The Masterpiece by Francine Rivers
Again, that click.
Opening her laptop, Grace did a search on the Bird. Numerous hits came up, including speculation about work in Europe. People had been trying to figure out the Bird’s identity for more than a decade. One article reported that his signature, BRD in black letters made to look like a blackbird in flight, always appeared in the lower left corner of his pieces. Grace’s heart began to pound. She remembered the living room wall at the Mastersons’.
Grace pulled up images of the Bird’s work. A man mooning a surveillance camera. Petroglyphs of women in high-heeled, red-soled shoes carrying shopping bags and strutting along the walls of a subway tunnel. A pregnant girl wearing a Save the Whales T-shirt as she opened the front door of a Planned Parenthood clinic. Two peace protesters in a street brawl. A priest with his foot planted on a treasure chest. She scrolled down to the demon faces in the pedestrian tunnel.
Clicking on one photo, she sent it to Roman’s office e-mail address, intending to print it out in the morning.
Lord, I know it’s Roman. What do I do with this information?
Grace barely slept. When she entered the main house the next morning, heavy metal music blasted from the bedroom housing Roman’s exercise equipment. Curious, she went down on her knees and pulled the black sketchbook out from under the couch. Flipping through the pages quickly, she found the last pages covered with demon faces. She shuddered as she put the sketchbook back.
She went to the office, where she did another computer search, printing out articles on the Bird and pictures of his work. Putting all the papers into a file folder, she headed down the hall to talk to Roman.
She froze in the doorway, seeing Roman straddling the weight bench, his biceps and back muscles bulging, his skin glistening. She took a slow breath and tapped on the door. He didn’t hear her over the rock music as he continued repetitions with the metal cable pulley system. He might be the one sweating, but she was beginning to feel the heat. She walked over and shut off his music.
“Hey! You’re early.”
“I’m on time.”
He wiped his face with a towel, wincing when he lifted one leg over the bench and stood. “What’s up?”
His discarded T-shirt lay on the floor. She was afraid to look him in the eye, worried what he’d see. “Can we talk?”
“Can we? I hope so.” He flipped the damp towel around his neck. “We did a lot of that on the road.”
The scent of healthy male sweat only served to make her more nervous. She wasn’t sure where to direct her gaze. Something about him roused dangerous sensations inside her. She should’ve stayed in the office instead of rushing down here to ask if he was the Bird. She should’ve waited until later, after he showered and dressed and went to work in his studio. Did she want to know more about him?
Roman swiped the T-shirt off the floor and pulled it on inside out. “Is this better?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
His breathing hadn’t eased. She noticed the pulse in his throat. Was it from his workout, or was he feeling some of what she was? She had to break the tension. “Never mind. It can wait.” She turned and headed for the door.
“How about this evening?”
Confused, she looked back. Was he asking her to stay late?
Roman rubbed the towel over his damp hair. He tilted his head, studying her. How much of what she felt showed right now? She wanted him to touch her, but if he reached out, she’d run. He came closer, holding the two ends of the towel he’d hung around his neck. “Take the day off, Grace. Let’s talk over dinner. Six o’clock. I’ll cook.”
Dinner after work hours? “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
His hands tightened on the towel. “We haven’t really talked since we got back from the road trip.”
They’d talked, but she knew what he meant. They had stopped digging around inside one another. It was an opening she needed. “All right.”
“We can put everything on the table.” His mouth tipped slightly.
“Everything?”
He walked around her. “You can tell me what has you so riled up.” He glanced at the file in her hand. “I’d better get cleaned up.”
Grace didn’t breathe normally until Roman went into his bedroom and closed the door.
What everything had he meant?
ROMAN MADE A GROCERY LIST before driving to Malibu. He wanted to make sure he had everything he needed to impress Grace. He bought fixings for spinach and pear salad and beef Stroganoff. He’d noticed she didn’t drink alcohol, so he opted for a bottle of sparkling grape cider. Susan Masterson said every woman loved chocolate. He picked out a small mousse cake from the bakery. He also picked up a flower arrangement with two candles.
It had been a long time since Roman spent all afternoon in a kitchen preparing a special meal, not since the last Christmas at Masterson Ranch. That had been his way of saying thank you and good-bye at the same time.
The evening was warm. Grace liked the view. The patio table would be the perfect place for an intimate dinner for two. At five, Roman showered and shaved. He pulled on a dark-blue T-shirt, black jeans, and wove a leather belt through the loops. She’d wonder what was wrong with him if he dressed up any more than that. He came out of his bedroom and opened the sliding-glass door to the patio. His pulse picked up speed as he saw Grace making her way toward the house.
She came in holding his contribution to the barbecue—the bottle of champagne in one hand, the Heineken six-pack in the other. The manila folder was tucked under her arm. “I thought I should return these.” She headed for the kitchen.
Roman caught the subtle hint of perfume as she passed. A positive sign. He followed her. “I noticed you and your friends don’t drink.” She looked great in black skinny jeans and her lightweight pink sweater. She put the champagne and beer in his refrigerator and moved around the long counter away from him. Roman met her on the other side, plucked the file folder from her hand, and tossed it on the polished granite surface. “We’re not working tonight.”
