Covered In Paint: Book Five of the Art Of Love Series Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Title Page

  Edition License Notice

  What others are saying

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Covered In Paint

  Book Five of the Art of Love Series

  by

  Donna McDonald

  * * * * *

  Copyright 2015 by Donna McDonald

  Cover by LFD Designs for Authors

  Edited by The Proof Is In The Reading

  Edition License Notice

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should delete it from your own device and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is coincidental.

  This book contains content that may not be suitable for young readers 17 and under.

  What others are saying about this book

  Covered in Paint took me by the heart. Brooke and Drake’s love story mixes humor, romance, and true-to-life drama in such an expert way that even after the close of the story, I wanted to remain in their world. As a breast cancer survivor myself, I found Brooke's experience reminiscent of my own situation. Donna McDonald adds an engaging and inspiring voice to contemporary romance, and I can’t wait to get my hands on her next one.

  ~ Cherie Marks, breast cancer survivor and contemporary romance author of Into the Fire

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to Kathy L. and Cherie M. for sharing their survivor stories.

  Thanks to JM, Robyn, and AJ for their steadfast faith that I would eventually finish the hardest book I’ve ever tried to write.

  Thanks to my husband, Bruce, for his constant love and understanding of what it is like to have to write when the urge hits. You are truly a hero to me.

  Dedication

  This book is for my daughter, Leslie (1979-2010), whose happily ever after did not get to last very long in her short, wonderful life. Cancer won in your case, but that outcome was never how I would have told your story had it been in my power to change your fate. Wherever you are, I hope you can see how well your children and family are doing. They are loved and you are missed, but not forgotten. Your daughter looks just like you did at her age. I hope you know we honored your last requests and set the dark days aside. When we think of you, we always, always remember only the best of what you were.

  This book is also for all the hard-core fans of the Art Of Love Series. Art comes only when it’s ready to find its form in the world. Thanks for waiting while I worked through my artistic challenges with writing this one. You are the reason I never gave up.

  Chapter 1

  Drake always found early mornings were the best time to work out on the sun porch that served as his artist’s studio. Free of both blinds and curtains, light poured in through the windows, but still barely lit up the faint gray lines on his canvas this morning. Turning forty had not been kind to his vision. He’d even had to start using reading glasses to do his administrative tasks at work. It seemed like his eyes were prone to straining these days, no matter how good the light, especially when he was drawing.

  He was still in the pencil stage of his latest painting, trying to get the shape of his subject’s shoulders right before he worried about skin color, tone, and texture. His task was made more difficult by the fact he was still having to use his imagination too much. He’d never physically seen the shoulders he was trying to draw, though it wasn’t for lack of wanting to see them. Life had intervened—over and over—preventing the opportunity. His son, who was now in the process of moving back home, was a magnet for crisis after crisis.

  There had been a myriad of foiled attempts to date the beautiful, sharp-tongued, but ever so alluring Dr. Brooke Daniels. Well, maybe not exactly a myriad—maybe more like three or four—if you counted social occasions. But whatever the number, it was still too many times to keep failing. When he was feeling most sorry for himself, Drake wondered if he and Brooke were simply fated never to connect. Then his mind returned to fantasizing about seeing her naked. Bad timing could be fixed. Right?

  Attraction like the kind he had for Brooke had only come to him twice in his life. He wasn’t going to give up on it just because it wasn’t happening the way he wanted. Maturity had to count for something when it came to women.

  “You’ve turned me into a damn teenager again, Brooke. I’m more obsessed with you than my college age son has ever been over a female,” Drake informed the feminine outline taking shape.

  Abandoning her shoulders, he moved his attention to adding her hair, his steady fingers deftly cascading it down her back in long, sweeping strokes. Lifting his pencil to inspect his efforts, Drake decided he’d at least gotten one feature perfect. Of course, Brooke’s hair had looked just like his rendering nearly every time he’d ever seen her.

  Getting the color right when he added paint was going to be the real challenge. Brooke’s hair was a hundred shades of red and brown living next to each other on her head. Various groups of silky strands caught different amounts of light with every animated turn of her stubborn chin.

  When the timer on the microwave dinged in the next room, Drake forced himself to set the pencil down in the easel tray. Years of splitting the artist off from the professor had given him a precise discipline. It was eight o’clock. Time to dress and head to work. His commute was a brisk hike of forty-five minutes. He liked to be in his office by nine thirty. His arrival was timed for just after the class rush because it gave him time to settle into his office before staff and students started making demands.

