Seduced by the Baron (The Fairy Tales of New York Book 4) (15 page)

“Go on,” Dawn urged. “You know you want to.”

Faith wished she could deny Dawn’s statement but, despite myriad reasons why she didn’t need another job of
any
ilk, a little kernel of interest flared to life inside her.

Her muse woke up. Another step forward in taking more control of her life? She twisted the stem of her wine glass. “What kind of art job?”

Mercy smiled at her as if she’d already triumphed. “We’re launching a rosé. It’s called Rosa which is Spanish for rose. We want a unique wine label for it and we’ve hired a bunch of companies to come up with concepts and images but there’s been nothing so far that we’ve loved. Want to give it a shot?”

Faith blinked. She didn’t have the first clue how to create something like this. “Oh, Mercy…I wouldn’t even know where to start.” The thought was depressing as hell. “I know nothing about the digital technologies they use these days. I struggle with the stupid accounting spreadsheets for the pub. I have zero graphic design skills. I’m just a painter.”

“But you see, I think that’s exactly what we need,” Mercy implored, her face as animated and passionate as it always was when on her favorite subject – wine. “We need an
artist.
Someone who’s passionate and connected to their work, connected to
us
and the industry. You must have looked at a zillion wine labels over the years.”

“Not to mention how well she knows her altar wine,” Zel quipped.

Faith groaned and everyone laughed. But Mercy was right, even though she poured more beer than wine, she had seen a lot of labels and, from a purely artistic standpoint had always been fascinated by them. There were some absolutely stunning labels out there.

And some real dogs.

“We don’t want a concept that’s just some money earner for a company. We want something different and unique. Don’t worry about how the image gets from you on to the bottle, that’s the easy part.”

“So I just what…paint a picture and if you like it then you take it from there?”

“Well that’s kind of the condensed version,” Mercy said with a laugh, “but yes. And we’ll pay you for it. We’ll pay you well for it.”

“Do you have any idea what you want?”

“Not really. Something beautiful and tactile and… feminine. Because women
are
the target demographic. And utterly unique. Like one of those priceless paintings in the Met that you love so much. Something that makes the customer want to touch it, want to buy it just for the label alone.”

“No pressure,” Dawn grinned.

Mercy laughed. “You might already have some stuff in your sketches that could be perfect.”

The only thing she’d sketched of late was a reclined, nekkid Raf and she was pretty sure nudity wasn’t big on wine labels. Although, if the target audience
was
female then a bare-assed Raf would be perfect. He was after all
highly
tactile. God knew she’d been having trouble keeping her hands off him all damn day.

“I can email you a heap of stuff about it. Concepts we’ve discarded, the notes we’ve made on it already, the sort of things we’ve talked about. Just take a look at them and see what you think. Can’t hurt, right?”

Faith was unbelievably tempted. She was scared shitless too but something she hadn’t felt in a very long time started to simmer inside her. She looked at Dawn and Zel who were nodding at her in encouragement.

“It does sound pretty good,” said Dawn.

“Right up your alley,” Zel agreed.

She glanced over at the bar at Raf who happened to look at the same time and smile and it was like the roof had lifted off and he was being bathed in a freaking stream of glory from heaven.

Was that some kind of a sign too?

“Well?” Mercy prompted.

Faith dragged her gaze and attention back to Mercy. A worm of excitement wriggled through her belly. After years of same-old, same-old and the recent transformation of her friends’ lives, this moment felt like more than just a job falling into her lap.

It felt like a game changer. Another positive step in reclaiming
Faith.

“When do you need it by?”

Mercy grinned. “We launch the wine over the summer. So in the next month or two.”

Faith gave herself permission to dream. Why not? She couldn’t do that where Raf was concerned but maybe she
could
do it with this. It wasn’t like it was going to interfere with the pub or looking after Pop.

“Send me the email.”

Mercy gave an excited little bounce in her seat as Dawn threw her arm around Faith’s neck and Zel raised her glass. “To a new career,” she said.

Faith wasn’t so sure about that. But it finally felt like she was living her life instead of letting it pass her by and she would definitely drink to that.

‡

F
aith insisted on
meeting Raf at the Met. It made more sense with him already being in Manhattan and she could take the subway. She scanned the glut of people milling around the entrance and the street. Tourists and locals alike weren’t going to let a freezing February morning and an overnight dusting of snow put them off one of the world’s most prestigious art galleries.

She spotted him waiting on the steps. Her breath hitched at the sight of him. Somehow screaming speedos and sunshine despite his long winter coat and herringbone scarf. Then his gaze landed on hers and his face broke into a slow broad smile and suddenly Faith felt like they were the only two people there.

After days of stealing kisses and the odd grope or two she was aware of him like she’d never been aware of a male before. Her whole body was buzzing and ready to burst.

He waved to her and she made her way through clusters of people, catching several different languages as she wound her way around them. When she reached the wide, flat stairs it was all she could do not to vault up them.

“You made it,” he said as she drew level with him and then hopped up another stair so she could look right into his eyes.

“I’m sorry I’m a little late,” she said, “I missed a connection.”

