What do you think?
Rate this book


105 pages, Kindle Edition
First published May 12, 2012
This week they had together was an opportunity. A chance for both of them to step outside the cages they'd made for themselves - cages of loneliness.

"The portrait had been painted by her father, the famous artist, and he had captured his subject perfectly. Sarah had looked exactly like this in high school. Beautiful and intelligent, with a face like eager flame behind a veneer of shyness.
He’d never been able to break through that shyness. All his life, his money and good looks had been enough to charm everyone he’d ever met…except for Sarah. She was the only girl who’d ever haunted his dreams, and he’d never made a dent in her reserve. During the four years they’d gone to high school together he could hardly get her to talk to him, much less go out with him.
Her first instinct was to run and hide, as if she were a little girl instead of a grown woman. Her eyes actually went to the exits, as if she were planning her getaway.
Then she took a deep breath. What was she thinking? She needed to pull herself together and go say hello.
And she would. Any second now.
Move, feet. Move.
If she’d been prepared to see him, she would have taken the time to put on emotional layers of protection—enough to cultivate a polite, relaxed demeanor and a friendly smile. But as it was, she felt awkward and exposed, as if she were back in high school again with a secret crush on the most unattainable guy on the planet.
Her palms were actually sweating.
“Sarah.”
She glanced up at him, admiring the way the candlelight drew out a gleam in his blue eyes. In this light they looked almost navy.
“Yes?”
“What if I told you there was a way you could have that painting?”
For a moment she just stared at him. What could he possibly...
Oh, no.
“If you’re thinking about giving it to me, just forget it. There’s no way, and I mean none, that I would let you do that. I didn’t tell you all that stuff about my family to make you feel sorry for me, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
She sounded almost fierce when she made that little speech, and Keith raised his eyebrows.
“I wasn’t thinking that. And I’m not planning on giving you the portrait. Far from it.”
She frowned. “I can’t afford to pay you a million, and selling it to me for what I could afford—maybe ten thousand, if I’m lucky—would be the same as giving it to me for free. I’m not your charity case, Keith.”
He leaned forward across the table towards her. “The museum has the portrait for one more week. When the week is up, I’ll have the painting delivered to you. I’ll transfer ownership to you legally. It will be yours.”
“I told you, Keith, I—”
“Don’t you want to hear my price before you reject it?”
She sat back in her chair and folded her arms. “Fine.”
“In exchange, for one week, you’ll live with me in my house. During the day, you can do whatever you want. There’s a gym, an indoor pool, a library, a home theater. There’s a study where you can write, and I have a chef who’ll cook you anything you want to eat. But at night...” he paused for a moment. “At night, you have to do whatever I want.”