  “See you tonight, Gorgeous. I’ll work on your shoulders again if the light is decent.”

  He laughed a little at himself for talking so much to his paintings. Maybe he should have taken Brandon’s advice and gotten a dog when his son had gone off to college in another state. He’d lived alone so long now without any adult companionship, he tended to share his random thoughts with whatever inanimate object was closest.

  Of course, Brandon was moving back so he’d have company again soon, at least temporarily. The thought should have thrilled him, but he’d been trying for over five months to get all the crazy in his life aligned so he could date. He hadn’t asked Brooke out again because he wanted to damn well not leave the woman stranded at the end of another evening.

  Shaking his head at his self-pitying thoughts, Drake decided he really needed to get more of a life.

  ***

  Brooke lifted her fork from her salad, glad now she’d opted for lunch instead of agreeing to dinner. Dr. Greg Jensen was extremely good looking, but also extremely boring. She had spent the last for
ty-five minutes listening to his non-stop chatter about his work, his life, and—shudder—his ex-wife leaving him in the middle of the night.

  Greg was within a few years of her age. His cheek revealed an attractive dimple when he smiled, except it only happened about things he said. What was she thinking? Her instincts had warned lunch was a bad idea, but had she listened to her instincts? No. Now she was stuck being polite and pretending interest, at least until her salad was finished.

  The guy her mother had dated before Will should have been her clue to stay away from math teachers. He’d been equally good looking…and equally lame. The guy hadn’t even been able to look at one of her mother’s glass vaginas without cringing. Not that she felt all that comfortable around them either, but if she’d been trying to sleep with the person who created them, she’d at least have faked some interest.

  Brooke sighed at her disappointment and pushed her long hair back behind her shoulders. Looks definitely were not everything…or even the most important thing. You’d think she would have learned that after all the great-looking law students she’d dated in college.

  When Greg smiled at her, she smirked back. The nuance of her facial expression didn’t even faze him.

  “This has been great, Brooke. We should do lunch more often. I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun talking to a woman.”

  Brooke sighed again when the man flashed her his perfect-toothed smile. They might have made pretty babies together if she’d had any faith the man would stop talking long enough to provide her with great, baby-making sex. Her quiet snort at her own thoughts signaled just how much derision she had about the man addressing her. She would never be happy with anyone who held the capacity Greg Jensen did to ignore her so well physically. The man’s gaze had never strayed from hers as he rambled on and on about his trials and achievements.

  “Well, I better get back to my office and collect my books. I’ve got class in a few minutes,” Brooke said, rising from her chair.

  “Really? I hate that you have to leave so soon. Now I’m sorry I talked so much and didn’t get to hear more about you. I never even asked if you were enjoying teaching psychology at UK. I know the social sciences chair—Dr. Angel—great guy.”

  Brooke piled her mangled napkin and the rest of her dishes on the cafeteria tray before glaring at her lunch companion. “I teach philosophy, Greg.”

  Without saying anything more, not even goodbye, she turned on her heel and walked away. She wasn’t really mad at the man’s mistake about her field of study—well okay, maybe she was a bit miffed since he’d been the one who’d pursued—but mostly she was just desperately disappointed. It had been months since she’d gone out with Drake and longer since she’d had any intimacy. The date with Drake had ended up being just another aborted evening with the man, but he could have at least tried to keep her hope of a sexual relationship between them alive by scheduling coffee now and again.

  His kiss goodbye as he’d rushed away still tingled…damn it.

  All she wanted was one night in his bed. Just one. Maybe it would cure her obsession, which obviously had her unfairly writing off all the handsome Greg Jensens in the world as bed partners. But she’d be damned if she went crawling to Drake and begging for it. Call it pride or stubbornness or whatever. The man knew she was interested in sleeping with him. She’d both told him and shown him. How long did he intend to make her wait?

  Something had to give. Brooke just didn’t know what.

  Shane had felt sorry for her and tried to fix her up with his friend, Joe. Yet even before she’d gone to have dinner at Shane’s to meet him, she had pretty much decided she wouldn’t be happy dating a fellow redhead. Even as charmed as she’d been by Joe’s genuine good-natured sense of humor, she couldn’t bring herself to flirt her way to a follow-up. They joked and laughed. That’s as far as it got. Plus, she’d caught the more-than-casually-interested expression on his face every time someone talked about the kids’ aunt who was apparently struggling to adjust to a new job of some sort. Maybe she was wrong about the vibe she got from Joe about being interested in the missing woman, but she didn’t think so. She was usually pretty good at reading people.