“I’m just glad you’re here,” he said, pulling her closer.

A weak ray of sunshine trying to push its way through heavy grey clouds was blocked from sight as his head descended and his warm mouth landed on hers. And right there on the steps of her favorite place on Earth he kissed her like the world was about to end. And she kissed him right back, a storm raging in her chest and coursing through her veins.

Life continued on around them, nobody blinking at a couple who really should be
getting a room
kissing in such a public space.

A noisy crowd of tourists, laughing and joking in their own language, jostled them as they went past dragging them back from something that was careening out of control.

“God,” he groaned, his hands in her hair, his forehead on hers. “I’ve been wanting to do that since the other night. I think I’ve had a hard-on for four days.”

Faith laughed. None of their stolen moments had been quite so unfettered. It was hard to believe she was more comfortable kissing Raf in front of a couple of hundred strangers in Manhattan than in her own home. “I know exactly how you feel.”

He grabbed her hand. “Let’s get inside before we get arrested for public indecency.”

Faith stood her ground. “Or we could…” Her heart banged against her ribs at what she was about to suggest. “Ditch the Met and go spend the day in your hotel room?”

Yes, she loved this place. It was her Disneyland. But right at this moment she’d give it up in a heartbeat for Raf’s king-sized bed.

His green eyes stared down into hers, a veritable storm of emotions swirling in their aquamarine depth. “You have no idea how tempting that is.” He bent his head and kissed her again. Short and swift this time, stealing her breath. “But I
want
to see the Met. I want to see it through your eyes.”

Faith couldn’t decide if she wanted to hug him or jump him. He sure as hell knew all the right things to say.

“Let’s go,” she said.

*

It was blissfully
warm inside the lobby and they took off their coats.

“So…” he studied the map. “Where to?”

Faith
studied
him instead. He was in another pair of hip-hanging, thigh-hugging jeans and she wondered how many pairs he owned and what he might look like in one of those wetsuits surfers sometimes wore.

“That depends,” she said when she realized he was waiting for an answer. “It’s a big place and you can be here for hours. What do you want? An overview or the Faith Sullivan highlights?”

He glanced up at her. “You have to ask?”

Her heart glowed like a freaking light bulb in her chest. “Good choice.”

He handed her the map. “Keep it,” she said, waving it away. “This place is like a second home.”

He looked impressed and she was pleased. She was suddenly desperate to show him she was more than just a Brooklyn barmaid. “Lead on,” he murmured, gesturing for her to precede him.

Faith took him straight to her favorite permanent galleries where the French impressionists were housed. A veritable Who’s Who of famous European painters hung on the walls. Van Gogh, Monet, Degas, Gauguin and Cezanne to name a few. They walked past every painting hand in hand and she talked about each one.

By the time they reached the end, Faith realized she’d been talking non-stop for an hour. “Sorry,” she said grimacing “I do tend to get a bit carried away.”

He shook his head. “No. Don’t apologize. That was awesome.
You
were awesome.” He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it and Faith’s heart gave a funny wobble. It seemed like such an intimate gesture, more so even than the full on open-mouthed kiss from earlier. “Why impressionists?” he asked as they walked on.

“I guess they were such a departure from what had been previously painted both in style and in subject matter. The impressionists often painted outdoors
en plein air
and painted ordinary everyday things like flowers and haystacks. There was so much light and color unlike the old masters.”

“You don’t like the old masters? Da Vinci, Titian, Rembrandt?
Raphael
? Isn’t that…” he lowered his voice and looked around him in a faux conspiratorial air, “sacrilegious? Don’t they revoke your membership for that?”

She smiled. “I can admire them for their skill and talent but they’re so…
somber
and dark. All battles and avenging angels and death.” She shuddered. “The impressionists are like a breath of fresh air.”

“Which artist is your favorite?”

Faith didn’t have to think twice. “Claude Monet.”

“Do you have a favorite painting of his? Is it here?”

She nodded and tugged on his hand, wandering back through a couple of open doorways until they were standing in front of
Bridge Over A Pond of Waterlilies
.

“This is one of my favorites. Monet painted a bunch of them just like this one from his own garden. Most of them are in the Musee de l’Orangerie in Paris.” She sighed. It had been one of her dreams to go to Paris. “I’d love to see all of them.”

“You’ve not been to Paris?”

Faith shook her head. She hadn’t been anywhere. “One day,” she said. “It’s on my bucket list.”

“Paris is wonderful,” he said.

Faith looked at him.
Of course
he’d been there. “So they say.”

“When you do go, go in September.”

She nodded slowly. When he looked at her like that she actually believed she’d get there. “Okay. I will.”

They stared at each other, caught up in a strange wistful moment heavy with something she found hard to define. Longing, maybe? She was grateful when he finally broke it. “So?” he asked looking around them, “Where to next?”

Faith smiled, shaking herself free of her pity party. “To those old masters you love so much,” she teased. “You’ll see exactly what I mean now you’ve spent an hour here.”

He shrugged. “I believe you.”

“Yes, but you want me to educate you, right? So a comparison is definitely needed.”

“Okay,” he nodded. “Educate me.”

*