PaintedPassion (6 page)

Asshole
. He possessed the gall to kiss her as if he
were single, when obviously he regularly reclined on this woman’s impressive
set of chest cushions.

“Carlos drove to Phoenix to see a lady whose husband died.”
Bambi frowned for a second. “No, wait. I think the man was killed. Murdered,
actually. Isn’t that sad?” She waved a hand in the air as if she couldn’t be
bothered about the whole affair. “Anyway, she’s probably an old lady with lots
of money who lives in a really big house.” Bambi leaned closer and whispered,
“She has to be lonely. They didn’t have any children. I’d at least buy a dog.
Or two.”

Carlos glanced at Trella. Regret shone in his eyes.

She bit her bottom lip, hoping to stave off sudden tears. Is
that how he saw her? As a lonely widow? Had he kissed her out of pity? “Excuse
me—this old lady will be right back.”

Trella pasted a smile on her face while repairing the few
bricks Carlos had managed to crack from the wall she’d erected around her
heart. She weaved around the maze of tables to the restroom. Thank God she hadn’t
allowed herself to attach meaning to their encounter. Who knew how much further
he would’ve taken things, despite already having a woman in his life?

She charged inside, thankful no one else occupied the area.
Taking her time, she used the facilities then washed her hands. She retrieved
her makeup bag from her purse and reapplied her lipstick. She and Carlos had
nothing more than a business relationship. She couldn’t afford to pretend
otherwise.

By the time she returned to their table, Bambi was gone.

“Where’s your friend?” Trella slid into the booth.

Carlos looked at her, contrition reflected in his eyes. “She
left. Your food’s cold.”

She pushed the plate aside. “I’m not hungry.”

He sighed. “Trella, I’m sorry.”

She held up a hand to stave off a discussion of the woman.
“No need to apologize. What goes on between you and your girlfriend is no
business of mine.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Flavor of the month. Whatever.”

His mouth thinned. “She’s a friend. Nothing more.”

His careless classification of Bambi neglected to cool her
flame of anger. She leaned forward. “Pretty sure your friend allows you
frequent benefits.”

Carlos’ jaw clenched as he settled back onto the seat. He
picked up a toothpick, twirling it between his forefinger and thumb. “You
assume we please each other. Jealous?”

How dare he
? She sat back. “I am not.”

“Wishful thinking?”

His question shocked her. “If you want to go through life
with a woman bearing fake body parts, it’s your choice.”

“Exactly.” He leaned forward. “So, what’s your problem?”

“I don’t have one.” She glared at him. “Your life is your
business, and mine is mine. The sooner we find out what Hector’s up to, the
sooner you can return to Bambi and her double Ds.”

In the studio, Carlos rotated his shoulders in an attempt to
relax. Trella had given him a twenty-minute break. He lay on an antique pewter
daybed, resting against plush down pillows encased in crisp white pillowcases.

Bambi’s untimely appearance had cost him dearly on the drive
back from Vegas two days ago. He’d endured the silence broken only by the
constant drone of talk radio. As soon as they’d arrived at her home, she’d
vanished upstairs.

Kissing Trella was an action he wanted to repeat, but how
willing would she be if she persisted in believing Bambi was a fixture in his
life? After Trella had dashed into the restroom, he’d told Bambi their
friendship was over. She’d nodded then proceeded to talk about the new man in
her life. Carlos had wished her luck. Bambi understood the score; that’s why
he’d spent time with her. Sex was simply sex. No feelings, no promises. Easy
and uncomplicated.

Hearing footsteps, he glanced at the doorway. Wearing a
black t-shirt and a pair of khakis that had seen their best day five years ago,
Trella wound her ponytail around a brown leather band and tucked the ends to
secure it.

She picked up a palette of paint. “Ready to resume?”

He stood and stretched. Feet bare, he padded out to the
patio. Weaving between two stone tables, he repositioned himself in front of
the iron rail. He looked down on the valley, allowing her to view his profile.
Her stool creaked as she settled onto it.

Their kiss haunted his dreams. The woman upset the normal
flow of his life, and he hated it. She was the last person he thought about
when his eyes closed and the first one who popped into his mind upon waking. He
remembered how soft she felt against him. His pants tightened behind the
zipper. He tensed, fighting the arousal.

“Relax.” Frustration laced her voice. “Force your shoulders
down. Think about Bambi.”

Carlos struggled to follow her request. He emptied his mind,
but an image of Trella wearing the brown caftan taunted him.
Focus
.
Think of something else.
He blew out his breath in a loud rush. His active
mind decided to taunt him with what Trella would look like wearing nothing but
a thong with her breasts bare to his touch.

“Thoughts of her not working? Pity. They worked when you
kissed me.”

“I wasn’t thinking of her, and she isn’t my girlfriend.” His
lips thinned. Hell, he sounded like a teenager instead of a grown man.

“One of many, I’m sure.”

She muttered the words, but he still caught them.

“Did you move?” she asked.

