Trust by Design (Colorado Trust 2)

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Dean adjusted his black suit coat, double checked the collar of his black dress shirt and decided to leave the top button undone. Bending to glance in the side mirror of his SUV, he swiped a hand through his hair. His shower had freshened its tendency to curl at the ends, especially since it was longer than he usually wore it, but with his limited time these days, a haircut was low on his list of things to do.

Time to get this show on the road.

His left hand gripped the notebook of sketches he’d found on the floor of his room as his right caught the door of the Barclay Gallery as it opened. He stood aside for a departing couple, then made his way inside. The place was packed. Either Maria Clark’s daughter had a lot of friends, or she was a really good artist. At the moment, he was more interested in the people in room.

His gaze scanned the faces as he made his way through the crowd, searching for either his mother or Jack Brady’s ex. He wasn’t sure which woman he wanted to talk to less.

The sexy black dress caught his eye first. Damn, that thing was hot. The woman wearing it was even hotter.

Desire quickened his pulse yet again—until he noticed the guy standing next to her. Tall and dark, sporting slicked-back hair and a Viagra commercial smile. Though they both seemed to be admiring the painting on the wall in front of them, it didn’t take but a moment to realize the guy was hitting on her, and she was eating it up.

She cradled a glass of champagne against her chest with one hand while the other one twirled a lock of hair around her index finger. The sensual glance she cast up through her lashes made Dean’s gut tighten.

He’d been on the receiving end of that smile last night. Discovering he didn’t like anyone taking his place did nothing to improve his mood.

Threading through the milling art enthusiasts, he heard her laugh at something the guy had said. The musical sound hit him like a sucker punch as he stalked up to them. His abrupt arrival earned him a surprised glance, then Gina did a double-take and her smile disappeared.

He extended the notebook to her and let the corners of his mouth curve up the slightest bit. “You left this in my bedroom earlier.”

Widened violet eyes dropped to his outstretched hand. As she reached to take the pad of paper, Rico Suave cleared his throat and shifted back a step.

“Uh…I just remembered…”

Dean shoved his hands in his pockets and rotated his upper body toward the guy. “Don’t even bother. Just go.” Once it was the two of them, he turned back to Gina with his eyebrows raised. “Him? Really?”

Her stunned expression morphed into anger. “What do you care?”

Disconcerted by the fact he cared way more than he should, he shrugged and shot back, “I don’t. But it was fun.”

“You really are a jerk.” She gave him one last glare before walking away.

Shit. Maybe he needed to get Mike to handle his groveling, too. He followed her and reached out to catch her arm at the next display.

“Wait. Please.”

“Why?” She jerked her arm free and whirled on him. After a quick glance around, she leaned close and lowered her voice. “Do you have something else to accuse me of?”

“No. I’d like to apologize.”

Her gaze narrowed, but she didn’t try to leave again.

“You just met the girl, Dean. Why would you need to apologize?”

His mother’s voice from directly behind him sent a blast of heat up his neck.

Gina’s eyebrows rose this time. “I’m listening, Dean.”

Her gaze didn’t waver as his mother stepped up beside him. His jaw clenched as he kept his focus on the woman who wasn’t sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. A smart man would’ve waited and called to apologize tomorrow, but she had him so off-kilter he was doing stupid things left and right.

Hoping she wouldn’t totally call him out, he indicated the sketches in her hand. “I took a look at those after you left. They’re good—really good.”

He meant it, too. She’d written detailed notes on the pages depicting each roo

m of his house she’d been in. When he’d gone upstairs to shower and change, he’d found the notebook and discovered he liked most of the suggestions she’d written down.

“That’s not an apology,” his mother commented.