Reprieve (Love's Second Chance Book 1) Read online

  “I was busy,” Trevor offered.

  Marcus continued to look smug, tapping out his beat on the desk.

  “Shut up,” Trevor growled, beginning to wonder why he called the annoying bastard his best friend anyway.

  “Maybe you can give her my card when you break it off,” Marcus suggested helpfully. “I’m a big fan of that blonde friend of hers. What was her name? Lisa?”

  “Jesus Christ, Marcus, will you stop already?” Trevor exploded. “I’m not dumping Sophie.”

  Marcus actually snickered then. “Sophie, huh? Here I was thinking her name was Dominique.”

  Trevor thrust his hand through his hair, positive it was standing on end by now. Had he actually just said that? Hell, what was the matter with him?

  “I meant Dominique,” he muttered lamely.

  “So who’s Sophie?” Marcus asked, looking like the cat that got into the cream.

  “She’s the woman I rescued from the car when I was visiting my sister,” Trevor said on a sigh. “I told you about her.”

  Marcus nodded. “Gorgeous brunette widow. I remember. Moving on to greener pastures, are you?”

  “No,” Trevor denied, maybe too quickly. “I’m not interested in her. She’s not my type. At all.”

  “That’s what my brother said about my sister-in-law when he first met her,” Marcus said agreeably. “One month later, they were engaged.”

  “Go to hell, Marcus.”

  “Probably will, some day,” Marcus concurred. “Not yet, though. Sorry to disappoint.”

  “Don’t you have work to do?” Trevor asked hopefully.

  Tap tap tap-a-tap. Trevor’s gaze zeroed in on the annoying pen.

  “Nope,” Marcus said with a big grin. He tapped the pen some more.

  “Marcus,” Trevor began calmly.

  Tap tap tap.

  “Yes, dear?”

  “If you tap that goddamn pen one more time, I’m going to shoot you, dismember your body and dump the pieces in the Hudson.”

  Tap-a-tap.

  “You can see I’m trembling in my shoes,” Marcus told him with an infernal grin.

  Before Trevor could respond, the sound of their office manager’s voice on the intercom echoed through the office.

  “There’s a woman on line one who wants to speak with you,” said Genevieve. “She said something about your wanting to see some artwork or something.”

  Trevor rolled his eyes. Genevieve was twenty if she was a day and determined to make it on Broadway. In the meantime, she made scatterbrained help at best. On the rare occasions when she took down names, she had them hopelessly jumbled.

  “We really ought to fire her, you know,” Trevor told Marcus.

  Marcus nodded in agreement. “The other day she gave me the number of a client who called when I was at lunch. Call me crazy, but I don’t think Pamela Moristead lives at Starbucks.”

  “Maybe we should just hire an assistant to help her,” Trevor suggested. He and Marcus both knew they would never fire Genevieve. Firing her would be like running over a kitten.

  “Probably a good idea,” Marcus agreed. “You going to take that call?”

  The call. Trevor had nearly forgotten. Was it Sophie? The question echoed through his mind before he could squelch it. Of course not.

  “Right,” Trevor murmured, reaching for the phone. “Did you want to give me back my chair?”

  Marcus tilted his head to the side as though he was pondering a matter of great import. “No. Don’t think I will.”

  Trevor mumbled something beneath his breath about annoying bastards and picked up his telephone.

  “Trevor James,” he said, switching his mind to business mode.

  “Trevor,” called an unfamiliar female voice over the line, sounding hesitant. For a moment his hopes rose, only to be dashed. “This is Claire Morton.”

  Odd that Sophie’s sister had his number. Then his heart sank like a lead weight in his chest. Had Sophie tried to harm herself again? Had she succeeded?

  “What can I do for you, Claire?” he asked, aware his voice was as tense as he suddenly felt.

  “I hope I’m not bothering you.” She hesitated for a moment, then proceeded when he assured her she wasn’t bothering him in the least. “Are you still interested in seeing Sophie’s work?”

