Dawn Autumn (6 page)

Oddly, Fred seemed to relax. “I was posing for some photos for my artwork. I hate bothering with models, so sometimes I just set the camera on a timer and do the pose myself. It’s tedious, but the digital cameras make the job go faster.”

Disappointed, she stared into her coffee. Oh, well. At least he didn’t have a fetish...or did he? She eyed him warily. “Do you ever have help?”

He set the guitar back in its stand. “I asked Cole once, but he wouldn’t stop wise cracking long enough to take a decent picture.” He stood up and put his hands in his pants pockets. The gesture made his shirt bag hopelessly in front. Fred stared at her a moment. “I could use an assistant.”

In spite of herself, she felt her heartbeat slam into gear. All the remonstrations of the night before were blown away by the thought of seeing him in his leather gear again. Maybe he’d even pose without his shirt ....

Blinking, she tried to clear her head. “Uh...” The light was green, but grandma couldn’t get it in gear.

“We’ll leave the door open,” he coaxed, moving a step closer. Slowly he reached out and eased one of her hands away from her coffee. “Let me show you my paintings.” Pulling gently, he led her step by step from her apartment up the stairs to his, keeping eye contact, smiling softly all the way. He paused at his door, and then opened it wide. “Welcome to my humble lair.”

She shot him a look for that remark, and then gestured for him to precede her. She didn’t like the feeling of being managed. Let him have a taste of it. Her instincts told her he was trying to seduce her, not threaten her, or she never would have let him get this far. There was something about him that made her trust him, though he jogged every self-protective instinct she possessed. She just hoped her gamble was going to pay off.

Once inside, though, she forgot her irritation and lingering unease. He was a terrible housekeeper, but that wasn’t what caught her interest. Ignoring the paint splattered drop cloth on the floor, loose wood shavings and buckets of art supplies scattered on the sawbuck and plywood tables, she headed for the nearest wall.

“This is beautiful. You did this?” The background was of black space, dotted with stars. Starlight illuminated swirls of nebulous fog, reflecting pinks and blues. A man with a black jacket and the outfit of space pirate stood with his legs braced, a gun in his hand. A holster with silver cartridges was slung around his waist, and his black hair hung loose to his shoulders. In the glitter of the starlight, his eyes reflected silver.

Behind him stood a woman. She was dressed in the sleek suit of a courier, complete with long black jacket, blue sunglasses and slicked back hair. Despite the shades and her frosty attitude, the way she held her head as she looked at the man spoke of shy passion.

Fred was the hero.

Eight paintings hung on the wall, all of spacescapes and alien worlds. Fred starred in three of them, and in each one, his eyes were like silver mirrors, shining with an alien glow.

A shiver shook her. She looked at Fred, standing quietly beside her, his hands in his pockets. “What color are your eyes, Fred?”

“Red and watery, if I take off my glasses,” he said calmly. “I have to squint and blink fast unless the light is really dim, and by then you can’t tell if they have any color.”

Disappointed, she turned her attention back to the first painting, having come full circle. “I guess you make pretty good money on these? I’m surprised you don’t move into a nicer apartment. Something with better light.” She realized what she’d said and grimaced. “More room, anyway.”

He shrugged. “I don’t need much. The one thing I would like is someone else to paint. I’m getting bored of painting myself.” He gestured to the easel in the middle of the room. It held a half finished painting, this time with Cole doing battle with a giant horned snake. “Cole’s got his vanity, but he’s not going to put up with any more photo shoots. He says it’s boring.”

She raised a brow at Cole’s muscular body. Did he really look like that? No wonder he had so many dates. “Why don’t you hire models?”

He waited a moment. “Actually, I was hoping you’d volunteer.”

“Me? I’d make a terrible model! Trust me, I do
not
look like that.” She gestured to one of the tall, slim women with a killer attitude. Granted, they all wore adequate clothing, but they had a poise she’d never possessed in her lifetime.

“I’d like to do some of you posed with your guitar. Think of how your red Fender would look against a moonscape. I want some of you playing, too. Eyes closed, head bent, listening to the music...you have a passion I’d like to capture on canvas. I’ll even give you a royalty on every painting sold. Ten percent.” He told her how much he made on his paintings.

Jay’s jaw dropped. “H-how much?” It was a fortune. “What do you do with your money?”

He shrugged. “I invest it. I haven’t needed it for anything yet.”

Overwhelmed, she shook her head. He had a fortune, plenty of time, and he never went anywhere, never did anything. What wouldn’t she do if she had that kind of income? For starters, she’d get a nicer apartment.

Mistaking her head shaking for a no, Fred said quickly, “Twenty percent, including royalties from reproductions.”

Purpose crystallized in her heart. Taking his hand, Jay said firmly, “Show me your bedroom, Fred.” Spying a doorway, she made for it, unwilling to wait for him.

His mouth opened, but no words came out. She actually had to drag him to the door. “Jay...I wasn’t expecting this.”

