LITMIR.BIZ

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hunched a shoulder. “There was no one to visit. I’m an only child. My father died when I was twelve, and cancer took my mom just before I enlisted.”

      Bree sensed a whole world of pain behind those words. Reaching across the table, she took his hand. “I’m sorry.”

      He responded with a slight smile. “I’m thirty-four. Being on my own is what I do best.”

      “Coming from such a large extended family, I can’t imagine how that would feel.”

      Rylan looked around the spacious, elegantly furnished loft apartment. “I guess being a Colton has its advantages.” It was the same assumption many people made, but somehow it hurt more coming from him. As Bree made a movement to withdraw her hand, Rylan tightened his grip. “Hey.” His gaze scanned her face. “What did I say?”

      Usually, she avoided explanations, but his opinion mattered. “Thanks to my mom’s tenacity, my dyslexia was diagnosed early. I went to a public school for pupils with learning disabilities, not a private school. Our parents wanted to keep us grounded, so they made sure Trey and I had chores on the farm. I grew up loved and cherished, but I was taught that working hard, not money, is the key to success.” She cleared her throat. “So when I wanted to pursue art as a career, my mom and dad were unsure if I was capable of meeting the academic demands of a college course. To show them what I could do, I paid my own way through art school with a series of side jobs.”

      “I didn’t mean—”

      “I came into my inheritance on my twenty-fifth birthday. I’m now twenty-seven.” She waved a hand to indicate her surroundings. “The gallery, my business, my reputation, this apartment... You think I achieved all that in just over two years?”

      “Bree, I’m sorry.” Rylan caught hold of her free hand, stopping it from fluttering. He held both her hands in a strong, warm clasp. “I jumped to an incorrect conclusion, and I’ve offended you.”

      She exhaled slowly. “No, I’m the one who should apologize. I overreacted. Sometimes the name Colton can be a burden.”

      He bent his head, grazing the knuckles of her right hand lightly with his lips. The action sent pleasurable little bursts of heat shimmering along her nerve endings. “Tell me what you did.”

      “Hmm?” She’d been too focused on the sensation of his mouth on her flesh to concentrate on the words.

      “How did you build up your business before you came into your inheritance?”

      “Oh?” Were they still on that topic? “Even in art school, I was selling my own work for really good prices. I used the proceeds to buy new pieces, and before long, I was getting great returns on my investments.”

      He raised his brows in acknowledgment of her achievement and she allowed herself a little smile of pleasure.

      “I was also making a name for myself in the art world, showcasing my own work and that of other African American artists. That was how Wise Gal was born. When it came to finding a site for the gallery, real estate in the Diamond was low in price with incentives for new businesses, so it was the obvious place.”

      Rylan smiled. “Wise Gal? I figured it was a joke, but I can see it has a deeper meaning for you.”

      Bree nodded, pleased at his understanding. “Growing up in a family of overachievers was hard. I didn’t make those childhood milestones on time and, as a consequence, felt like I was always running faster than my cousins just to keep up.” She gave a self-conscious laugh. “While my family was worrying about me, I was always aware that being different is an important part of who I am. I don’t necessarily see my dyslexia as a gift, but I believe it is linked to my creativity. It may sound corny, but I feel my artistic vision is stronger than my ability to see characters on a page.”

      The way Rylan was looking at her made her breath catch in her throat. “That’s a very inspiring way to view your condition.”

      “You wouldn’t say that if you heard my language when I try to read without text-to-speech software,” she said. “But to return to your comment about the gallery name... Yes, it’s a play on words. I may not be a wise gal in the traditional sense, but the little Colton cousin who couldn’t speak in sentences until she was nearly five hasn’t done too badly.”

      “I’d say you’ve done very well.” Rylan’s voice was deep and smooth, like cream poured over chocolate. It made her insides melt.

      Conscious that she was gazing into his eyes and clutching his hands as if she might never let go, Bree roused herself from her trance. “Let’s take the dishes through to the kitchen, and I’ll load the machine.” Reluctantly, she stood. “The least I can do is take charge of the clean-up operation.”

      She was smiling up at him as she got to her feet, but the smile faded when he rose with her. His nearness was a dangerous reminder of an attraction that could easily spin out of control. With only inches between them, desire rippled through her, driving the breath from her lungs. She saw an answering flare in the depths of Rylan’s eyes.

      For an instant, his gaze hooked her and held her, refusing to let her go. Then he blinked, and the spell was broken.

      “I’ll make coffee.” His voice was slightly husky. “Point me in the direction of your machine.”

      “Follow me.” Bree carried their plates through to the open-plan kitchen. “I was out of coffee, but I got some from the store at lunch time.” She indicated a cabinet above the coffeemaker. “The new pack is in there.”

      As she bent to open the dishwasher, she heard Rylan searching through the shelves. After a minute or two, he closed the door. “I can’t find the coffee.”

      Bree straightened. “Are you one of those guys like my dad?” she teased. “If it doesn’t jump out at you the first time, you just give up?”

      “Ahem.” He crooked a finger at her. “Come and find it for me, wise gal.”

      Chuckling, Bree went to stand beside him. Since she knew exactly where she had placed the coffee, she suspected this was a ruse to get her close to him. If so, she was happy to play along.

      Except...where was the coffee? She turned her head, frowning at Rylan over her shoulder. “It was right here.” She indicated the empty spot on the shelf where she had placed the new pack of coffee beans earlier that day.

      “Hey.” He put his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. “It’s not a problem. There’s an all-night convenience store on Second Street, right? I can just—”

      “It’s not that.” She stopped biting her lip long enough to blurt out what was bothering her. “This has happened twice today.”

      His grip tightened slightly. “You’ve already lost your coffee once before now?” Although the words were light, his gaze was intent.

      “No.” Quickly, Bree told him about the incident with her recorder. She brought her hands up across her body to grip her forearms. “I think of my brain as a filing cabinet. Because I’m dyslexic, the drawers weren’t labeled properly when I was born. That means I have to be extra organized. If I’m not, I can file something in the wrong drawer and lose it forever. I don’t make mistakes like this.”

      “You’re under a lot of pressure with a big show coming up,” Rylan reminded her.

      She tilted her chin. “I accepted what happened with the recorder as a mistake on my part for just that reason. Maybe I mislaid it, and someone found it and returned it to my office. But this?” She gestured to the empty space in the cupboard. “I know I bought coffee, and I know I put it right there.”

      “Does anyone else have a key to your apartment?” Rylan asked.

      “Only my mother, but why would she come down here without telling me just to move my coffee?” The question struck her as so ridiculous that she had to bite back a laugh, even though she didn’t find the situation

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