Untouchable

Chapter 1

Kelly Watson heard her phone buzz with a new text as she was pulling into the parking lot of a park.

It was almost eleven on Saturday morning, and Jesse’s flight back from Paris to DC would have just landed.

Kelly had met Jesse in a bar last weekend, and they’d gone to his place afterward.

The sex had been pretty good—standard-issue, nothing special—and she’d been hoping that the business trip he was leaving for the following morning meant she wouldn’t hear from him again.

She hadn’t given him her number, but she’d told him she painted pet portraits—which was obviously a mistake. There were a lot of pet portrait artists in the DC area, but she’d be findable through a basic search.

Maybe the text was from someone else. Maybe the client she was meeting at this park was running late.

After shifting her car into park, she reached for her phone and glanced at the screen.

Hey, I’m back in town. Want to get together again? Got any time this weekend?

Jesse.

Damn it. He must have texted her as soon as his plane had touched down.

A familiar tension roiled in her gut as she stared at the words. She hated when guys did this.

She never pretended that her one-night stands were anything but casual, so there was no reason for anyone to make them serious. She didn’t do relationships, and doggie-style on the bed while he tried to talk dirty certainly wasn’t going to change her mind.

She sat for a minute, wondering if she should just ignore him. He hadn’t been mean or inappropriate with her, however, and she didn’t like to be rude to a decent guy. Thanks. I had a good time too, but it was just the one time. Take care of yourself.

She reread it, making sure there were no undercurrents of encouragement in the brief lines. Then hit Send and dropped the phone into the front pocket of her bag.

Getting out of the car, she glanced down at herself to make sure she was presentable.

She had on one of her work outfits—a long, flowing, casual skirt, a tank top, and a thin sweater.

She’d set up her business when she was twenty-one, so she’d been doing this for seven years.

In that time, she’d learned that clients expected a certain look from pet artists, and the slightly bohemian style—as long as it wasn’t too over-the-top—satisfied their expectations nicely.

Pet portraits were becoming a big business, which meant everyone was jumping on the bandwagon.

She did anything she could to give herself an advantage, including her choice of outfit.

She’d done all right for herself, considering.

The first few years had been slow, but she’d used her adoptive parents’ wealthy contacts in the area and had slowly built up a substantial customer base of rich people who would spend more for quality.

She’d made a living out of it for the past four years, but if the Watsons hadn’t left her a sizable inheritance, she never would have been able to afford her lifestyle.

She swung her leather satchel over her shoulder and headed toward the entrance to the park. She was supposed to meet her client at eleven, so she was exactly on time.

There was no sign of a man and a German shepherd hanging around the entrance, which was where she assumed they would meet up, so she waited for a few minutes, watching the approaching cars.

It was the weekend and a warm, sunny day in April. The park was crowded. She’d never been here before because she lived on the opposite end of town. There was a wide stretch of grassy lawns and several different trails that led into the wooded area.

Her breath hitched at the sight of the woods. If this client wanted her to walk those trails with him, she would have to tell him no. She’d make up something about how she needed open areas like the lawns to get a good picture of the dog.

She hadn’t gone beyond the edges of any woods since her father had been murdered seventeen years ago.

At the flash of memory, she pushed the thought away with a practiced mental strategy, breathing out, clearing her mind, and looking at the family of four approaching with their golden retriever.

The dog had a good build, so she studied it, mentally sketching out a portrait of it in her mind.

After a few minutes, the threat of the memory had cleared.

At fifteen after eleven, she wondered if her client was waiting elsewhere in the park since there was still no sign of him at the entrance. She walked down the main path and searched the wide lawn for a man with a German shepherd.

She had to walk over the slight hill toward the trees before she saw him throwing a Frisbee to the dog.

She sighed, thinking it would have been polite had the man waited near the entrance for her like a normal person, but the wealthy types she catered to weren’t always thinking about what was convenient for her. She swallowed her faint annoyance and walked over to him.

The dog was beautiful. Well-bred and healthy with thick fur, good lines, and a powerful run. He would make a beautiful portrait even if his owner was rather inconsiderate.

