Tough Love

* * *

ON THE ONE HAND, Vanity was over-the-moon complimented with how enthusiastic Stack had been about her paintings. She hadn’t anticipated that. In her family, people were expected to have talents. They had plenty of time to find and cultivate those talents. And so she had. No big deal.

She could paint, and she was good enough that people recognized what she painted. Good enough to sell her work for charity.

But she wasn’t a true artist. She wasn’t one of those who suffered for her talent, putting her heart and soul into her work. Nope. No suffering for her. She painted pretty things. Everyday images, like flowers or birds or, her favorite, seashells. Sometimes she went for more eclectic images: a half-empty glass of milk that appealed to her eye because of the small bubbles, the sheen, the... Vanity sighed. No, she wasn’t a true artist.

But the way Stack had acted, she might as well have been.

She’d impressed him, and it had nothing to do with her looks, which made it so, so much nicer.

But on the other hand, he’d taken so long looking at her work that they’d lost the opportunity for the promised quickie. He’d run off—ten minutes late—to head to the rec center, and she’d hurried to get to the resale shop. Much of the remainder of her afternoon had been nuts, as well.

She’d been assigned to a holiday ad for a department store. She and three other women, two kids, and a couple of men had posed in designer clothes, with electronics, at a decorated Thanksgiving table setting, and even with some Christmasy stuff. The kids were adorable, the women aloof, and the men had ogled her. Now she was tired but determined to check on Lynn.

She knew Stack’s mother missed the dogs because she’d told Vanity so when she’d called earlier in the day.

Now, as she loaded the dogs into her car, she wondered when she’d get to see Stack again. She’d planned to work on the paintings tonight because two more of them had to be turned in before Wednesday in order to be catalogued before the ball. But she really wished she’d worked up the courage to invite him back over.

She couldn’t think of a better reason for missing work.

Luckily, the drive to his sister’s apartment didn’t take too long, because the dogs didn’t do well in the car. Despite the nippy weather, she had to leave a window slightly open to keep Maggie from gagging. Norwood, bless his heart, just foamed at the mouth. A lot.

She and the dogs were all thrilled when she finally stopped across the street from the address Lynn had given her.

It made her a little nervous, looking around in the growing darkness of early evening. Tabby did not live in the best of neighborhoods. Leashing both dogs before letting them out, Vanity held tight, Maggie in one hand, Norwood in the other. She hit the button on her key ring to lock her car.

Good thing Tabby’s apartment was only on the second floor. The dogs fought her every step, trying to bound this way, then that way, putting her in a virtual tug of war. Using her elbow, she pushed the doorbell.

Her luck ran out when f’ing Phil opened up. Shirtless, jeans hanging low, he let his gaze crawl all over her. Propping a shoulder on the door frame, he smiled. “Hey, Vanity. What are you doing here?”

Seriously, did he not see the dogs? “I brought Maggie and Norwood to visit with Lynn and Tabby.”

“Lynn’s napping, and Tabby isn’t home yet.” He leered, then reached for her face. Though she tried to lean out of reach, he followed and lightly brushed aside a curl that had half fallen over her eye. In a suggestive tone, he said, “Looks like it’ll just be the two of us.”

Norwood gave a low growl, and Vanity hurried to quiet him. She didn’t trust Phil with the dogs.

Maybe she should talk to Lynn or Tabby about that? Or maybe, she decided, she should just mind her own business.

Maggie joined Norwood in the complaints, but Phil ignored them. Holding out his hand, he said to Vanity, “Come on in.”

When she didn’t take his hand, he clasped her wrist, tugging.

She strained away, ready to tell him to dream on. But with the dogs’ leashes in her hands, she couldn’t smack him as she wanted to.

Then the entry door to the building slammed shut, and she looked down to the foyer to see...Stack looking up.

His gaze narrowed on her, then shifted to Phil— specifically to Phil’s hand on her wrist.

Wisely, Phil withdrew with alacrity, then backed into the apartment. “I think I hear Lynn. I’ll tell her you’re here.”

Hoping to forestall the fireworks, Vanity smiled. “Stack! I was just missing you. How fun that we’re both here.”