Mistress to the Tycoon Read online

  Then what was it about this guy that had her wishing for something more? Wishing for an easygoing companion at the end of a hard day to listen to her rambling, to send her an encouraging smile when she needed it, to tease her?

  ‘We’re done,’ she said all-too-briskly, snapping shut her box of charcoals and running a weary hand over her eyes, more to block out the sight of Cooper’s body than anything else.

  Now that she’d stopped working, seeing him almost naked took on an intimate connotation. The last thing she wanted or needed was to associate the words ‘naked’ and ‘intimate’ with him.

  After all, she had at least another four sittings till the painting was complete.

  ‘Great.’

  He slid off the stool and she quickly averted her gaze, not wanting to see any more than she had to.

  ‘So is it finished?’

  ‘What?’

  She sank back onto her ergonomic seat, blowing on the annoying curl that consistently fell across her eyes no matter how much she moussed, gelled or waxed it, relieved he’d popped behind the screen in record time.

  ‘The painting. I take it I’m all done here?’

  His voice drifted over the screen and she closed her eyes to savour the rich timber.

  Great. Apart from needing to get out more, maybe she should air the studio a bit better. The paint and turpentine fumes were definitely affecting her.

  ‘You really haven’t done this before, have you?’

  ‘Uh…no.’

  He emerged from behind the screen and his presence struck her anew, his appeal not diminished in the slightest by clothes. Especially now she knew exactly what lay beneath.

  ‘Well, let me clue you in. You sit, I sketch, draw, paint, whatever it takes to get this baby done. Tonight, I sketched your basic form but there’s a lot more to be done.’

  Like sketch his whole form. But she wouldn’t think about that right now.

  ‘I don’t think—’

  ‘You’re not paid to think, you’re paid to sit. So, how does tomorrow evening suit you?’

  By the pained expression on his handsome face, it looked as if he equated having a wisdom tooth pulled without anaesthetic to posing for her again and she rushed on, not giving him an opportunity to refuse.

  ‘No problems? Good. See you here at seven. You know the way out.’

  Ariel bolted up the stairs to her apartment, waiting for the front door to shut before sidling down again.

  After the inane chatter and light banter she’d exchanged with Cooper, the gallery’s silence seemed almost oppressive.

  Sighing, she flicked off the light switches, secured the front door and headed for the stairs.

  However, the lure of seeing what she’d achieved pulled her towards her easel. Usually, she preferred to leave her work overnight and appraise it with a fresh eye in the morning, but not this time.

  Maybe it was the unusual subject she’d worked with, maybe it was professional curiosity, but, whatever drew her to the myriad sketches she’d done of Cooper, the minute she laid eyes on what she’d drawn she wished she hadn’t looked.

  Though usually modest about her work, she’d captured the curve of his jaw, his high cheekbones, the breadth of his chest and his strong arms perfectly.

  She inhaled sharply, half expecting the sketch to come to life and step off the paper and into her empty life.

  It wasn’t so much the thought of a guy like Cooper entering her life that scared her as much as the thought she might like it.

  ‘How did things go with the Wallace woman? Get anywhere?’

  Cooper nodded and handed his father a strong black, sugarless coffee just the way Eric Vance liked it. ‘We met. I’m making inroads.’

  Cooper hid a cynical grin behind his coffee mug, still not quite believing what had happened last night.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean? Is she ready to sell? Because that’s all I’m interested in, the bottom line here. That woman’s been the bane of my existence for the last twelve months and if you’re not up to the job, I’ll find someone who is.’

  His father glowered for extra effect, drank the scalding coffee in one go, yanked his leather chair out from behind his desk and plopped into it, his scowl deepening by the second.

  ‘Rather than scare her off by barging in there, I’m taking a softer approach.’ Unlike you, Cooper thought, but wisely kept that gem to himself.

  Thankfully, he was nothing like his dad in the business arena, which was precisely why he had to get out of the company, the sooner the better.

  ‘Waste of time,’ Eric snapped, grabbing the nearest object, which happened to be a gold pen, and tapping it relentlessly against the edge of his blackwood desk. ‘Damn woman is stringing us along, hoping to get more cash out of us.’

