Chapter One
“You’re good.”
Sheridan Harper flashed a quick smile, her gaze never leaving the canvas as her hand streaked across it, deftly creating the scene before her with delicate strokes of the paintbrush. “Thank you.”
“Seriously. It’s amazing how you made something out of absolutely nothing.” He had a sexy voice, her new admirer, rich and deep. And as soon as she finished capturing her friend Willow handing over a sample of blue cotton candy to a potential client, she’d check him out and see if the voice matched the rest of him.
But first, she had to work.
“It’s like a photograph,” he continued, sounding truly impressed.
Which warmed her giddy heart. It was the entire reason she was there that night: to impress people, to gain new clients, and to fill her art studio with students eager to learn how to paint. She doubted the guy beside her wanted to paint. But maybe he had a wife or a girlfriend who would be interested…
“Well, that’s why I’m here. I’m live painting the event,” Sheridan explained. She’d have a wrecked wrist by the end of the night, but she couldn’t complain. The mega-exposure at the Taste of Monterey was worth the pain alone.
The annual event featured almost one hundred booths from local businesses and drew thousands of people in attendance. It was held at the convention center, and the building was packed, people’s voices a dull roar in her ears.
“Live painting, huh? Never heard of such a thing.”
“Well, every artist live paints I suppose, but I’m trying to catch as much as I can of the event as it unfolds. Then when it’s over, I’ll give the painting to the organizers as a sort of memento.” Sheridan dabbed a quick spot of the palest turquoise blue with her brush, a satisfied smile curling her lips as she turned to face her admirer.
And stopped dead in her tracks when she saw all six-foot-plus, mouthwatering gorgeousness of him.
He slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his full lips quirked in a not-quite smile. Everything about him read easygoing confidence, putting her immediately at ease despite his gargantuan size. He carried himself like a man who truly enjoyed women, one who knew exactly what they wanted even before they did.
And she recognized him, of course. She’d have to live under a rock not to. His reputation with women preceded him, in any case—he went through them as often as he changed underwear. Maybe even more.
“You’re…” She let the word die on her lips, too frazzled to continue when he flashed a brain cell–stealing grin at her.
“I am,” said Jared Quinn, star quarterback for the San Jose Hawks, with a slight shrug. She’d had no idea he’d be at the Taste of Monterey event that evening. “Have you ever considered live painting a football game?”
“I would love to,” she said automatically, her words tumbling out in a rush. She silently chastised herself. There was always being on the lookout for opportunities, and then there was being too eager and losing them because of it.
“My coach might like one.” His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, his face burnished by the sun. His nose was sort of big, but it didn’t detract from his handsomeness. His crooked smile gave him a boyish charm. A faded scar stretched across the edge of his chin, roughing up the charm in the most appealing way. His hair was a rich brown, tinged with gold, and a tad overgrown so it waved at the nape. Movie-star handsome with the rabid female fans to confirm it, he was a major reason women watched football. “Actually, the owner would like one even more. You’re very talented.”
Her brain racked up the potential his words conjured. “I could create a painting for whoever wanted one; that wouldn’t be a problem.” Lord knew she needed the money. Just because she had an art studio on Ocean Avenue in Carmel didn’t mean she was rolling in it. She’d inherited the studio when her grandmother died more than a year ago. The location was prime, but so was the cost to maintain it. Sheridan was constantly busy, especially with the heavy load of classes she taught, but all that business was still barely able to pay the bills.
“I’d get first dibs, though, right?” He winked at her and her heart fluttered.
Stupid, reckless heart. It was a business transaction, not a flirtatious moment. And hadn’t Jared Quinn been involved in some sort of sordid scandal? She swore she’d read that recently in some gossip mag.
Not that she read gossip mags.
Okay, maybe she did, but it had been a while, since she was so busy. Usually she went to the local bookstore at least once a week with her friend Willow, where they both bought a latte and then sat side by side, flipping through the pages of the latest and greatest in gossipy news. Laughing, criticizing, and generally feeling better about themselves for at least a fleeting moment.
“Of course you’d get first dibs,” she said breathlessly. She winced. God, she sounded like a teenager with a mad crush on the captain of the football team.
“And a finder’s fee,” he added.
“Um…” She nibbled on her lower lip. Wasn’t this guy a multimillionaire? Not only did the Hawks pay him a ton of money, but he had plenty of endorsements, including one where he stood around in his underwear with the same smile he was directing toward her at that very moment.
A true panty-melter if she ever saw one.
He threw back his head and laughed, his beautiful, blue eyes sparkling when they finally landed on her. “Don’t worry, I was only kidding. I’m not that greedy.”
“Oh.” She laughed, feeling infinitely stupid. Blame it on the man—he unnerved her with his mere presence. It was much easier when she hadn’t looked at him, hadn’t known who he was.
“So, who exactly are you?”
Sheridan frowned. “What?” His rapid change of subject muddled her brain further.
He inclined his head in her direction. “Miss Live Painter, do you have a name?”
“Oh! Hold on.” She set her paintbrush on the table holding her supplies, and reached into the front pocket of her apron, pulling out a business card. She handed it to him. “Sheridan Harper.”
He took the card, his fingers grazing hers. The brief contact sent a scattering of gooseflesh over her skin, and she barely contained the shiver that threat
ened to take over. “Cute card, Sheridan Harper.”
Pride swelled in her chest. “I designed it myself.”
“I can tell.” His lids lifted, that stark gaze zeroed directly in on her.
A bazillion people surrounded them, the place packed and buzzing with restless energy. Yet the way Jared Quinn looked at her at that very moment, it was as if no one else existed in the room but the two of them. “You’re very talented,” he drawled.
“Thank you,” she said weakly. Why did it feel so good to hear the man’s praise? It gave her even more of a rush than when the average person admired her work. The way he looked at her, too. As if he liked what he saw…
“Nice shoes.”
She glanced down at her hot pink stilettos. They were her favorites, though far from comfortable. But her grandma always told her, “Beauty is pain…”
“You like them?” She held her foot out, turning it this way and that.