Because even though she was going to leave him no matter what he said, no matter how much he begged, at least she would have known that he'd been a tiny bit upset to see her go. Especially after the greatest sex known to mankind.
But he didn't do any of that. He didn't get out of bed. Instead he reached into the drawer on his bedside table and pulled out a key. He threw it to her, and she nearly fumbled it in her surprise.
"Go ahead and let yourself into the gallery. I've got to head over to the farmer's market for a plein-air demonstration."
Moments later, the bathroom door closed behind him and she was left standing in his bedroom, holding a key to his gallery. She couldn't believe it. She'd served as his muse, inspired him to I greatness on canvas, and now he couldn't be bothered to make her a cup of coffee.
He was giving her exactly what she'd said she wanted: her freedom. And yet a part of her wished she could stay in bed with him forever.
It was a good thing that she wasn't the kind of woman who would ever let herself care about a man. Because if she had been, someone could have called what she was feeling heartbreak.
SAM FORCED HIMSELF TO TURN on the shower, to stand under the scalding hot water until he was absolutely certain that Vanessa had gone. It killed him not to chase after her, to beg her to give him a chance, to tell her he'd change everything to fit into her world.
But he knew better. He'd done that before and it hadn't worked. More to the point, it hadn't been right. Thank God Marissa hadn't stuck with him. She wasn't a tenth of the woman that Vanessa was. He hadn't told Vanessa that he loved her before she'd left.
There would have been no point in that. She wouldn't have believed him. Worse, she would have used those three simple words against him. She would have to discover it for herself, back in San Francisco. Over time she'd have to realize that they had something real, something special. That he understood her. And that a love like theirs was worth lowering her defenses for.
But he'd have to let her get there alone.
Only she wouldn't be alone. There'd be men sniffing after her everywhere she went. And he was certain she'd go home with at least one of them. That she'd try to erase him from her heart with another guy. The vision of her with some jerk who didn't deserve her was almost enough to break him. The only thing for him to do was to keep at his work. He pulled on his paint-spattered jeans and told himself to get over it already. If he wanted to be with her, he'd have to be willing to deal with Vanessa as she was. Frightened. Bold. Beautiful.
He headed out his front door to walk the two blocks to his gallery and studio. A part of him feared that he'd be dead to the world when Vanessa left, but it was just the opposite. The air had never smelled better. The sky had never been so blue. He'd never been this ready to paint.
She had brought him back to life.
Rounding the corner to his gallery, he braced himself for the empty space in the window, knowing that Vanessa would have already come and taken the painting. Instead what he saw took his breath away. She'd replaced Marissa with herself. He smiled. He should have known she'd do that. Already, people were gathering at the window, commenting on the vivid colors, the passion. He wasn't ready to deal with them yet, so he ducked into the alley and grabbed a stack of blank canvases and an empty stand from the barn. Months ago, when he'd agreed to do a plein-air painting demonstration at the Napa Farmer's Market, he'd titled it Wine, Women & Seduction. That was some crazy foresight.
He quickly set up and mixed paints. He was usually slightly self-conscious when he had to paint in front of so many strangers. .' Today, they fell away into a background that he didn't see, that he wasn't aware of. The only thing he could see was Vanessa. In his bed. In his vineyard. In his gallery. On his canvas.
EIGHT
ONE MONTH LATER Vanessa sat in her office, Marissa on the wall behind her. She didn't usually come in on Sunday-a day reserved for a good time, preferably in bed with some boy toy she'd picked up Saturday night-but she'd just returned from Sunday brunch with Rose and Carrie and hadn't been able to think of anything better to do. So she'd picked up a copy of the Sunday Chronicle and let herself into the bright, empty office. All of her employees were probably in the park with their husbands and babies or hungover after a late night of partying.
Vanessa felt too old, not to mention disinterested, to stay up all night anymore. As for the husbands and babies, well, they had never been in the picture.
As it was, there'd been enough gushing from her two best friends about their new men and how wonderful they were and how every second was better than the next. She had barely been able to eat her waffles. Her sugar and spice quota was full for the day, thanks.
That first week after they'd returned from Napa, she'd resisted the temptation to call Sam. Sure, Carrie and Rose thought they'd found their own Mr. Right. But Vanessa had been certain that she was the only one of the three of them who wouldn't end up with a broken heart. Just like always.
But then, one week had turned to two. Two had turned to three.
Rose and Carrie had fallen even more in love. And Sam hadn't called.
Vanessa hadn't been able to bring herself to sleep with any of the guys who'd taken her out. And then the invitation had come. Sam was having a show at a gallery less than one block from her office. She'd grabbed the invitation out of her assistant's hands and locked herself in her office. He wanted to see her. He wanted her to come. To be there. With him.
But then she'd seen who'd actually sent the card. The owner of the gallery had been one of her first PR clients. He'd asked her to come. Not Sam.
She'd shoved the embossed card through her shredder. It had felt as if her heart had gone with it. She hadn't mentioned Sam's show to her friends. They hadn't known that it was today. That she'd practically been counting down the minutes until it began.
Until it was over.
They knew her well enough to have kept Sam out of the conversation. Or maybe it had been because she'd bitten off their heads on the couple of occasions when they'd asked about him, asked about her weekend. Both Carrie and Rose had seen the paintings of her at his gallery, and Vanessa knew they had to have been talking about her behind her back.
That was perfectly okay with her, so long as she didn't have to say his name.
Or think about him ever again.
Vanessa wasn't a total bitch, so of course she was happy that they thought they'd found their soul mates. Rose, who never did anything without weeks of careful deliberation, had moved in with Jack immediately. But Vanessa knew San Francisco had never been a good fit for her. It was simply where her accounting degree had taken her. Already, Rose had started a bookkeeping business in Napa with the barest of help from her hot chef fiance, who pretty much knew every business owner in town.