  Cooper stiffened. Though he hardly knew Ariel, she was nothing like the mercenary vulture his dad had made her out to be. From the top of her mussed curls to the bottom of her pale blue painted toenails, she’d appeared genuine, an artiste doing it tough but with a pretty clear goal: keep her gallery open in memory of its original owner, a family member.

  Honourable enough, but then where did that leave him?

  He couldn’t weaken over this, no matter how much he’d admired Ariel and her convictions.

  He had dreams of his own to build, starting with obtaining the very property she was trying to save.

  ‘I’m handling it,’ Cooper said, avoiding his father’s assessing stare by striding to the huge glass windows overlooking Flinders Street Station and the Art Centre Spire behind it.

  He loved Melbourne, really loved the hip, cosmopolitan feel of the city, the multicultural restaurants, the architecture. He’d acquired and developed many buildings since completing his MBA and each completed deal had brought him immense satisfaction.

  Then why the slight niggle that obtaining the last prime bit of real estate in trendy Brunswick Street, Fitzroy, wouldn’t be the be-all and end-all he’d first thought?

  His father’s sinister chuckle didn’t reassure him. ‘You’re handling it, huh? Well, take as long as you like. I’m not the one who proposed some stupid deal in the first place.’

  Cooper slowly clenched and unclenched his fists, hating how his father baited him on a daily basis, hating how it had come to this.

  ‘We’ve talked about this. It’s way past time I branched out on my own.’

  ‘Fool idea! We can be a team here, and when I retire this whole company is yours.’

  With Eric being a fit fifty-five, retirement was a long way off. Besides, Cooper was through working with dear old Dad.

  ‘It’s time I left and we both know it.’

  Eric’s eyes narrowed to cold, hard slits, his mutinous expression reminiscent of every time Cooper had disagreed with him since he’d turned ten. ‘You signed a two-year contract when you first started. You’ve been here less than a year. I could make things tough for you.’

  Cooper controlled his voice, hating the urge to shout. They’d had this same conversation every day for the last week, ever since his dad had failed to buy the gallery for the umpteenth time and Cooper had seized on the idea as his way out.

  ‘Cut the empty threats. I seal the Brunswick deal, I’m out of my contract and on my own. You agreed, remember?’

  ‘Of course I remember. You seem to think I’m stupid. Now, I’ve had enough of your brilliant ideas. Sit down and bring me up to speed with the Docklands deal.’

  Shaking his head, Cooper turned away from the window and took a seat opposite his dad, who glared at him with angry blue eyes and a perpetual frown.

  They’d been so close once: him and Dad. Laurel and Hardy, bouncing jokes off each other, getting a kick out of the same stuff: football, old western films, sailing. The Vance guys on top of their game.

  His dad used to laugh a lot then, thriving on the thrill of an acquisition, sharing his success with him, enjoying a quiet celebratory beer together after work. Fishing holidays, blokes’ weekends-away.<
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  Then Cooper had joined the firm and started to make his own success in the business arena and his dad had changed. For the worse.

  ‘The Docklands deal is almost completed. Contracts are in the legal department as we speak. So once I’ve got Ariel Wallace’s go ahead and I wrap up the Brunswick deal, that’s it. I’m done.’

  For a second, something close to anguish flashed in his father’s eyes. Before Cooper could fathom it, Eric blinked and his latent anger quickly replaced any other expression Cooper might’ve imagined.

  ‘You’ll never make it on your own.’

  Cooper stood abruptly, keeping a tight leash on any number of fiery retorts and headed for the door and the sanctity of his own office.

  ‘We’ll see, Dad. We’ll see,’ he said, more determined than ever to get the deal done with Ariel Wallace.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘CIAO,bella. How’s my favourite artist today?’

  Sofia Montessori breezed into Colour by Dreams, her plump figure swathed in head to toe crimson, making her look like a ripe tomato. Ariel loved colour and Sofia’s vibrant wardrobe never failed to brighten her day.

  ‘I’m fine. How’s life in the fast lane?’

