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Don’t.
If she could have sent a telepathic warning she would have. This was Jillian’s way—luring her prey into a false sense of safety, then springing the trap with some loaded question to which there was no safe answer. Kaitlyn couldn’t imagine what this man could have to hide, but everyone had secrets and she supposed he did, too.
“And how did it feel to be mentioned in the same breath as artists like metal sculptor Gabe Walker?”
Kaitlyn saw him take a deeper breath before answering and wondered why.
“I’m a craftsman, not an artist.”
Kaitlyn blinked at that. The memory of the exquisite detail and the imagination that had gone into working every symbol of Texas, both official and not, into the leathers of a saddle shot through her mind. That was artistry, no matter what he thought or said. But at the same time, she remembered the sign in that shop in town. Was it by his choice it said craftsman?
He went on. “My work is more a matter of hand-eye coordination than any artistic vision, or whatever they call it. And I deliver what speaks to the people who commission it. So, I’m no artist.”
Jillian’s brow furrowed, a wrinkle-inducing expression she rarely allowed herself. Kaitlyn guessed she knew why; she couldn’t imagine anyone at the level Rylan Rafferty had achieved being modest about it. But Kaitlyn wasn’t sure it was modesty. There was too much feeling, too much intensity behind the words he’d said, and just as much of those same two things in those stormy eyes. Kaitlyn wondered if Jillian didn’t notice this or didn’t care.
“Of course you’re an artist,” Jillian scoffed, as if her opinion had the power to negate whatever powerful emotion caused him to believe that. Because he did believe it, Kaitlyn had no doubt. She also thought, judging by what flared in those eyes then, like lightning striking behind gray storm clouds, that with her casual dismissal of his words Jillian might have just train-wrecked this entire interview.
“Is that because you wouldn’t be bothered with anything less than an artist?” he asked, and Kaitlyn didn’t see how anyone could miss the edge in that deep, rough voice now.
“I don’t—”
He cut Jillian off. “Why me? Don’t you usually stick to the big shots, the people who get their names in the big-city, elite publications you usually write for? I’m small-time, compared to them.”
Kaitlyn had to stifle a delighted smile. Clearly, he’d done his homework on her.
“You’re not small-time,” Jillian responded almost indignantly. To most it would have sounded like a defense of him, but Kaitlyn knew it was based in the woman’s high opinion of herself. “A former governor and two senators own your work. Country music stars as well. And I understand you’re going to be doing a project for one of the biggest movie stars in the world.”
Kaitlyn remembered having seen that last in her research, about the latest Australian to take the world by storm. She guessed that Jillian was already figuring she could broaden her own fame by using that tidbit. But before she could dwell on it Ry was answering, still in that same tone.
“So that’s what it takes to get your attention?”
“I believe it’s what gotTexas Artworks’sattention,” Jillian said stiffly.
This time Kaitlyn had to stifle what surely would have been a grin. He’d put her on the defensive, a position Jillian had little experience with. He’d turned it around on her, as if he didn’t give a damn about what damage she could do to him. He’d more than done his homework, he was taking a stand with her.
Welcome to Texas, Jillian.
“And they’ve become a well-respected publication,” Jillian added, still rather defensive.
“And so, worth your time?”
Kaitlyn remembered her silent warning to this man about relaxing his guard, and realized it hadn’t been necessary.
“You’re certainly worth my time,” Jillian said, and Kaitlyn realized with a little jolt the woman had fallen back on her fail-safe: turning on the flirting.
“Well, now, darlin’,” he said, the drawl so obviously put on Kaitlyn had to bite the inside of her lip to stop yet another grin, “then I guess the question is, are you worth mine?”
Chapter Seven
He’d done itnow, Ry thought. The woman would write some scathing piece about his stubbornness, or arrogance, or misogyny—something. His mother would have had a fit at how rude he’d been. But damn it, he really didn’t like her attitude. She had an air about her that just rubbed him like a saddle blanket shoved the wrong way. Those politicians and celebrities she usually interviewed might be used to it, but he wasn’t. And he didn’t ever want to be.
“Oh, I can make it worth it,” she almost purred.
He managed a neutral tone this time. “I’ll bet you could.”
If I went for that kind of thing.
His own thought startled him. Why wouldn’t he? Hadn’t he just been pondering how long it had been for him? And here was a beautiful woman practically promising him to end that drought. Why wasn’t he jumping at the idea?
