11
There were large wooden doors to the left and right, but both firmly shut with No entry signs screwed in place. She figured she would kill some time surrounded by art, which always had such a soothing effect, and try and forget what that smooth voice and dazzling smile had done to her. Not that it had been an effect in a good way. Hell no! It rattled her in a really, really bad way. In a ‘he’s so annoying and irritating’ way. Such a jerk.
A jerk with a nice ass in a pair of jeans, though.
Damn him!
Her heart beat was finally trying to regain its previous calm rhythm, but her hands were still trembling. She pushed it away and focused ahead. The large hall echoed as her sandals clip-clopped across to a wall mounted glass case at the far end with huge welcome signs hanging from the ceiling. Inside all the information she had been seeking and an array of small artefacts surrounded the posters and brass etched signs on glass floating shelves. There was a door off to her left with an ‘Office’ plaque above and a red rope stretched across, preventing her from venturing further. There was a glass sliding window beside the glass case, with a large etched sign reading ‘Admissions’ above it and a clearly placed bell to ring for assistance. The entry fees were printed on a laminated A4 card, propped up in the sliding window and a cheery old lady with curly grey hair was sitting inside with her nose stuck in some trashy novel. Rather than ring the bell Rose instead gently knocked on the glass smiling.
Once She had purchased her entry ticket the lady came out and moved the rope for her to pass and pointed her in the direction she had been seeking. The museum was much like most she had been in. Large, old world, airy buildings with polished floors, old wood stairs and beams, glass cabinets and that distinct musty smell of old things. Large gothic windows kept the place bright and were draped with heavy red curtains with gold tassels. The windows, however, were frosted so she could not see out into the surroundings. That familiar echoed noise that caused people to whisper as she moved around the polished floors slowly.
The halls she passed through had the odd browsing tourist, peering into the lines of cases and displays. She could hear some sort of documentary film playing somewhere in another room, the noise faintly echoing throughout and the sounds of a battle thrashing to some bagpipe music. Overall the place was deserted.
The art exhibit was in one of the rear halls, at the furthest part of the museum, a huge white walled room with soft floaty music gently pouring over you as you entered. There was a table set up with pictures and information about the artist, and a pile of brochures. She browsed the pamphlet quickly, taking in the man’s mature face and grey hair, his background history and the basis behind his work before turning and strolling eagerly into the room. There were huge abstract paintings on the walls and large sculptures stood on plinths dotted around. Nothing she could identify as a real object just more abstract design made from various mediums in a flowing graduation of colour. It was almost as though someone had melted a wax rainbow and frozen it mid-pour. He seemed to like working through colour graduations, sometimes sticking to one colour and working through tones and sometimes the entire spectrum running from one blended colour to another. She found herself captivated by all the colours and fluidity in his work, like being pulled into a colourful dream in a magical wonderland made of melted things. She could see why a lot of his words related to flowing and freedom in the descriptive plaques. Standing to ponder a large, almost sunset like pieces on a stand in the corner and lost in thought when a voice interrupted her.
‘Afternoon Ma’am, you like that one?’ It was an easy American drawl, southern sounding and male. She was slightly startled, but smiled, covering her reactions and keeping her focus on the art piece.
‘Yes, there’s something about it, like you’re standing on a tropical beach watching the sun come up.’ She kept her gaze on the painting as the voice came closer and moved to her side.
He was a very tall, a very muscular blonde American. Classically handsome in that chiseled American way, with piercing blue eyes. His hair was tied back in a ponytail and immediately made her think of the movie Thor. She had to admit, he was pretty hot. All women loved a bit of hunky eye candy and this one was appreciated.
‘The artist is my uncle’ He smiled, showing some overly pearly whites and a dazzling cheeky smile. She smiled back, blushing slightly. Aware that all good-looking men had the ability to make her feel awkward. Maybe it was the ugly duckling syndrome from being a none too attractive child in puberty.
‘So, is that why you’re here? Are you the muscle to make sure people admire his work?’ she laughed and turned more towards this handsome stranger, feeling truly geeky in mentioning his muscles in such a lame line.
‘Something like that.’ He was standing with his hands behind his back, his chest straining behind a grey t-shirt with a designer logo and a pair of jeans straining at his footballer’s thighs. ‘I came with him for the trip when they asked him to show his work here’
‘He stays in the USA now then?’