  ‘I can’t complain. You know how it is. Places to go, people to meet, men to impress.’

  ‘Actually, I don’t know,’ Ariel said, bracing for the onslaught of Sofia’s suffocating hugs and smacking kisses on both cheeks, smiling when she saw the usual matchmaking gleam in Sofia’s dark eyes. ‘And I like it that way!’

  Sofia threw her hands up in the air and looked towards the heavens. ‘Santa Maria! You are young, you are beautiful. You should be partying, meeting men your own age, dancing the night away—’

  ‘I’d rather paint the night away.’ Ariel quickly cut in, knowing that once Sofia got on a roll, she’d be here all day. ‘Speaking of which, I started on your commission last night. Want to take a look?’

  ‘Sí. I want to see this life portrait that my sister is so keen on hanging in her house. Can you imagine, a naked man in the dining room? Ha! Enough to put me off my ravioli. But it’s Maria’s fortieth birthday and it’s all she’s talked about since she visited the National Art Gallery and what my baby sister wants she shall get.’

  Sofia rolled her eyes and puffed out her cheeks in disgust and Ariel chuckled at her theatrics, knowing full well the rich Italian woman had a reputation as a connoisseur of younger men. Sofia was excited about this portrait and would probably order one for herself once she got a good look at Ariel’s subject.

  ‘I’ve only done a few preliminary sketches but you’ll get the general idea,’ Ariel said, pushing through the bead curtain leading to her studio and holding it up for Sofia to pass through, slightly nervous about the woman’s reaction.

  She rarely showed anyone her work before the final canvas but this was different. Sofia was paying her a small fortune and she didn’t want anything to go wrong. She desperately needed the money. Like yesterday.

  ‘They’re over here.’

  Ariel needn’t have pointed. She knew the exact moment Sofia laid eyes on the sketches of Cooper.

  ‘Mamma mia! Who is that?’

  ‘That is the gift you’re giving Maria.’

  Ariel’s casual wave of her hand didn’t fool Sofia for a second.

  ‘Bella, I know what that is. I want to know who that is.’

  Ariel laughed at the predatory gleam in Sofia’s eyes, which were round as pasta bowls.

  ‘The model’s name is Cooper. That’s all I know.’

  Actually, that was a lie.

  She knew a heck of a lot more than that. Such as the way his blue eyes hid some sort of secret, as if he were ashamed of modelling.

  And the way his muscles rippled when he moved.

  And the way his deep voice had made her feel: like a woman who didn’t have responsibilities, like a woman who could forget everything for the glimpse of his smile.

  Sheesh! She really needed to start wearing a face mask to block the studio fumes from frying her brain.

  ‘Bellissimo! This Cooper is gorgeous, no?’

  ‘No. Yes. Oh, you know what I mean,’ Ariel said, turning away from her sketches before her cheeks flushed crimson like Sofia’s.

  She didn’t like admitting Cooper was gorgeous even if it was a fact. To her, the guy was work. A means to an end.

  She just hoped she remembered it tonight when she had to sketch his bottom half.

  ‘Is there more?’

  Sofia’s plucked eyebrows wiggled suggestively and Ariel knew exactly how much ‘more’ the older woman wanted to see.

  ‘No, I haven’t got to that part yet.’

  And despite her earlier intentions not to blush, heat surged into her cheeks.

  Sofia’s ear-splitting grin didn’t help. ‘Ah…but I’m sure you’re looking forward to it. If that part is as impressive as the rest, we’re all in for a treat, no?’

  ‘No!’

  Sofia cackled and slipped an arm around her shoulders, the heady combination of expensive floral perfume and hairspray tickling Ariel’s nose.

  ‘You are a sweet girl, bambina. Why won’t you accept money from me rather than paint men’s bits?’

  ‘We’ve been through this,’ Ariel said, slipping from Sofia’s claustrophobic embrace and crossing to an open window. ‘You’re a wonderful, kind woman but I can’t accept your charity. I need to do this on my own.’

