She started and looked over her sh
oulder to find Gavin studying her painting. “Yeah. I started it after we got here.”
Gavin looked ruggedly yummy in an un-tucked khaki safari shirt and old denim pants. She’d always thought it was his suits that made him look unapproachably elegant and sophisticated, but the casual clothes he’d been wearing for the past few weeks didn’t lessen his impact. Instead, they seemed to accentuate a different facet of the man—something that reminded her of a blunt instrument that would destroy everything in its path to get the outcome it wanted.
“You’re dusty,” she said.
“I chopped down a tree near the kitchen. Looked like there might be some rot.”
“Don’t you have men for that?”
“Wanted to do it myself.” He gave her a quick grin. “All done.”
That poor tree probably never stood a chance against Gavin’s will. How foolish she’d been to think she could oppose him and come out unscathed. He would never hurt her—she knew that—but he would smash through anything, or anyone, in the way of his reconciliation attempt.
The sea breeze had ruffled his dark hair. As he studied her work, his eyes intent and bright, a curl fell over his forehead. She gripped a brush, waiting for his verdict. She’d never shown her work to anyone except Brooke. If it had been up to her, Gavin wouldn’t have seen it either, but now that he had, she wanted him to like it. Or at least find it acceptable.
“It’s good,” he said finally.
She smiled. “Really?”
“Yeah. It’s oddly soothing, considering all the colors.”
“I think it may need something more.”
“Like what?”
“Mmm…” She chewed her lower lip. “Hard to say. I just feel like it could be better.”
“Don’t overdo it. It could suck the life out of the work.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s already so vibrant and …just right. I don’t know what you plan to do, but I think it’s done.”
“Oh.”
She turned to the painting. Was it really that great? She never looked at her work with anything other than the most critical eye. It was about finding something she could improve on, not patting herself on the back.
“You’re really talented. I can’t believe you’ve never let me see your stuff,” Gavin said. “I want it.”
“You do?”
“Yes. In my office.”
“What? Oh no, you can’t!”
He frowned. “Why not?”
“Gavin! There’s an original Van Gogh in your office!”
“So?”
“So? So?” Her palms slickened with sweat at the idea of all his staff members and visitors viewing her painting and the Van Gogh side-by-side. “It’s going to look…ridiculous next to the Van Gogh.”
“Because you aren’t some world famous artist or something? Honey, Van Gogh wasn’t Van Gogh until after he died. Don’t worry about it.”
Still anxious, she looked back at her work.