Kelly pulled out her camera and snapped a few pictures as she approached.

She usually painted from photographs since that was easier for everyone—aside from the occasional client who mistakenly thought the portrait was “purer” when painted from real life.

But she always got to know the animals before she painted them so she could invest the paintings with personality as well as get the visuals right.

The man saw her approaching and taking pictures of the dog, so he stopped throwing the Frisbee and waited until she reached him.

“Good morning,” she said with her professional smile. “He’s beautiful. His name is Chester?”

The man frowned. She guessed him to be in his forties. He was very attractive with a strong, lean body, dark hair, and the stance of a man who was used to being in authority. He didn’t look at all the way he’d sounded on the phone.

“No,” he said, his voice deep and cultured. “It’s not.”

Kelly gave a little start as she realized she might have made a mistake. “He’s not Chester? You’re not Mr. Verner?”

“I’m not.” He tossed the Frisbee again, and the dog ran exuberantly to catch it.

“Oh. Sorry.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “I’m supposed to meet someone here with a German shepherd, and you’re the only one who matches that description.”

He smiled then, evidently assured she wasn’t a crazed dog stalker. “If it’s a hookup, you should get a better description of him rather than just going for the dog.”

There was amusement in his tone and a kind of teasing flirtation in his expression, making him even more attractive than before. She liked the little lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes, and she liked the warm chocolate brown of his eyes.

His body was nothing to sneer at either—his muscle development graceful and strong but not bulky.

As she’d been studying him, he’d been doing the same with her, his gaze raking from her painted toenails in her sandals to her dark gold hair in a low ponytail. It was obvious that he liked the looks of her since his gaze heated up as he drawled, “He sure won’t be disappointed in you though.”

“It’s not a hookup,” she said, feeling a familiar prickle of excitement and interest running down her spine. Who was this guy anyway? “It’s a client I’m meeting.”

“I see.” He gave her a leisurely smile, his eyes lingering at the slight cleavage exposed at the neckline of her tank top. “Well, he still won’t be disappointed.” When his dog ran up, offering the Frisbee excitedly, the man grabbed it and tossed it again.

“You move pretty fast, don’t you?” She was used to men coming on to her but usually in bars or clubs, where they were clearly both there for that purpose. It wasn’t all that common for a man to come on strong like this in normal daily interaction.

It was strangely exciting though. Her heart beat faster as she waited for his response.

He laughed softly, his eyes still lingering on her face and body in a way that felt deeply entitled. “You’re the one who approached me with a ridiculous pretense of looking for a client.”

“Hey! That wasn’t a pretense. It was an honest mistake.” She pulled out her business card and offered it to him. “See.”

The dog returned, and seeing that his owner was busy reading a business card, he flopped the Frisbee down at Kelly’s feet. She picked it up and gave it a good throw, watching the dog bound after it.

“Pet portraits?” the man asked skeptically with that same smug laughter in his eyes.

“What’s your point?”

“Nothing. You’re just that type, aren’t you?”

“What type?”

“Pet portrait artist. At one with the universe. Lover of flowers and trees and all furry creatures. Filling the world with pretty crafts and warm fuzzies. I bet they call you Blossom.” His tone was bone-dry, as if he was far above such sentiment.

He probably was. She could tell even from their brief interaction that he was too intelligent, too experienced, and too competent to have patience with anything trite or saccharine.

She liked that about him. Despite her intentionally bohemian appearance just now, she was as far from those feelings as possible herself.

“You don’t know me at all,” she said, pleased at the cool aloofness of her tone.

It made him smile. When his dog lay down with the Frisbee, panting blissfully, the man started walking toward him, evidently expecting Kelly to fall into step with him.

“I know a little about you. I know you paint pet portraits. I know you’re wearing vegan sandals and are reluctant to cut your hair.

And I know you have on your bracelet various charms of dogs, cats, birds, and flowers.

” He arched his eyebrows. “I think I’ve got a pretty clear sense of you. ”

The bracelet was stupid, but her clients always liked it, and her hair was indeed very long, hanging down to the small of her back. But this arrogant man couldn’t be more wrong.

He might be eerily observant, but he knew nothing.