  Sofia clucked and shook her head, sending mushrooms of hair product into the air while her bouffant didn’t move a millimetre. ‘Barb wouldn’t have wanted you running yourself into the ground to keep the gallery open. She loved you too much.’

  ‘And that’s exactly why I have to continue her work. I’ve got Chelsea Lynch’s first show coming up next week and Chelsea’s exactly the type of local talent Barb would’ve busted a gut for. Chelsea’s had a tough life, brought up on the streets around here, making good, finally doing something with her life. I need to be there for her, for all of them.’

  Just as Aunt Barb had been there for her.

  What the kind-hearted woman had ever seen in a rebellious eight-year-old street urchin Ariel would never know. From the first minute Barb had found her sleeping out the back of the gallery, wrapped in a paint-splattered canvas, Ariel had known nothing but patience and understanding and love.

  She’d been one of the lucky ones and now it was her turn to give something back.

  ‘You are a saint,’ Sofia said, kissing her fingertips and blowing the kiss towards her.

  ‘At the price I’m charging you for this commission, you think?’

  Ariel’s gaze drifted towards the sketches of Cooper, wondering if her luck had finally changed when he’d walked in the door last night.

  For her, art was about beauty, and though life portraits came in many shapes and forms, she knew that working with a perfect subject like Cooper would do a lot more for her inspiration than painting some recalcitrant, skinny guy.

  And who knew? With a portrait of a great looking subject like Cooper hanging in the house of one of Melbourne’s richest women, she might get inundated with commissions, meaning she could teach more classes, support more shows and do more for the local charities.

  She’d make sure this was her best work, bits or not, if it killed her.

  ‘Your work is beautiful, bambina. You don’t charge nearly enough. Uh-uh!’ Sofia held up a hand when Ariel opened her mouth to refute this. ‘I will not hear another word. You do this painting for me, we talk some more then. Now, I must go. Antonio is taking me to a divine new trattoria in Lygon Street.’

  ‘And who’s Antonio?’

  ‘A very sweet boy.’ Sofia batted her long, mascara’d eyelashes and Ariel laughed, knowing Antonio would be young, handsome and pliable. ‘Ciao, bella. You have fun with your model, no?’

  ‘No,’ Ariel muttered, returning Sofia’s continental kiss-on-each-cheek and hoping she could complete this portrait in record time.

  Havin
g fun with the model was the furthest thing from her mind.

  At least, it should be.

  Cooper stood outside the gallery, admiring the wide windows, cream rendered walls and green fretwork. He’d been past this site a thousand times over the last few months—even when his dad had been handling the acquisition through the local council. Each time, he’d been more intent on assessing the gallery’s street position and how the space could be developed than aesthetics.

  Colour by Dreams.

  A nice name.

  A name of hope and imagination and creativity.

  Shame he had to tear it all down.

  He’d never had qualms about business before, no point starting now, even if the gallery’s owner had piqued his interest.

  Pushing through the front door, he dodged the ridiculous wind chimes signalling his entry and hoped Ariel was in a receptive mood.

  He had to tell her the truth before this farce went any further. Lying didn’t sit well with him and he’d always been scrupulously honest in past deals.

  Though where had that got him? Bound to his dad with the same ironclad contract all Vance employees signed, trying to be the best he could and now determined to get out.

  ‘Hi, you’re right on time.’

  Ariel strolled into the gallery from the back, having little trouble with the silly beads dividing the rooms and he faltered, staggered by the power of her smile and the glint in her sparkling eyes.

  Tonight, she wore a white ruffled shirt, a plum crushed velvet vest, black pleated shorts and pink wedges that made her legs look impossibly long. A crazy ensemble, which would’ve looked ridiculous on any other woman but on Ariel it looked like haute couture. She wore her clothes with aplomb and he smiled, thinking an eye patch wouldn’t have looked out of place with her rakish pirate get-up.

  ‘Something funny?’

  ‘No, just admiring your outfit.’

  To his amazement, she blushed, the hint of pink accentuating the green of her eyes and the rich gold of her hair, which she wore in a high pony-tail.

  With her straightforward manner and sassy mouth, he hadn’t thought she’d be prone to blushing.