Covered In Paint: Book Five of the Art Of Love Series by Donna McDonald Page B

amusement echoing around the room.
    “You cannot hold your liquor. Never drink again, Dr. Barrymore.”
    When his grip didn’t lessen, she crawled up beside him. “Roll over. I’ll spoon you…you sorry-ass drunken poetic bastard.”
    “See? Now if you could just learn to say sex and dick —or hell at least penis —we could have a genuine conversation.”
    “Shut up or I’m leaving,” Brooke ordered, but she smiled against the back of his head when he pulled her arm around him. Somehow Drake also managed to keep hold of her while freeing the bed covers enough to pull over both of them.
    “Thank you for staying, Beautiful Brooke. I’m tired of sleeping without you here except in my dreams.”
    His confession wiped her smile away. As Drake’s breathing evened, his grip on her lessened, but she found herself gripping tighter instead of pulling away.

Chapter 9
     
    Brooke slumped over the kitchen bar. Mornings were never her best time. She smiled gratefully at the male who put a steaming cup of coffee in front of her.
    “Thank you, sir,” she said, taking the first lovely sip that would bring full consciousness back to her brain. “You’re a true hero, Brandon. Shane needs to make you a character in The Winged Protector series.”
    “Only one problem, they all have tattoos or piercings. I have no tats…or piercings. Since I’m majoring in business, I probably will never get any either.”
    “Why not?” Brooke asked, her gaze twinkling at his mature reasoning. “Business suits and dress shirts cover up most everything. Look at what your father wears to work.”
    Brandon laughed. “Those are his professor clothes. He has different ones he wears to art shows…well, at least he used to. Although he did dress very conservatively for the art gallery opening. He has a lot of artist clothes lurking in his closets.”
    Brooke giggled and set her coffee cup on the counter. “Fascinating…like what, for instance? My mother wears short skirts and peasant blouses to art shows. She likes to look Bohemian and poor.”
    Brandon grinned and glanced at the bedroom door to make sure it was still closed tightly before answering.
    “Dad owns a ton of Nehru-collared shirts and textured silk vests to wear over them. He wears them outside jeans or slacks, instead of tucked in. Sometimes he also wears sandals. He says people expect artists to look like that.” Brooke’s giggle made it worth ratting out his father.
    “So…did you and Dad make up?” he asked, glad to have finally found an opening to do so.
    Brooke sighed and sipped her coffee to buy her some pondering time. Nothing like a straight question to bring reality crashing into your morning after.
    Had she and Drake made up? If so, from what?
    From her poor pillow talk? From his drunken passes?
    From him begging her to stay and wrapping her arm around him?
    It wasn’t like they’d had a real fight. Oh, maybe she was still a bit pissed at being tossed on the bed and attacked by a drunken heathen last night. Did that count as a transgression worthy of making up?
    “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want. I just know Dad was upset over your…date,” Brandon said cautiously.
    “It’s not that I don’t want to talk about my relationship with your father—if we have such a thing as a relationship. It’s that I don’t know. We weren’t mad over anything at the same time. He’s very…confusing.”
    Brandon nodded as he flipped pancakes. “I know what you mean. Dad is very…” he drifted off, looking for the right word.
    “Passionate?” Brooke offered, sipping her coffee.
    Brandon laughed. “I was going to say intense , but I guess that’s a more poetic word.”
    Brooke laughed again, truly charmed. “Are you intense like your father?” The question earned her a loud laugh in reply.
    “No. I’m easygoing. I’m the artist’s Alex P. Keaton kid…very conservative…very calm…and incredibly average. I watch the news and follow stock