The Cinderella Deal - Jennifer Crusie [71]
“There was another portrait?”
Bill jerked his thumb to the back wall, and Linc turned to see where he pointed.
His black-and-white portrait was there, and in that one he still looked distinguished, intelligent, and powerful. But next to it was one done in yellow and orange, a mirror image to the cold gray portrait. Instead of a gray-suited body, Daisy had painted him in the nude, in fluid slashing strokes, laying in the flat muscular planes of his body in hot slabs of paint that glowed on the canvas. It was as abstract as the first painting, and thank God, the torso ended at the bottom of the canvas, just above his hips, but he was undeniably naked. The face was the worst part. It was him, all right, but all the dignity of the first portrait had been replaced with passion and heat. She’d picked out the lights in his eyes and hair with red, and he flamed on the canvas. He was distinguished, intelligent, and powerful in the first painting, but in this one he was passionate, seething, and erotic. If he’d seen it in the privacy of her studio, he’d have made love to her on the floor under it because she saw him like this. In the glare of the gallery, with everyone in Prescott looking at him, he wanted to kill her.
Julia came up beside him. “You never looked like that with me.”
Julia was the last thing he needed. “Shut up.”
She stepped back. “You can’t possibly be upset about this. That is a great painting.”
“Well, when she paints you in the nude, we’ll hang it here too.”
“She can paint me in the nude anytime she wants.” Julia frowned at him. “I thought you’d loosened up.”
He couldn’t take his eyes from the portrait. Imagine when Crawford saw it. “I am never going to get that loose.”
“Guess what!” Daisy materialized out of the crowd, bouncing with joy. “Bill just showed me the sales slips. He’s sold almost everything. I’m a hit. Isn’t that wonderful? Why are you frowning.”
He turned to glare at her. “I don’t like surprises.”
“What surprises?” Daisy scowled at him, back to her normal self. “What’s wrong?”
“The other portrait.” Linc nodded to the back wall, almost too angry to speak.
Daisy turned around, and he watched the color drain from her face. “That wasn’t supposed to be here. That was private.”
“Then how did it get here?”
“Bill must have found it. I told him he could have anything in the studio. I forgot. I was nervous and I forgot.” She turned back to him, bloodless with panic.
Linc closed his eyes. “You forgot. How the hell could you forget something like that?”
“Linc.” Daisy’s voice was desperate. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”
“I know you’re sorry.” His voice was cold, and he watched as she winced under his words as if they were slaps, so angry he didn’t care. “But I’m the one who has to face these people. I have students here.”
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was so low, he could barely hear her.
“We’ll talk about it later.” He turned away and came to face-to-face with an older man of about his height and coloring. “Excuse me.” Linc pushed past him and walked away.
“Well, Linc, my boy.” Crawford caught him, frowning as he jerked his head toward the portraits. “Not quite the image I had of you.”
Here we go. “Well, sir, Daisy sees a different side of me.”
“I think it’s lovely.” Chickie held on to her drink for dear life and beamed at Linc. “Daisy’s so talented. You must be very proud.”
“Shut up, Chickie,” Crawford said savagely. “You don’t know squat. That dumb woman may have wrecked his career with that piece of porn.”
Chickie buried her face in her glass, and Linc stopped thinking about himself and thought about what an ass Crawford was. “It’s not pornography. Daisy’s an artist. She—” He broke off when he saw Crawford stare past his shoulder. He turned and found Daisy beside him with the older man he’d passed before at her side. Beyond him was a thin, elegantly dressed older woman and two younger carbon copies, all with disappointed mouths and thin eyebrows.
Daisy was blue-white pale, and her eyes were like