“These are mine. I sold two to the group today.”
I follow her gaze to the right wall. She paints nature, and she’s amazing at it. They look real. I can almost feel myself standing on top of the mountain, on a field in Tuscany, out on the sea, in a rainforest. Her paintings have a lot of heart. Just like her. I wrap my arms around her from the back, kissing her neck, keeping my eyes on the wall.
“They’re beautiful. Is the one with the mountain still for sale?”
“Yeah, but—”
“I want to buy it.”
“Alex, don’t be silly. I’ll gift it to you.”
“But I want to buy it.”
“You really want that hanging in your house?”
“I do. It’s perfect.”
“Okay. I’ll pack it for you.”
“Are we leaving with my car?” she asks after we step out in the cool evening air a few minutes later. “Or did you bring yours?”
“We’ll take yours. One of my security guys dropped me off here.”
She stares at me. “You have bodyguards?”
“Not always. But I thought it would be smart to have him secure the area before I showed my face around here after that reporter showed up.”
She scrunches her face, nodding. “Smart thinking. My car’s just around the corner.”
I’m so proud of her for the way she dealt with that situation. I wish she didn’t have to. The list of things I wish she didn’t have to deal with keeps growing.
I also can’t believe Rebecca. But I’ll be damned if I ever let something like this happen again. That look on Summer’s face, that crushing fear? I don’t want to ever see it again. She doesn’t deserve that. I’d realized something bad had happened the second she lunged for the note, because her whole body had gone rigid, and all my instincts were to crush whatever had caused that reaction. Turns out that was me. If need be, I’ll double check my own pockets.
“Where are we going?” she asks once we’re inside the car.
“First, we’re going to make a pit stop by your house.”
“Why?”
“You’re going to need a change of clothes.”
“For our date?”
“Nope, for tomorrow morning.”
She folds her arms over her chest, cocking a brow. “Mr. Westbrook, don’t you think you’re assuming a bit much? What makes you think I’ll spend the night with you?”
Closing the distance between us, I bring my lips a whisper away from hers. “I can still smell you on me, Summer.”
“It’s not polite to mention that.”
“That’s a sensitive topic?”
“You’re awfully infuriating right now.”
“And you’re awfully cute when you find me infuriating, so you’ll forgive me if I do it on purpose.”
But then it occurs to me that I might be assuming too much. We spent every free minute together in Lake Tahoe, but we were in vacation mode back there. I made plans without consulting her, just assuming she’d be over the moon with the idea of spending the weekend with me. What if we’re not on the same page here? Am I rushing things?