“I just need to talk to you about something I saw—”
“Whatever it is, Grace, let it wait.”
She looked back at the kitchen. “Something smells very good.”
“Wondering where the take-out boxes are? There aren’t any. I figured it was about time I fixed you dinner.” He nodded toward the sliding-glass doors. “It’s a nice evening. We’ll eat on the patio.” He watched her take in the table set for two, the wineglasses and bottle chilling in a bucket of ice, the flowers and candles ready to be lit after the sun went down.
Her expression held something akin to fear. “What is this?”
Roman hadn’t expected a grown woman to panic, especially one who had been married. “Take it easy, Grace. I miss having dinner with you. We talked on the trip. We get back here, and we’re back in the rat race. I thought it’d be nice to spend an evening together, reconnect the way we did on the road.” Shut up, you moron. You sound like a used car salesman. He was feeling a bubble of panic himself.
She took a noticeably shaky breath. “Okay. What can I do to help?”
“Nothing. Everything is ready. Are you hungry? We can eat right now.”
“Yes. Let’s eat.”
She sounded like she wanted it over and done with.
Dinner didn’t go as Roman had planned. Grace barely took a bite. Conversation felt stilted, her mind elsewhere. He forgot to light the candles until dinner was over, and then it was too late. So much for ambience.
They both cleared the dishes. She edged him out of the way, rinsing and putting them in the dishwasher as though working for him again. His emotions flared and frayed. Angry, he tapped the file folder. “Is this what’s been on your mind since you walked in the door?” He wanted to rip it in half without even seeing what was inside.
She closed the dishwasher with a bang. “Yes.” She came around the counter and walked past him. When she got down on her knees and reached under the couch, Roman’s st
Immediately on the defensive, he clenched his teeth. “That’s none of your business.”
“I’m sorry, but I’ve seen you shove this under the couch, and I was curious. And then when I saw the photos online—”
“What photos?”
She didn’t answer. Opening the book, she found what she was looking for and brought it to him. She put the sketchbook flat on the counter in front of him.
Roman glanced down. “The demon faces from my nightmares. What about them?”
Grace opened the folder and pulled out computer printouts of several pictures. He couldn’t read her expression when she looked at him. Disappointment? Fear? Confusion? “Are you the Bird, Roman?”
Roman felt exposed, vulnerable, ashamed. “It’s just something I’ve done over the years to deal with . . . whatever.” He took the file and closed it. “Just forget about it. It’s got nothing to do with you.”
“It says in one of the articles the police have a file on you. You could be arrested.”
He could tell her about the police officer who let him go. Instead, he felt cornered, defensive. “Thinking about turning me in?”
“No, but this tells me I don’t really know anything about you.”
“You know what’s important.” Not everything, not yet. “You know me better than anyone else on the planet, including Jasper.” Take a risk, Jasper had told him before leaving. Stop letting fear and anger rule your life. Stop allowing the past to rule your future. How much of what the Bird had done had come out of the helpless frustration he’d always felt, beginning with the night his mother walked out the door?
Grace looked on the verge of tears. “Who are you, Roman?”
Roman could hear Jasper’s voice. Let the walls down, Bobby Ray. Let her in. “I don’t know.” He waited for her to say something that would crush the heart of him, but her face changed. She looked at him with compassion.
“You’re an artist.” She spoke softly, with certainty. “I know that much about you.”
He was afraid to ask, but needed to know. “What are you going to do with what you know? About the Bird.”
“It’s your secret, not mine.”
“It’s ours now. Maybe you’ll feel better if I tell you I can’t fly anymore. I can’t outrun anyone. The tunnel was the last piece I’ll ever do.”
“Because I know?”
“Because I got caught that night. I saw everything I’ve worked for going up in smoke, and then he let me go.” He uttered a curse. “Everything has changed, Grace.”
“A near-death experience will do that to a person.” She touched his arm.
Maybe there was hope. “Yeah, but I’m not talking about that. It was coming on before that. I wanted more.”
“More of what?”
“Life.” He was close enough to touch her and did. Her breath caught. The skin of her throat felt like warm silk. “You want more, too, don’t you?”
She didn’t deny it, but she took a step back. “I work for you, Roman. We’re friends. Two people saved by God’s grace. That makes you my brother in Christ.”
He wasn’t going to let her get away with that. “I’m more than your boss or your brother, and you know it. I see it in your eyes every time you look at me.” When she turned her head away, Roman cupped her face. “Keep looking at me, Grace.”
“This isn’t a good idea.”
It was the best idea he’d ever had, and he wasn’t backing down. “The night you kissed Brian, I got the feeling you two were checking to see if there was any chemistry. Let’s see about us.”
