Mismatch - By Nana Malone Page 0,69

so bad she considered the back room of a club?”

“She's feeling shy.”

He stroked her knuckles with his thumb. “Why?”

“Because I have a feeling you’re going to matter.”

Dread clenched Eli’s gut. He couldn’t continue lying to her. He had to tell her the truth.

***

Eli didn’t know why, but the moment he walked in the door still carrying his overnight bag from Malibu, he headed straight for the spare room and sat down at his work table. The soapstone was smooth and cool to his touch. His tools were even cooler but quickly warmed as he handled them. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, but when he finally put his chisel to rest, a woman’s body had started to emerge from the stone. Just her back so far, but he already knew there would be etchings on her back—if he could get the tattoos to appear properly into the stone.

Exhausted, he leaned back against his seat. He'd eventually have to talk to Samson properly. They needed to really talk. Not that bullshit attempt they’d already had. There was no way Eli could explain how it felt to think his own brother was lying again. But until they all had some answers about who was behind the Millionaire Doubles pieces, Sam would always be a suspect. And short of aiding and abetting, there wouldn't be too much to be done about keeping Sam out of jail.

Chapter 21

The lights faded from dim to dark, and the hairs on Jessica’s arms stood up. This was it. Sex time. Er, show time. She wondered if the effect would be the same, now that she knew the artist. Would her blood heat the same way it had when she'd first seen Samson perform? Would it roar in her head and make her think of being hot and sweaty with someone dark, dangerous and oh so wrong for her?

The deep bass began, and to her surprise, it wasn't thrashing rock like the last show she’d seen of his. It was something from the islands. Reggae but faster. Izzy had introduced her to island music by always playing it around the studio, but this wasn’t a song Jessica recognized.

This wasn’t dancehall. Nor was it the thrumming laziness of a Bob Marley song. This was darker, deeper. Mixed with something more primal. Before a minute was up, Jessica’s heartbeat followed the thrumming drum chord. And her blood beat thick and hot.

When dim lights lit up the center box, Jessica was already holding her breath and swaying toward the display. She licked her dry lips and tried to see through the opaque fabric like she'd done that first night, but she couldn't. The illusion was there that she'd be able to see just enough, but not enough to identify him. No wonder she hadn’t had any idea that she'd taken the artist home that night. Jesus, this part of the exhibition art was pure magic. And totally worked to get the artist laid. A fact that made her want to growl at the over-forty, educated, MILF crowd that had flocked to the event.

No use being pissed off at Eli though. Hell. She was as gullible as the audience. She’d been a little seduced by it that first night. But the man she met was so different than the persona. Hotter. Eli was right. This mystery—that was Samson. She had Eli. That was even better than the illusion. He was real.

With an abrupt halt to the music, silhouettes stood on the stage, the clearly female form with voluptuous breasts and curvy hips lay prone on the settee with her back arched as if waiting for her lover to arrive and ravage her. The masculine frame stalked around her as if accepting a gift on an altar but deciding which delectable piece to try first. Through the shear fabric, Jessica could see Eli cocking his head as he did every time something confused him or didn’t work quite as expected.

The music began again as quickly as it had stopped. Accompanying it was the first slash of paint. Every woman in the audience jumped about a foot as the paint arched then appeared to hit the woman right between her legs.

They all leaned in, Jessica included as she stood on tip-toe to get a better look. And she'd seen the bloody show before. God, she needed help.

For the next thirty minutes, Jessica watched with a tight fist clamped around her champagne glass as Samson carefully arced paint over delicate feminine parts. Eventually,