‘Yeah, he moved out there a few years ago, he married my aunt when she came over for a little Scottish holiday and they spent a long time living here before heading back to the states’ He smiled Rose’s way, his eyes skimming her appreciatively and Rose ignored the slight feeling of uneasiness.
‘I guess you’re close then, seeing as you came with him?’ She tried to ignore the way he was fixated on the tight bodice of her dress and crossed her arms over her waist in a bid to cover up a little.
‘Yeah, we are. He’s a good guy and I needed a break. I have an injury that’s healing. ‘He pointed down to his knee in a manner which suggested he probably was someone who played football, the build on him suggested American football.
‘I couldn’t resist a trip to Scotland to see some castles and haggis.’ his winning smile again had her smiling too, putting her back at ease and forgiving the way he had been ogling her; there was something about his easy manner and a quick smile that made Rose feel a little at ease. Maybe it was just a pretty face had the ability to make you relax, although that seemed to be the opposite for Rob Munro, that handsome face most certainly didn’t make her feel at ease.
He walked with her to the next painting, explaining his injury more and his sabbatical. He was from Arizona, hence the southern drawl and was a career sportsman. He seemed to have a celebrity status back home and was enjoying the peace and quiet of being a no one in this country. He also seemed to enjoy talking about himself without coaxing, somehow Rose found it a little arrogant.
They admired the next work of art briefly, pointing out the colours and flow of the piece before moving on quickly, Rose was starting to feel listless again and wanted him to let her browse alone again.
He seemed like a decent guy, if not a little bit too self-absorbed. He made all the right noises and acted like an adult anyway. His name was Matt... Very American! and he was twenty-nine, single and owned his own ranch. Rose could not help but think of a ton of Mills and Boon romance books that reeked of romantic heroes like him, and the very thought made her blush a little more. It was so stupid.
He was hanging out at the museum while his uncle was upstairs in one of the curator’s offices, discussing some minute details over a painting that had been offered for sale. He was his driver and bodyguard, not that he needed it, but the pretense of his needing his nephew stopped Matt feeling like a third wheel.
Rose was trying to wander off and put space between them unsuccessfully when Matt’s uncle appeared with a tall woman at the door. Rose was immediately captivated by the woman’s tailored perfection, cream and black Chanel suit on her tall supermodel body, her dark red curls falling like a tumbling brook from the top of her head and her glittering green almond eyes. Black expertly applied winged eyeliner set in a pale flawless skin with peachy tones and a spattering of freckles. Her pouty mouth was stained with dark red lipstick giving her a seductive yet dominating appeal. She was stunning in a very magical fairy-like way meets American vogue, business woman of the year. How you would imagine a wood nymph or a naughty sexy pixie to look if she was from New York.
She had on black high stiletto heels, peeking under her cream slacks and killer French manicured nails in deadly points, tipped with black. She oozed class and sophistication and immediately drew you under a spell at her presence. She gushed over Matt in an insincere tone, exposing ample cleavage under her suit jacket and a hint of black lace and a satin camisole as she spread her arms to kiss his cheeks in a very French debutante manner; almost enveloping them all in her expensive perfume. Her accent was only subtly Scottish, with an air of upper class and silky smooth like honey. She screamed sex and allure with every word, breath and movement. It was almost impossible not to be drawn in by her.
Matt did not seem overly susceptible to her charms, wary almost, and kept his distance once she released him from her embrace. He almost seemed hostile towards her.
She introduced herself to Rose as Morag Spencer, the curator of the museum, then dismissed her with a smile before turning her attentions to the men. It was obvious Rose was in the way and the patron was sending her every female signal that it was time to go.
Maybe not so alluring after all.
Rose excused herself, feeling a wave of unwelcome warmth as Matt placed his large hand on her arm, pulling her over to kiss her cheek rather surprisingly before saying goodbye. It felt strange to have a stranger’s touch on her skin. She was not sure she liked it. She figured back home that was a normal action to part ways, but it had knocked her for six. His aftershave still lingered around her face, slightly catching in her throat as she left the building in a weird mood. Unsure why the handsome man’s brief kiss had unsettled her. It seemed an innocent enough gesture. Common maybe where he was from.
She could not remember finding her car or driving home that afternoon, lost somewhere in daydreams and thoughts of large American men running around the football field, except it was not Matts’ face she was envisioning. Instead someone with decidedly darker looks and greyer eyes.
