As Long As I Have You

~ Chapter Thirty Three ~

"Now can I make love to you all night?"

She laughed and extricated herself from his hold. "It's nice to see you, too."

She turned around and bent to pick up the take-out bags, and was rewarded with a chuckle and a gentle cuff on the backside. The action was followed by her own exaggerated yelp, and she hopped a step or two to put some distance between his mischievous hands and turned into the kitchen area.

"Keep it up, Mr Beaumont, and you will go to bed without your supper."

He followed her around the corner and removed his suit jacket, then threw it across one of the bar stools and pulled at his tie and collar to loosen them a bit more.

"Sounds like a plan to me."

She swatted at him playfully and started her task of unpacking their supper and retrieving a bottle of wine from the far side of the island.

"It's been a helluva day. What are the odds you have Scotch instead?"

She uncorked the wine to let it breathe and slid the bottle aside. "Good, actually. Dad kept a bottle of Glenmorangie stashed in my pantry."

His eyes lit up. "Damn, I always knew I liked that man."

She smiled at his flattery and went to the corner pantry, found the bottle, and came back with a glass for each of them. She poured a generous draught for him and a small splash for herself. The smell of citrus and dried fruit wafted up her nose, and the distinct smell reminded her so much of her father that it caused a lump to unexpectedly swell in her throat. She closed her eyes and inhaled the aromatic liquor more purposefully, blasted again by a rush of emotions.

She took a moment to gather herself, and when she looked up it was to see Evan watching her patiently, clearly unwilling to interrupt the memory she was reliving.

"I forgot to ask, is neat okay?" When he nodded with a gentle smile she added in, "Dad always liked it that way."

Evan tipped his glass in salute. "To Carl."

She mimicked the action and took a small sip of the bright golden liquid, then stared into the bottom of the glass, swirling its contents and thinking of the last time her father had partaken of his ritual.

"Dad liked me to pour him a Scotch, and then he would park himself on my sofa and just sit and stare at whatever I was working on. He would ask me dozens of questions about what this stroke meant or why I picked that colour, or what I was thinking about when I painted. Or he would watch me paint and say nothing at all. It kind of became a tradition for us."

The warmth of the memory was quickly doused when Evan said, "No sense in breaking with tradition. Grab your drink, kitten, and show me some stuff."

He took his glass and pulled her towards the painting area across the room, unaware that his words drained all the colour from her cheeks.

How could she possibly show off her art without giving herself away entirely? Like a fool she had practically mapped out the best way to get information from her, and when Evan realized Autumn Fire was hers he would surely want to know where her mindset had been at the time she painted it. If she told him even a portion of the truth the rest of it would inevitably come out, and she couldn't afford the truth while the sale contract remained unsigned and Travis Enterprises was still at risk.

Dear god, how was she going to talk her way out of this mess?

Oblivious to her inner turmoil, Evan wound his way around the furniture and scrutinized the large canvas in progress. He also looked at two other pieces that were resting on separate easels and moved towards even more canvases that were stacked against other various-sized works.