Page 29 of Resurrection
“You have place mats.”
“You don’t?”
She realized she sounded silly. “It’s like you’re from a different era.”
His smile was wide. “Worlds collide here—that’s for sure. Let me grab some plates.” He met her gaze with a wink. “They’re mygrand-mère’s china.”
Between the smile, the wink, the place mats … and everything else that Nic was, Imogen wanted to melt where she stood. Instead, she slid into an antique chair and set her clutch on the table.
“Beignets while they’re hot, and then I’ll give you the full tour.”
Including his bedroom?she wondered absently and then stopped herself.Jury is rubbing off on me.
It had been so long since she’d had sex that Imogen had no idea if she was even good at it anymore.Do I even still know how?
Nic carried two plates into the breakfast room, and she noticed the impressionist canvas on the wall.
“That’s stunning. I’m not good with artists, but is that a …” She trailed off as the name eluded her.
“I did that one. Turned out pretty good.”
Hispretty goodlooked like it belonged in a museum to Imogen.
“Seriously? That’s your work?”
Nic nodded. “Yeah, there’s more of it in the house. And a bunch upstairs. And in my old apartment.”
“Do you sell them?”
“I do showings when I feel like it.”
When he feels like it.
Imogen was starting to put a few things together. He worked two days per week at the shop. Painted and enjoyed life. He had inherited his house and car. His great-great-great-grandfather had shown up with a chest of gold. She was guessing Nic was doing just fine financially, not that it really mattered.
Until yesterday, she’d been a moderately successful scuba diver with a PhD in marine biology, who worked for a lab that provided research services to oil companies. Today, she was an independently wealthy woman who had options she’d never before considered.
“That sounds fun.”
“It’s a good life. I get to do what I love, and I’ve got no complaints.” He pulled a beignet from the bag and offered it to her on a dainty pink china plate.
“That sounds like a fabulous way to live,” she said as she took it from his fingers.
“Best way I’ve found,” he replied as he fished out one for himself. “Along with having beignets on a spectacular morning with a beautiful woman. Can’t beat it.”
“You are smooth.”
“Is it smooth if it’s true?”
He bit into one, and she did the same.
“Mmm … I haven’t had one of these in ages.”
“They’re part of a balanced diet, as far as I’m concerned.”
She glanced at his muscular physique, a bit amazed to hear that, but clearly, whatever he was doing was working for him.
As she chewed the delicious sugary, fried confection, Imogen wondered what he’d meant when he said he wanted to paint her.