“No.” He sighed. A minute ticked by and he added, “I’m
trying here.”

“Try harder,” she snapped.

Damn it. He wasn’t apologizing for how he lived his life,
nor was he allowing her to hide what she really wanted. She wouldn’t be this
prickly if she didn’t feel some kind of way about him. “You’re upset because I
kissed you and you liked it. I enjoyed it, too, and it ended too soon.” Something
clattered to the floor, but he didn’t turn around to discern the cause. “No
comment?”

Carlos wasn’t surprised when Trella didn’t answer him right
away. The brushstrokes against the canvas echoed in the silence. Now probably
wasn’t the right time to push her to have this conversation, but he was tired
of this wall she’d erected between them.

She finally sighed. “I can’t allow my focus to be split
between the canvas and a pointless conversation that does neither of us any
good.”

His frustration melted as he conceded she needed to focus on
her work. “What do you need me to do?” He kept his voice low and soothing.

The insistent, shrill ring of the telephone interrupted the
quietness. She crossed the room, picking up the receiver before the answering
machine caught the call.

“Hello?” After several seconds, she grimaced. “Another hang-up.”

He broke the pose, turning to face her. “I activated a phone
trace.”

Rubbing the back of her neck, she returned the phone to its
cradle. “Let’s take a break.”

“You sure?”

She nodded. “Yeah. You need to take care of that.” She
looked pointedly below his belt.

His erection thickened further at her acknowledgement.

“I wasn’t thinking about Bambi.”

She turned her back to him. “I don’t care. I have what I
need.”

His anger rose at the easy way she dismissed him. She pushed
him away because she was afraid of what stirred between them. Pretending an
attraction didn’t exist wouldn’t make it disappear.

Carlos reined in his need for her to acknowledge what lay
between them. He’d allow her to run for now. She had enough to handle with the
upcoming art show, and they both needed to focus on discovering if Louis’ death
was related to the IWP. He strolled across the room. At the doorway, he paused.
“I’ll check in with the guys to see if they made headway with the phone trace.”

After he left, Trella stared at the canvas, feeling more
alone than ever. Carlos wasn’t a one-woman man. She’d witnessed walking,
breathing evidence of the fact. Still, it wasn’t fair to take her annoyance at
her own lack of restraint out on him. He was a grown man and could be with
whomever he pleased, live his life the way he wanted. Who was she to judge?

Her common sense disappeared whenever he was near. She’d
allowed the kiss, and he was right—she hadn’t wanted it to end. She had wanted
more, to feel his hands molding her body to his, the heaviness of his arousal
against her. Just his touch and a single kiss had her primed and ready for sex.

Did she want only sex from Carlos? Was it simply that she
missed her husband? Good Lord, was she using Carlos as a substitute?
Why do I
keep dishonoring Louis by giving in to my attraction to his best friend?
Tears welled in her eyes, causing her vision to waver. She stalked into the
bathroom, splashed cold water on her face and patted her skin dry with a hand
towel. She’d deal with Carlos later, but she had more pressing problems.

If her show was to be a success, she needed to spend more
time painting and less time wondering about Carlos. Returning to the canvas,
she centered herself, allowing the anger to seep away as she focused on
finishing the painting.

Hours later, when a shadow hit the floor of the studio, she
glanced up to see Carlos standing in the doorway.

“Can I see it?”

She set the palette on the adjacent table. “No.”

“Why not?”

She pointed a brush at him. “I’m the mistress of this house,
so you do as I say.”

His gaze darkened, and she cursed at her choice of words.

“When do you do what I say?” His question broke the
quietness of the room with the force of an erupting volcano.

Her heart raced at the thought of being at his mercy. She
was losing her damn mind around this man. “What makes you think that’ll ever
happen?”

He advanced into the room. Struck again by the veiled
strength he exuded, she met him halfway to keep him from seeing the unfinished
work.

He lifted a hand, and she stiffened, thinking he was going
to touch her face. Instead, he caressed her hair, allowing the strands to float
over his fingers.
I’m jealous of my hair. Yep, I’m certifiable.

“What if doing what I say brings you immense pleasure?”
Carlos whispered the question.

Her body trembled in anticipation. “I suppose it depends on
the type of pleasure.”

Nostrils flaring, he snaked an arm around her waist. She
stiffened at the look of hunger in his eyes.

His overwhelming presence filled the room and made her feel
as if her sanctuary had become his. She swallowed, praying he wouldn’t continue
yet wishing he would.

“What do you want?” she whispered. Half of her hoped against
hope he wouldn’t give her a three-letter answer—the other half had already
warmed to the idea.

“I know what today is.” His voice stroked her body like a
soft silk teddy.

She blew her breath out in a rush, unwilling to investigate
why disappointment filled her instead of relief. “You do?”

“Be ready in an hour. I hate waiting on a woman to dress.”
He turned on his heel.

It took a moment for his words to sink into her brain. She
raced after him. “Don’t order me around in my own house.”

