minors. The first judge turned us down. Said the
crimes aren’t violent, if we go to him with names, and they match
then we can have the files. If not, no dice. We're trying another
judge.”

Eli asked, “Any hits back on that bracelet?”
His stomach rolled when he thought of how he'd manipulated Jessica
into bringing it to him. There was a special place in hell reserved
just for him.

“The bracelet is also a forgery. It’s not
the real one.”

The breath whooshed out of Eli’s lungs. Damn
it, he'd been so sure. So had Jessica. Now he'd have to tell her it
was fake. Fantastic.

As soon as the meeting concluded, Vince came
over. “You seemed distracted during the meeting. Everything
okay?”

Eli nodded. “Yeah, I'm good.” What he really
wanted to say was, stop looking into my brother.

“Something wrong with your phone, man?”

“Uh, no why?”

“You’re clutching it like you’re afraid
you’re going to lose it.”

Eli forced his fingers to relax. “I don’t
like lying to Jessica.”

“The less she knows, the better off she’ll
be. It’s only for a little while longer. I think we'll get lucky
with those files.”

Dread gripped Eli’s gut in an icy claw. And
if they got lucky, there went Samson’s chance at a normal life. He
had to tell Vince. If he found out some other way, that would be
bad for Eli. It would look like Eli deliberately torpedoed Sam. But
Sam was Sam, and Eli loved his brother. Sam didn't do this. Then
Eli wondered if his brother’s innocence was a reality as opposed to
what he wanted to see.

***

“You know, I can feel it when you're
here.”

Eli leaned forward from the darkened stairs,
and the light hit his face. “How long have you known I was
here?”

Sam shrugged as he made a bold stroke on his
canvas. “Since you got here, I guess. I figured you'd say something
when you felt like it.”

Sometimes it was a pain in the ass having a
twin. “We need to talk, Sam.”

His brother didn't look at him, but kept
painting. The broad, bold strokes of his brush outlined the curve
of a woman’s cheek. “What the fuck did I do this time?”

Eli winced. “You say that like I only ever
come to you with problems.”

Sam did look at him then. “No. I'm just
saying. You’ve got your serious pseudo cop face on. And you didn’t
use the front door, which means you wanted a minute before coming
in here to talk to me. So, way I figure it, I did something pretty
gnarly.”

“Maybe you should have been the pseudo
cop.”

Sam shook his head. “Nah. Staring at other
people’s work all day would frustrate me if I had the talent to do
better.”

The little dig sliced clean and deep. Sam
would never understand why Eli did what he did. All he saw was his
failed artist of a brother. He would never understand that he
needed the stability. Needed the normalcy. Being an artist tapped
into a part of him he needed to keep under control. “My failed art
career is not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Samson resumed painting. “Get on with it
then. I want to start on this beauty's body tonight, and I feel
conspicuous with you as an audience.”

He'd been sick before with the guilt of what
he had to accuse Sam of. With the guilt of not having protected his
brother from himself yet again. Even as he sat forward and watched
Sam, Eli looked for any evidence of using. Any kind of tell that
would inform him that his brother was back on drugs again. There
was nothing. Sam looked healthy. Yet the first rule of dealing with
an addict was to never assume and never go on looks alone. “So you
know that case I’ve been working on with Vince.”

Sam barked out a cold chuckle. “Yeah?”

Eli ground his teeth. Sam kept his back to
him, but Eli could see the bunched muscles in his brother’s
shoulders. “The artist is a genius really. He’s capable of
mimicking some fantastic pieces of artwork. To the letter. He uses
the same paint, the same kind of canvas, everything is picture
perfect.”

Sam turned to face him, his lips flat and
his brows furrowed. “Sounds like an exceptional artist.”

“Oh, that I have no doubt. But he's made a
fatal error. Like you said, every forger you’ve ever known can’t
help but to sign his work.”

Samson's eyes flared. “Spit it out, Eli.
What’s going on?”

“All I want to know is why you would do this
again. After everything we risked to bring you back. To get you
healthy. Why would you throw it all away again? Why would you do
this to me? You know I'd have to be the one to catch you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, right now?” Sam
crossed his arms and planted his feet apart.

Eli recognized the challenge and stood to
meet it. “I wish I was kidding you, Sam.” He shook his head. “Just
fucking tell me one thing. When did you start using again? Why
would you do this?”

The roaring anger vibrated through his body.
He saw Samson's fist clench, but was too late to gauge the swing
until the force of his brother's fist connected with his jaw.

Eli's muscles moved like sludge through a
meat grinder as he drove to the Z Con Studio. Since his little
confrontation with Samson, he hadn’t been able to think or see
straight. It didn't make matters any better that Samson was in
complete silence mode. He'd texted to say the pieces were ready for
the exhibition and where Eli should pick them up, but there was no
salutation, no nothing. Like Eli could blame him. His jaw still
smarted and had turned a nice shade of purple.

Sam had said he wasn’t using. He’d said the
forgeries weren't his. But how the hell was Eli supposed to believe
that given Sam’s history? Given everything they'd been through? Eli
wanted to take him at his word, but once an addict always an
addict. It was too hard to trust him. It would be dangerous for
both of them if he did. Eli had already risked his career to help
his brother. He was risking everything by not telling Vince of his
suspicions. If Vince dug any further, he'd find Sam’s sealed
records, and he'd figure it all out.

Eli trailed the delivery truck to the side
entrance of Z Con's studio and parked at the same time as the
moving guys parked. Climbing out of his car, he gave them brief
instructions before heading for the front door.

Even before he had his hand on the knob,
Jessica was sprinting out to the side of the house. “Let me see
them, let me see them! I can’t believe you kept these away from me
for this long.” Her eyes narrowed as she got a good look at him.
“What the hell happened to you?”