  Ah. Relief swept through him. Sophie hadn’t done anything drastic. Claire was calling about her sister’s artwork. The art dealer in him was admittedly curious to see it. But if he was perfectly honest with himself, when he’d given her his card, he had been fishing for an excuse to see Sophie again. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to look.

  “Has Sophie decided she wants to sell some of her work?” he asked, doubting very much that was the case.

  “Um, not exactly,” Claire hedged. “But it’s not up to her.”

  He frowned and shot a glare at Marcus, who was still tapping away with that damn pen. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “Well, after Sophie’s husband and daughter died, she gave a great deal of her work to me,” Claire explained. “I actually think she was contemplating just throwing it away. Anyway, I’ve got it here at my house. You could come and take a look and tell me what you think.”

  Trevor paused before answering. Should he really agree to it? More than likely, driving down to Pennsylvania again would be a waste of his time. Sophie’s work was probably mediocre, the kind he saw all too often, fine to sell in a local craft show, but not up to the standards of the James Wesley Gallery. Besides, he had only just convinced himself staying away from Sophie was for the best. Did he really want to stick his nose in her life again? Especially since he couldn’t guarantee he would be able to keep his distance from Sophie. Damn it all, what was it about her?

  “Trevor?” Claire’s voice on the line broke through his musings. “I know you’ve probably got a busy schedule and I know you think I’m only urging you to see Sophie’s work because she’s my sister, but that’s not my sole reason. She’s an amazing artist.”

  Tap-tap-tap-a-tap.

  That infernal tapping was driving Trevor absolutely crazy.

  “I don’t know…” He trailed off as he surreptitiously inched closer to Marcus, determined to wrest the pen from his friend’s grasp.

  “I swear to you it’ll be worth it,” Claire promised.

  Trevor lunged for the pen, but Marcus was blessed with quick reflexes and pulled the pen away at the last second.

  “Damn,” Trevor muttered, settling for delivering a quick jab to his friend’s arm instead.

  Marcus howled in feigned pain.

  “Trevor?” Claire’s voice interrupted.

  Just do it, a voice inside his head urged him. What do you have to lose?

  He gave in. “When do you want me to come down to see them?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon would be good for me. How about you?”

  Trevor didn’t even bother to run over his plans in his mind. “Fine.” He scribbled down the address Claire gave him on the back of an envelope with a pencil, since Marcus was still in smug possession of the pen. When he finally hung up, he turned back to his friend.

  “Damn it, man, can’t you think of anything to do in your own office?” he demanded.

  “Who was on the phone?” Marcus shot back, a glint in his eye.

  “Sophie’s sister.”

  Marcus quirked a brow. “Playing matchmaker?”

  “No,” Trevor responded crisply. “I’m going to look at some of Sophie’s art. Nothing more.”

  “Nice try, Trev. You forget how well I know you.”

  Trevor’s head pounded. Starting a relationship with Sophie was not on his agenda. Absolutely not. No matter what Marcus said.

  “I’m only doing this as a favor,” he informed his friend. “Sophie’s not my type. She’s too emotional, too fragile. It would never work.”

  “Right,” Marcus offered. “Just make sure you give Dominique my number. I’d hate to miss out on the opportunity to find out if Lisa�
��s tits are real or fake.”

  With those parting words, Marcus stood from Trevor’s chair and sauntered confidently from the room. The pounding in Trevor’s head increased, playing in time to the sound of Marcus’ footsteps echoing away.

  He sank into his chair and dialed Dominique’s cell phone.

  Sophie pulled into her sister’s driveway just as Garrett was preparing to pull out of it. Fortunately, the pavement was wide enough for her to drive alongside his silver Porsche Boxster in her rental car. Garrett paused and rolled down his window, clearly wanting to speak with her, so Sophie did the same.

  “Somehow, that car doesn’t quite suit you, Soph,” Garrett called out to her with a teasing smile.

  She made a face at him. The sedan, while nicely appointed, was long and large and not at all her style. But it was what the insurance company provided, so she wasn’t complaining.

  “Do you want to switch?” she asked him with a smile.

  He shook his head. “It’d ruin my image.”

  “Where are you off to?” She was curious. She couldn’t help it.

