Rose Quartz Read Online Free Page B

shaking off the edge of irritation the interruption to her work caused. The White Flowers in a Vase was finished. She had nothing left to do for the show. As if drawn by a force she couldn’t control, she walked to another easel with a blank canvas and began to work.
    The buzzer sounded. She blinked and glanced at the clock. Jeez, seven o’clock! Where had the day gone? She’d been painting this new piece for eight hours straight. Sometimes, it hit her like that. She became so wrapped up in her work, time ceased to exist. Nothing mattered but the canvas, the subject and paint being applied to the easel.
    She looked at the canvas and her breath caught in her throat. She painted lush, sensual flowers and an occasional countryside, as she had in Italy. Where had this man leading a bay mare toward an old barn come from? A man who bore a striking resemblance to Hank McHenry?
    She’d painted from memory without even a picture to replicate. The painting was far from finished but anyone who knew Hank would have little trouble recognizing him. Even unfinished, the essence of the man came through.
    She shook off her unease. The lingering dregs of creativity probably still lingered on her from the amulet. How else was she able to see and define his strong jaw, his calloused hands and long legs encased in faded blue jeans so clearly?
    The buzzer squawked again.
    She shook herself, grabbed her amulet off the nearby table, thrust it on her arm and ran downstairs. She pushed the button. “Yes, George.”
    “Mr. Privette is here to see you, Ms. Bella.” George’s voice sounded formal even across the hollow tinny sound of the speaker.
    “Send him up, George.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    She clicked off the speaker, went to the door and waited for the knock. When it sounded she stuck her eye to the security portal and saw his blurred, out of proportion features. Taking off the latch, she let him in.
    “Darling.” He started to sweep her into his arms.
    She took a hasty step back and threw up her hands to ward him off. “I’ve been painting.”
    He laughed. “Right. The oils probably wouldn’t go with the Armani shirt.” His eyes swept over her, taking in her bare feet and paint-spattered clothes. “You’ve been painting and lost track of time again.” He laughed but his voice was strained. “I wonder if any man can ever compete with the passion you feel for your work.”
    She shrugged. “It’s who I am, sugar. Get yourself a drink. I’ll be down in just a few minutes.”
    “Take your time. I know it will be worth the wait,” he said gallantly.
    She pointed toward the tiny bar in the living room then ran up the stairs, wondering if Jeffrey saw her as anything more than eye candy, someone on his arm who would help his corporate climb up the ladder. She hunched her shoulders. Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. It was pretty much how she viewed him. Well, not so much that he would aid her career but he was damn easy on the eyes. And he fit like a well-dressed round peg in a hole into her strict no-involvement rules. She grinned and hurried to the bedroom to shower and change clothes.
    Thirty minutes later, her hand on the balustrade, she walked downstairs. She wore a cream fitted silk dress with a light dusting of beadwork at the scoop neck and shiny black stiletto heels on her arched feet.
    He was waiting at the bottom as she knew he’d be. He glanced up, his eyes darkening.
    “Ravishing as always.”
    As he moved toward her, she gave him a light buss on the cheek then wiped off the lipstick with her thumb. Before he could scoop her into his arms, she walked without haste toward the door. “I’m starving. Shall we go?”
    A frown flickered across his forehead, gone in seconds. “After you.” He motioned her forward, his eyes speculative.
    He chatted easily about mutual acquaintances as they left the building and walked to the car. The black Corvette sat squarely in front of a fire hydrant a few steps from the