  Will and her mother were settling into marriage. Time in their company made her wistful about having no marital prospects.

  Being around Carrie and Michael wasn’t any help either. Michael’s long ponytail reminded her too much of Drake’s shorter one for her to not think of him whenever she was in their company for long. With a baby on the way, Michael and Carrie were getting nervous and had become too tight a unit to have room for comforting the lonely stepsister.

  There was just no reprieve for her love-wise, not with nearly everyone in her new family oozing marital bliss. Being constantly exposed to that kind of lasting happiness was precisely why she hadn’t resorted to picking someone up in a bar and getting a quick fix. Plus her obsession was too large and had taken over too much of her brain. It would be beyond embarrassing to be calling Drake’s name with some other man.

  But if something didn’t happen soon, she was going to be the crankiest philosophy teacher that ever walked the halls on campus.

  Chapter 2

  Drake sighed at the boxes lining one wall of his long hallway before adding one to a stack. The brownstone he rented had been divided into two sections shortly before he moved in. Though smaller and less well laid out, he had asked for the bottom floor because it had a four season sunroom off the back, which could double as an art studio. Today that decision offered a bigger blessing because it also meant he didn’t have to climb stairs lugging Brandon’s stuff.

  He blew out a breath when his son carried in two more boxes. His obvious frustration with the clutter had his son laughing and offering a typical Brandon-esque shrug of unconcern.

  “Tell me that’s the last of your things,” Drake ordered.

  Brandon laughed at the panic on his father’s face. “Don’t worry about the mess, Dad. I’m going to look for my own place soon. This move-in with you is strictly temporary. I’m just glad Sedrick was willing to detour through Cambridge and help me get it all home.”

  Huffing out another breath, Drake ran a tired hand over his unshaven jaw. Yes, he’d also been grateful for the generosity from Brandon’s friend. It had saved him a very long and lonely trip up north and back.

  “You’re my son, and I love you. I’m not upset about you moving back home. In fact, it was actually relieving to me until I saw your stuff. Now I’m just wondering if Harvard cleaned out their dorm basement into your car. How could you possibly be coming home with twice the crap you left with? You weren’t even gone a full year.”

  Brandon shrugged and laughed at his father’s teasing. “It’s really not as bad as it looks. I’m just a lousy packer.”

  Drake grinned. “For both our sakes, I hope that’s the truth.”

  He started toward the kitchen, then stopped and walked back. Putting his arms around his son, he hugged tight, noting the boy was the same height and breadth he was now. How had such a change happened without his full awareness? It had only been two damn semesters.

  “I love you. Welcome back.”

  When Drake let go he pushed off quickly, knowing Brandon didn’t like a hug to linger too long. He had learned long ago to hide his struggle to treat his son as more man than a child. Surprise had him grinning when Brandon looked sheepish.

  “I missed you too much to stay so far away, Dad. Harvard was great, but I wasn’t getting much from it. My grades were okay to stay, but it seemed like a waste of my time and your money. I should have gone to UK like you suggested. You can say I told you so if it would make you feel better.”

  Brandon’s capitulation had him smirking at his suddenly wise child. “It would for a few seconds at least, but I’m too tired to speak after lugging all your stuff,” he said, liking Brandon’s laugh at his statement. “I don’t know about you, but I have to have food. Come to the kitchen when the car is empty. I’ll make
sandwiches.”

  Brandon heaved a big sigh. “Great. I’m starved. I didn’t stop after I hit the Ohio border.”

  Drake snorted and started toward the kitchen again. He heard Brandon humming as he headed back out.

  “Hey Dad?”

  Drake stopped and looked back at his son who had paused in the doorway.

  “How mad would you be if I went to a party later? I swear on a stack of Bibles I will get all this into my room tomorrow. Sedrick’s brother is throwing a party and has offered to introduce me to his frat brothers.”

  Drake laughed. “A UK fraternity? You didn’t go out for one of those at Harvard.”

  “Are you kidding? No way,” Brandon said, shaking his head. “I would have had to wear a dorky shirt and sweater. This is different. I bleed blue now. Students get to paint their faces during ball games.”

  Drake laughed again at Brandon’s declaration. “Blue faces. Well, too bad you didn’t bleed blue last summer.”

  “Dad—”

  Drake laughed. “Go—but no drinking. You’re still underage at nineteen, and I’m a professor. You screw up and you’ll be riding a bicycle for the rest of your academic career wherever you decide to complete it.”

  “Noted Professor Barrymore, Sir. Soda and nothing else tonight. You have my word.”