He looked at his watch. “You’re working on fifty-nine minutes
now. It’s up to you if you want to waste the time arguing with me.”

She leaned over the balcony as he continued down the stairs.
“Carlos!”

“I’ll leave you if you’re not ready.”

She didn’t doubt he probably would. “Louis would never treat
me this way,” she retorted.

Carlos stopped on the last step and looked up at her.
Despite her earlier pep talk about resisting him, a thrill of delight coursed
through her at the naked need reflected in his eyes.

“There are a lot of things I’d do to you that he didn’t.”

At the barely concealed promise in his eyes, Trella turned
away. She forced herself not to run to the safety of her bedroom. She closed
the door. Carlos was probably a demanding lover in bed. Would require a woman
to give her all to him.
Well, he better forget about me then
. She was
too much her own woman. Bambi—or any other female, for that matter—was welcome
to him.

She showered and dressed in record time. With two minutes to
spare, she descended the stairs with her black clutch.

Carlos rose from the sofa dressed in a cream linen shirt and
slacks, appreciation in his glance as he surveyed her ruby-red dress with its
black-banded waist.

“Beautiful.”

She flushed at his praise. “Thanks. You look nice,
yourself.” She led the way to the garage, conscious of his admiring gaze.
It’s
just dinner.
Ignore how he makes you feel.

Despite the awkwardness she expected during their transit,
he kept her laughing by insisting on singing along to the radio.

Twenty minutes later, Carlos pulled into the parking lot of
Padre’s. She grinned in pleasure. “Louis and I used to come here a lot.”

He winked. “Makes it the perfect place.”

She waited as Carlos handed the keys to the valet. They
entered the spacious building, and a hostess greeted them.

“Mr. Diaz, your table is ready in the private dining room.”

Trella followed the hostess and Carlos as they weaved
through the crowded restaurant.

“You didn’t have to reserve such a large space for two
people, Carlos.”

He gently pulled her inside the room. “You never know who
might stop by.”

“Happy birthday!” Selina and Melissa shouted.

Trella stared at the long rectangular table occupied by her
two friends. Near the back of the room, a round, cloth-covered table held
gifts.

Tears sprang to her eyes. There was so much she wanted to
say, but words clogged in her throat. She settled for allowing her thumb to
caress the back of his hand.

“You look great.” Selina, dressed in a black knee-length
dress, hugged Trella then passed her off to Melissa. Soon, a gaggle of women
surrounded Trella, each talking a mile a minute.

Selina's gaze traveled between Trella and Carlos. “So, how
is it having such a fine man at your constant beck and call?”

They settled onto chairs as waiters arrived for their drink
orders, thankfully keeping Trella from having to answer the question. But she
knew Selina wouldn’t let the subject die until Trella satisfied her friend’s curiosity.

Selina, seated to Trella’s left, leaned closer, and she
braced herself.

“So…what's up with you and Carlos?” her friend whispered.

Trella shrugged. “Nothing.” Even as she denied any type of
contact with him, she couldn’t stop peeking at him as he chatted with another
man. She rarely kept anything from her close friends but wasn’t ready to share
news of her kiss. She wanted to savor the moment with Carlos as her special
secret—especially since she never planned on letting it happen again.

Melissa smoothed her hands down her taupe dress with its
corseted waist. “Everyone says the same thing…right before they admit they’re
dating,” she chimed in from her seat to Trella’s right. “If I were you, I’d
jump on him.”

“I don’t think I’m ready to date again.”

Melissa nodded. “I understand, sweetie, but life has its own
agenda.”

“I’m starving.” Trella hoped she’d change the direction of
the conversation.

Melissa signaled the waiter standing discreetly in the
corner of the room. “The food’s already ordered.”

Carlos appeared at Trella’s side. “There’s a group of people
who are joining us. I’ll see what’s keeping them.”

“Whoever it is, I hope they’re single.” Selina removed a
small mirror from her purse for a quick beauty check.

“I do, too.” Melissa took a sip of her drink.

Trella remained quiet, watching the door Carlos disappeared
behind.

Minutes later, he re-entered the room. “Hope we have food
for a few more friends.”

Holding onto Carlos’ hands were a young boy and girl.

Alfonso stood behind them. The three men who’d made up the
remaining members of Louis’ squad brought up the rear.

“Thanks for the invite.” Donovan, still wiry thin, spoke
first. He brushed dirty-blond hair off his face.

“Yeah, ‘cause we love to eat.” Jackson Reed, dark and
handsome, flashed a smile.

“Welcome back, man.” Jose clapped Carlos on the shoulder.

Her girlfriends were unusually quiet. Trella looked to find
Selina and Melissa staring toward the door. Following their line of sight,
Trella realized they were both enraptured by Jose. She chuckled. “Fine” was an
understatement when applied to Jose. He bore a resemblance to Dwayne Johnson,
and she’d witnessed people mistake him for the action star several times.

Trella rose from her seat. “I’m sure I have Carlos to thank
for this surprise. It’s a pleasure seeing you all again.”