  “Work.” His normally generous lips compressed into a fine line. “Things are damn busy right now.”

  Work. On a Saturday morning? It was unlike Garrett. Sophie found herself frowning as Claire’s words came back to her.

  “Claire mentioned you had a big project,” she said neutrally.

  The mention of Claire’s name seemed to make him stiffen. “Did she?”

  There was a great deal of meaning in just those two little words. Uh-oh. It was quite clear something was going on between her sister and brother-in-law. She could still barely believe it.

  “I don’t want to hold you up,” she said, seeking an escape route.

  Garrett looked rather angry and Sophie didn’t really want to become tangled up in their fight. She’d only wind up having to choose sides and hurting Garrett. Sisters always had to side with sisters, after all. It was some sort of unspoken but understood code.

  Garrett nodded. “Talk to you later, Soph.” Without waiting for her reply, he drove away.

  Still somewhat perplexed by the obvious tensions between Claire and Garrett, Sophie didn’t notice the strange car behind her sister’s Mercedes until she pulled in to park. It was an Audi, black and sleek looking, with New York plates that raised alarm bells inside her head. Her breath caught in her throat for a moment. Could it be? Why would Trevor be here, at her sister’s house?

  Sophie pulled the keys from the ignition but didn’t move to get out of the car. She really should turn around and leave, she decided. The last person she wanted to see was Trevor, the man who knew her deepest secret.

  The man who knew too much.

  She frowned at the imposing façade of her sister’s house. It was more like a mansion, really, tall and wide with a stucco finish in keeping with its architectural impression of an Italian villa. Claire and Garrett lived in an impressive suburb of Philadelphia that was like a who’s who of important Philadelphia businesspeople.

  It was a far cry from Sophie’s modest, old farmhouse on a quiet little street. Shady Grove was twenty minutes away from Claire’s tree-lined, nose-in-the-air neighborhood, but sometimes to Sophie it seemed like a world away. She sighed and headed inside.

  There was no sign of either Claire or Trevor in the entry hall. Sophie closed the door behind her, her shoes making muffled sounds on the mosaic tile floor. If at all possible, the interior of the house was even more beautiful than its exterior. Everything, from the smallest pillow to the paintings on the walls, was exquisite.

  The sound of voices carried to Sophie’s ears and she realized Claire and Trevor must be upstairs. Why was Trevor here and what was he doing upstairs with her sister?

  Understanding dawned on her. Claire kept her largest collection of Sophie’s work upstairs, in her private office. Sophie had been reluctant to allow Claire to put her work on display downstairs because of the number of people traipsing in and out of Claire’s and Garrett’s home. She liked to think of her art as private, something only those closest to her should see.

  But Claire wouldn’t be showing the sculptures and paintings Sophie had made for her to Trevor, would she? Behind Sophie’s back?

  Fearing the answer to that question, Sophie took the steps on the curving staircase two at a time. She found Trevor and Claire in Claire’s office, just as she had predicted.

  Trevor’s back was to her, but Claire faced the door. She spotted Sophie right away. Her blue eyes got huge and she flicked her blonde hair back over her shoulder in the nervous gesture she’d had her whole life. Dead giveaway.

  “Sophie.” She tried to sound thrilled but missed the mark by about a mile. “I wasn’t expecting to see you this morning.”

  “I gathered that.” Sophie’s body tingled with awareness when Trevor turned around to face her.

  There was that cat’s gaze of his, boring into her, trying to pry more secrets from her. It was hypnotic, mesmerizing, yet heady all at the same time. He looked her over from head to toe, more thoroughly than a man had ever perused her in her life. She felt as though she couldn’t breathe. There was danger in that look.

  She tore her gaze from his, heat flushing her cheeks. “Claire, what are you doing?”

  “Your sister was kind enough to show me your work,” Trevor answered smoothly, forcing her to look at him once more.

  What did he think of it? It was impossible to tell from his gaze. And even if it was ridiculous, she felt suddenly nervous about his opinion when she’d been convincing herself for days she didn’t give a damn and was done with creating art for good.