Roman expected sparks, not a conflagration. Grace stiffened at first; then her body relaxed. He slipped an arm around her and pulled her closer, deepened the kiss. She tasted so good, he wanted more. She responded, and his body caught fire. When she pulled back, he didn’t want to let her go. She uttered a soft sound, and his arms loosened. Her hands clasped his shirt, her forehead resting against his chest. Her hair smelled like sunshine and spring blossoms. He ran his hands down her arms. They’d gotten their answer.
“I can’t . . .” Her voice sounded choked with tears. “I can’t do this, Roman.”
“We’re only kissing, Grace. I’m not going to do anything more than that until you’re ready.” She was still close enough for him to breathe in the scent of her. He could hardly draw breath, he wanted her so much. Slow down, Bobby Ray. Give her time to catch up. His hands moved to her waist, then down to her hips.
“Please.” She sucked in a breath. “Don’t.”
Which was it? When she drew back, he let her move away. He’d never had to coerce a woman, and he wasn’t going to now. With a little patience, they would get to where they both wanted to go.
Grace sank onto the couch. Her hands shook as she covered her face. “I have secrets, too, Roman.”
“I’m not looking for confessions, Grace.” Roman kept his distance until he had full control. Sitting on the coffee table in front of her, he took her hand. He lifted her chin. Her flushed cheeks and dark eyes told him everything he needed to know. “We have our answer, don’t we?” They were going to be good together—very, very good. “I think we should take our friendship to the next level.” He kissed her palm.
She relaxed slightly, her expression bemused, but hopeful. “What level do you mean?”
Roman held her hand between his. Was she shaking, or was he? He couldn’t remember ever being this scared, but her breathless silence reassured him. “More intimate.”
She looked momentarily confused; then understanding came. She slipped her hand from between his. “By intimate, you mean sex.” She spoke in a dull tone.
Why did she look so hurt? “I’m not suggesting a one-night stand. We can get to know each other better, see how things go.”
Grace stood and moved away from him. “I’m such an idiot!” She covered her face. “I’m a complete fool!”
Maybe the evening wasn’t going to end the way he hoped. “It’s the smart thing to do. Make sure we’re compatible. We’ll take our time and decide how far we want to go with this.”
She turned on him fiercely. “You want as little of me as you can have!”
“What are you talking about?” Didn’t she understand how he felt about her? “I want everything!”
“Everything? No, you don’t! You want the easy part. You don’t want the hard stuff, the things you can’t survive without real love, without God in the middle. You want my body, for sex, sure. But you don’t want the rest of me. The baggage I carry, the issues, the struggles, the insecurities, the pain. And you certainly don’t want Samuel!” She tried to step around him.
Roman blocked her way. Her anger roused his own, adding heat to frustration. If she wanted to let it all rip, so could he. “I’m not a youth pastor who’d make the perfect father. I didn’t even know mine. What do you want from me, Grace? Tell me!” When she started to cry, he felt ashamed. He put his hands on her shoulders, his voice softening. “Tell me.”
She shook his hands off, raised her head, eyes fierce. “I want a man who wants more than a friend with benefits!”
“Okay. Move in with me. We’ll work everything out.”
“It’s the same thing!”
“You’re in love with me, and you know it.”
“Yes, I love you, but that doesn’t mean I have to do anything about it!”
“What about Patrick? Didn’t you start that relationship in bed?” The words sprang from nowhere, and he knew he’d said the worst thing possible. He expected to feel the palm of her hand across his cheek. Instead, she stepped back, gaping, eyes flooding with tears.
“Yes. I suppose you could say that.” Her voice was quiet again, trembling, rational. “And you know how well that turned out.”
Roman caught her wrist. “You just admitted you’re in love with me, and now you’re leaving? Make me understand the logic.”
All the steam went out of her
Grace sobbed all the way back to the cottage. She was shaking, still pulsing with the emotions he’d stirred in her. How could she have allowed herself to fall in love with Roman Velasco? She’d known the minute she met him that he was trouble. She should have run that first day. She never should have given in to temptation and rented this cottage.
She couldn’t work for him anymore, not under these circumstances. If Roman came over right now, she’d weaken. She’d let him in, hoping he’d say he loved her. How easy it would be to convince herself everything he suggested would be fine. Wasn’t everyone doing it? Who got married anymore? A few more kisses would end whatever resistance she had. She’d never felt knee-weakening, heart-pounding desire for anyone before Roman, not ever. If he touched her again, she’d let him stay.
She’d let passion rule once before and paid the price. She was still paying.
Trembling, Grace phoned Shanice. “Can I come over and spend the night with you?”
Shanice expelled a foul word. “What’d Velasco do?”
“He kissed me. That’s all. But I’ve got to get out of here. Now.”
“Are you all right to drive? You sound—”
“Yes! I can drive!”
“Okay. Grab what you need and come. We’ll talk when you get here.”
Grace pulled her suitcase from the closet, tossed in several changes of clothing, toiletries, and her Bible. She packed her laptop and books in her backpack. Grabbing her keys, she went out the front door, locking it behind her. She’d have to come back and box everything else. Or could she arrange for someone to do it for her? Grace didn’t want to come within a mile of Roman Velasco. She couldn’t trust herself.