Flirting With Forever by Gwyn Cready (new books to read TXT) 📕

Mertons had let and Aldo’s, or, more specifical y, he had been watching the women watching the men, and yesterday he’d had Mertons take him to a place where he’d purchased the silk shirt as wel as the tailored aubergine jacket he now wore.

He didn’t answer. He doubted sartorial choice was at the bottom of her appearance here. He wondered how she had found him.

“Jacket tel s me your name is Lely. Peter Lely.”

“Like the painter, yes.”

“You know Cam’s writing a book about Peter Lely?”

“I’ve heard that. Do you think it’s an al egory of some sort?” He gave her a forced smile.

“Were your parents admirers?”

“Of Peter Lely?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like to think so.”

Another long silence.

“Are you a painter as wel ?” She nodded toward the speckles on his hands.

“Aye.” He stole a glance over her shoulder, out into the street in which the first snow of the season swirled in the lamplight of the waiting cars. The day had grown colder—

unexpectedly colder, according to the proprietor here—and the snow seemed to have taken the town by surprise.

Anastasia was here on an expedition of some sort, and he hoped she would get to the point quickly and then be on her way.

“That’s, uh, quite a ring.”

He had been twisting the emerald without even noticing.

“May I?” She held out a palm.

He pul ed off the ring reluctantly and handed it to her. His other choice had been to put his hand in hers, and the notion of touching her did not appeal to him. She was in every way conceivable the opposite of her sister. Cool.

Coiled. Deceptively nonchalant. It was like sharing a table with a cobra.

She examined the ring closely. He thought of the Latin words he’d had engraved in the band at Ursula’s suggestion— Per varios usus artem experientia fecit, which translated roughly as “It takes a long time to bring excel ence to maturity”—and shifted. He felt as if Anastasia were perusing his personal diary.

“My Latin’s not great,” she said with a chuckle.

“Nor mine.”

She handed the ring back, letting her fingers brush his palm. “So, you sketch?” She turned the book toward her.

Peter wished he had thought to close it.

“I do. A little.”

“You’re quite good.”

He bowed.

Anastasia curled forward and regarded him closely. “Are you and Cam involved?”

At last, the heart of the matter. Or was it? “If you’re looking out for Cam’s best interests, I might suggest starting your work a little closer to home.” As the cars stopped at the red traffic beacon outside, the high street fil ed with people crossing to the other side. It was the time of day when workers returned from their jobs.

The smile on Anastasia’s smile grew tighter. “Touché.”

He waited for her to ask him to take Cam off Jacket’s hands, for that would mean Jacket’s heart was not committed, but Peter doubted Jacket had the capacity to be committed, let alone recognize that he was, and it was clear Anastasia had no more interest in Jacket than she would have in a piece of squab pie. Jacket was a carnal first course, to be consumed and forgotten.

“I notice you’re stil in Pittsburgh.”

Another burst of travelers. He looked at the shop’s clock.

“I’m finishing a project.”

“Is it one Cam is helping you with?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“You know, putting it in the hands of the right people, bringing it to the attention of critics?”

“Do you think I would use her in that way?”

She took a long sip. “It’s been known to happen.”

“Your concern for your sister is admirable.”

“Look,” she said, “it is possible to be concerned about my sister and fucking her boyfriend at the same time. Cam is too nice, too naïve. Men have always used her. It’s the reason I’ve never liked Jacket al that much. I’m just wondering if it’s the reason I shouldn’t like you.”

There she was. In a dark orange shirt that set off her hair and a pair of formfitting breeks that made him ache with the memory of their joining. The wind blew and she clutched her sides. She hadn’t dressed warmly enough. He watched her stride across the street, looking up at the sky, then stop stride across the street, looking up at the sky, then stop when she reached the corner and open her mouth, catching a snowflake on her