Cookies for Courting by Amber Kell Read Free Book Online Page B

stuttering halt when he saw a familiar blond head.
    “Pace?”
    The artist turned around, his warm brown eyes lit up with recognition. “Marshall.”
    He held out his hand, and Marshall shook it as if in a trance. Dressed in jeans and bits of paint, the artist was gorgeous; in a suit, he took Marshall’s breath away. “You look good,” he told Pace.
    “Thank you. You look nice yourself.” Pace grinned.
    Pace tugged, and Marshall realized he’d been holding on to the artist’s hand for too long. “Oh sorry. I was just surprised to see you here.”
    “Pace is quite active in the charitable community,” a female said.
    “And you are?” Surely, Pace wasn’t there with a date. Marshall had a twinge of jealousy over the slim blonde in the siren red dress.
    “My mother,” Pace said.
    The blonde giggled. “Stepmother. I’m Sharla Barlow. I’m married to Pace’s dad, who couldn’t make it here tonight.”
    “Nice to meet you.” Marshall shook her hand before returning his attention to Pace. “Do you have a piece here?”
    “Oh yes, our Pace is super talented,” Sharla gushed.
    Pace rolled his eyes, and Marshall had to hold back a laugh.
    “Which one is his?” There were temporary walls set up everywhere to display art. Marshall skimmed them all, but his gaze came to a halt at one painted in oils. The colors and vibrancy called out to him.
    “That one,” Pace said, pointing out the very painting Marshall was admiring.
    Marshall grinned. “Excellent. You two have fun. I’ll see you later.”
    He had a painting to buy.
    The numbers were rising on the piece of paper on the table by the painting. Marshall was reaching for the clipboard to place his bid when someone else snatched it off the table.
    “Uh-uh, this one is mine. It’s going in my collection.” The kid couldn’t be more than twenty-five, but he had the look of someone used to getting his way. His Russian accent would’ve been sexy if Marshall wasn’t already infatuated with a certain artist.
    “You have a collection?” Marshall squelched his spurt of envy.
    “I’ve known Pace since we were children. He always makes me pay for these because he says I don’t give enough to charity.” The kid scowled as he jotted an amount down on the sheet.
    “So he thinks you’re cheap?”
    The Russian shrugged. “He just likes to get me to give. He says I need to spend more money on charity than I do on clubbing. He’s an idiot, but I love him. I’m Sandlova Aliev.”
    “Marshall Hunter.” He offered his hand to shake, ending the touch as fast as politely possible. It almost felt as if Sandlova had erased the impression of Pace’s hand against his skin.
    “Ah, the investment guy.”
    “Yes. I believe your father is one of my clients.” Sandlova’s father had even more money than Marshall and was one of their biggest accounts. That didn’t mean Marshall would let his punk kid have his painting.
    “How do you know Pace?” Sandlova asked.
    “What makes you think I know him?”
    Sandlova smiled. “Because he hasn’t stopped staring at you and I know he doesn’t find me that fascinating.”
    Marshall turned and saw Pace watching them. The artist quickly gave more attention to his glass of champagne and his stepmother’s chatter.
    “He’s going to do a mural for my niece.”
    “So you’re the one. He brushed me off to update his portfolio.”
    Marshall smiled at the memory of Alice’s excitement. “My niece just lost her mother. I’m hoping Pace’s mural will help her feel more welcome in my home.”
    “That’s an admirable goal, but don’t use Pace to make you feel better. He deserves more than that. Be good to him, or I will crush you.” Sandlova patted Marshall on the back with a friendly smile before sauntering away.
    Marshall picked up the clipboard and wrote a higher number beneath Sandlova’s. He would win the painting.
    Asshole.
    “Problem?” Pace’s amused voice pulled Marshall out of his anger.
    “No.”