Page 42 of Making Over Maris

Sara studied the facade, adorned as it was with fifty shades of graffiti. “Okay.” As dates went, this one wasn’t too hot yet.

He came around to open her door—major points, although she was perfectly capable of doing that herself. Clearly he was on his most gentlemanly behavior.

Damn it all to hell.

Getting out of the bucket seat was a challenge but Jack was there to help, which was nice. She stood—only wincing a little—and slung her purse over her shoulder. He took her elbow and led her from the parking lot to the warehouse.

“I hope you like this,” he said again as they stepped through a nondescript door.

And Sara’s pulse stuttered. “Oh, my.”

The warehouse was a gallery. A showing of landscapes. All black-and-white.

The kinds she loved to take.

Something fluttered in her chest. It might have been her heart coming back to life.

“Oh, Jack. This is wonderful!” She grabbed his hand and tugged him to the first landscape and then the next and the next. The photographer’s technique, some of the angles and filters he’d used, were fascinating. One by one, she studied each photograph, cataloging and filing ideas away for her own work.

One piece, a winter study of a denuded, snow-covered tree, spoke to her soul. She loved the lines of the branches, the harsh, desolate beauty. Tiny buds hovered on the branches, bravely awaiting the warmth of spring. The tree was a survivor. Like her.

She glanced at the price tag, winced and moved on to the next piece, dragging Jack in her wake.

She must have wandered through the exhibit for an hour, totally oblivious to the other people milling about, their quiet murmurs echoing off the high ceilings. She was aware of one thing though.

Jack’s hand, warm in hers.

He was incredibly patient, standing by her side as she oohed and ahhed and commented on this piece or that one. Oh, and she was aware of his eyes. On her. Not the art. On her.

When she reached the final photograph, she shot him a grin. “Jack, I loved that. Thank you!”

“My pleasure.”

“How did you find this place?”

He flushed. “I googled it. There’s more upstairs.”

“More?”

“It’s a gallery shared by three photographers. One does landscapes—that’s why we came. One does portraits and the other…”

“The other?”

His blush intensified. “The other does erotic photos.”

A thrill shot through her. “E-erotic photos?”

“Yes. Would you…like to go upstairs?”

Why she felt as if he were inviting her to his bedroom, she couldn’t say. She wiggled her hips impatiently. “Yes.” She grabbed his hand. “Come on.”

The portraits were incredible but didn’t hold Sara’s interest. What she wanted more than anything was to get Jack into a room filled with erotic art. Then maybe whisper illicit things into his ear. Seduce him. Now.

They climbed the stairs to the third floor at her urging. The top floor was quieter than the others though several couples wandered through the displays, pausing now and again to survey a photo here or there.

Sara tugged Jack into the room, anxious to see what this exhibit had to offer—

She stopped. Stalled. Nearly choked on her own breath at the first photograph.