  “It’s raw,” he said at last, quenching her curiosity, “but good.”

  That was it? Raw but good was not exactly high praise for work she had put her heart and soul into.

  Her chin went up. “Thank you, Mr. James. But I’m sure you have somewhere else you need to be right now.”

  He gave her a challenging half-smile. “Actually, I don’t.”

  No doubt feeling the tension rising between them, Claire stepped in, taking Sophie’s hands in hers. “Soph, he wants to take some of your work on consignment! Isn’t it exciting?”

  “No,” she snapped, knowing she was being rude but unable to help it. “Claire, all of these pieces are very personal.”

  She scanned the room, noting the proliferation of paintings, sketches and sculptures. Many of them were reminders of her old life, pieces that had been too painful to keep after Peter and Elizabeth’s death, so she had given them to Claire. There was the painting of her home, done in oil. There was the clay sculpture of mother and child she had made while pregnant with Elizabeth. There were others too, charcoal sketches of a young professor that came into the library every Wednesday, a watercolor of Amish farmland, modern pieces with solid blocks of color and lines that radiated with emotion. So much of her life was spread over the room.

  She had kept a few pieces of her work in her studio at home, as a sort of memorial to her old life. Her happy life. She never looked at them.

  Claire was frowning at her. “Sophie, are you listening to me?”

  Sophie blinked. “Yes, I am. I told you I didn’t want to sell my art.”

  Trevor cleared his throat. “Claire, if I could have a word in private with your sister?”

  Claire seemed surprised but agreed. “Of course,” she said, tossing him a look that clearly said “good luck” before she left the room.

  “Sophie, I’m good at what I do,” he said. “And one of the things I do is scout the country for up-and-coming artists. I won’t lie to you. I’ve seen better than what I see here today. But you have what it takes—raw talent, emotion and a clear knowledge of the craft.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Like there aren’t a million twenty-year-olds studying art in New York City that you could buy art from instead. I had no classical training. I just dabble for fun and actually, I haven’t even worked on anything for more than two years.”

&n
bsp; He shrugged. “I know what people like. You have it and refusing to allow your work to be seen is wasting a talent. If you insist on being stubborn, there’s nothing I can do about it and the fault will be all yours.”

  Why did he have to be so rational about it? Why did he make her feel as if she were being adolescent?

  “You’re a meddler,” she accused. The man had infiltrated her life like a CIA operative.

  He strode closer to her, looking so fierce and potently male she had to take a step in retreat. “You’re a coward,” he returned, just as heatedly.

  His words stung, mostly because she knew they were true. She did have a knack for seeking the easy way out of things.

  “That’s not fair.” She defended herself anyway.

  “I think it is.” He was diabolically handsome as he towered over her. “You forget I know what you were doing that day when you crashed into the sound barrier wall. And now you’re too afraid to let your work get out into the real world. You’re afraid of rejection.”

  “I am not!” She took a deep breath, angry with him now. “You don’t know why I did what I did that day, so you’re in no position to judge me.”

  “Your sister told me about your husband and daughter,” he said, his voice gentling this time. “And you have my sympathy for that. But if you think they wanted you to be so miserable that you try to kill yourself and continue to cut yourself off from something you love, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  Sophie felt as though the breath had been knocked out of her lungs. His words had struck her like a blow. The worst part about it all was she knew he was right. Peter and Elizabeth would want her to go on with her life, to continue making art, to try to make a name for herself. She was the only one holding herself back.

  Sophie was shaken to her core at the realization. She stared at Trevor, at those knowing golden orbs, unable to look away. How could he see so much?

  “You know I’m right,” he murmured softly. “Sophie, you deserve a second chance. Let me give it to you.”

  “Why do you care?”

  He frowned. “I already told you. I risked my neck to save yours and I just want to make sure it wasn’t for nothing.”

  It suddenly occurred to her that going back into her studio didn’t have to be painful. It could be a place of healing and of bittersweet memories if she would only let it. Maybe opening herself up to her art would exorcise the demons she’d carried around for so long. Maybe it would turn her life around.