His room was hardly a fashion statement—his naked mattress lay on the floor, covered with a single striped blanket. A solitary pillow, lumpy and devoid of a case, was carelessly tossed in the center. Jay snorted at it and stared at the pile of clothes on the bottom of his closet. Well, what had she expected to find? She kicked the pile thoughtfully, then bent and picked up a pair of black leather pants. Another kick unearthed a pair of boots, which joined the growing pile.

“What are you doing?” Fred asked suspiciously as she knelt down to poke around in the pile, examining and tossing aside garments.

“Saving you from sexual exile for the rest of your natural life,” she muttered under her breath, too low for him to make out. She spied the vest he’d been wearing last night and sighed with relief. At least she hadn‘t imagined it. Picking up the heavy armbands that had been tossed on top, she asked distractedly, “Are these real gold? Nah, they can’t be. Aha!” She grabbed a black t-shirt from the pile and shoved it at Fred. “This will work.”

Fred frowned. “This is not a good idea.”

Jay firmed her jaw and stood her ground. “You are not a geek, Fred. If I’m going to work with you, I want you to look like you’re not a geek. You can afford jeans and t-shirts. You don’t have to shop at a thrift store. And for goodness sake, lose the glasses. I’ll go with you to pick a new style if you like, but those brown things have got to go.” She glanced in his closet to see if there was anything else worth commenting on, and then saw his hat. She pounced on it, sidled around him, and then warily backed out the door just in case he made a grab for it.

“What are you doing?” he asked, bewildered.

“I’m going to burn this,” she said defiantly.

Too late, he saw the danger. “Wait! Stop, Jay!”

Spying an open window, she darted for it, bouncing on his couch as she dropped it outside. A second too late, his arm curled around her waist, the other making a grab for her hand. He missed.

His arm tightened around her waist as he growled her name.

“I’m not sorry. Can’t make me be,” she said breathlessly, unwilling to repent.

His hand found the skin between her shirt and jeans, slipping effortlessly underneath to spread his hand over the warm skin. His mouth nuzzled against her neck. “No? Are we taking odds on it?”

Heat spread from the site of contact to swirl giddily in Jay’s head. “Maybe not.”

For a moment his hand flexed, as if fighting his will, then slowly withdrew. “Probably wise.” Letting her go must have been hard for him, because his chest moved with his deep breathing for several moments before he managed to turn her in his arms so he was holding her loosely. “Does it really matter what I wear?”

The couch was a dangerous place. Jay tried to will her watery legs to lift her. “Would you like it if I walked around in a ratty robe and slippers with curlers in my hair and goo on my face every day?”

He grunted. “Good point.” In the end, he was the one who managed to heave them off the couch. “Go get your guitar. I’ll set up the backdrop and get the camera ready.” When she hesitated, he prompted, “You didn’t have anything else to do, did you?”

Jay shook her head and headed out. Maybe she was making a mistake, insisting that he not dress like a homeless person. She just hoped her impulsiveness wasn’t going to be her undoing.

Chapter Five

She didn’t let herself think about what she was doing as she entered her apartment. Her life was going in a crazy direction and she seemed helpless to redirect it. Even as she reached for her guitar, she glanced at the fridge. The appliance had begun to exert an uneasy fascination on her. She was certain she’d seen an alien come out of there, and she refused to believe that her neighbors knew nothing about it. She wasn’t the type to imagine things, but she couldn’t prove anything. Meanwhile, she watched her neighbors and spent her evenings with a baseball bat close at hand, ready to take on anything stupid enough to emerge from the cooler. She didn’t trust anyone in the building, especially Fred.

He’d thrown her a curve the other evening. Who’d have expected him to clean up so well? ‘Hot’ didn’t begin to describe him in that black getup. Murderously handsome, maybe. What business did he have barging in on her life and flipping it upside down? He was supposed to be a geeky, reclusive artist with bad hygiene. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn he was some sort of intergalactic bad boy.

His paintings....She blinked as the idea gelled. Fleshing it out, she added up what she knew. Aliens in her fridge. A stud masquerading as an artist upstairs, one who produced alien paintings. Granted, everyone had weird neighbors, but she was beginning to suspect hers were odder than most. Could it be?

There was only one way to find out. She was going to have to glue herself to Fred’s side. Hefting her guitar, she squared her shoulders and headed for the attic.

Fred had set up lights pointing at one of the white walls. He’d also obligingly changed his clothes. It was a two-edged sword seeing him in black leather pants and a black t-shirt. Worse, he was barefoot, and he’d pulled his hair back in a ponytail, shedding his ugly glasses for a cool blue tinted pair. She didn’t want to comment, but didn’t want to waste the momentum. “That’s a great look for you, Fred, and it reminds me—I need to do some shopping later.”

He glanced at her. Before she could add an invitation for him to accompany her, he said, “Yes, you do, or rather, we do. You’re going to need a couple more outfits if you’re going to pose for me. I know just the place.”

“What kind of outfits?” she asked warily.