Page 95 of This Heart Of Mine (Chicago Stars 5)

“What an amazing house.”

“Thanks. Would you like something to drink?”

His request sounded cordial, but she was even more impressed that he’d traded in his paint-stained denim shirt and shorts for a black silk shirt and light gray slacks. Ironically, his civilized clothes only emphasized the Sturm und Drang of that rugged face.

She declined his offer for a drink. “I’d love a tour, though.”

“All right.”

The house hugged the terrain in two uneven sections, the larger of which held an open living area, kitchen, library, and cantilevered dining room, with several smaller bedrooms tucked into lower levels. The catwalk she’d seen when she’d entered led to a glass-enclosed tower that Liam told her held his studio. She hoped he’d let her see it, but he showed her only the master bedroom below, a space designed with an almost monastic simplicity.

Magnificent works of art were on display everywhere, and Liam talked about them with passion and discernment. An enormous Jasper Johns canvas hung not far from a contemplative composition in blues and beige by Agnes Martin. One of Bruce Nauman’s neon sculptures flickered near the library archway. Across from it hung a work by David Hockney, then a portrait of Liam done by Chuck Close. An imposing Helen Frankenthaler canvas occupied one long wall of the living area, and a totemlike stone-and-wood sculpture dominated a hallway. The very best of the world’s contemporary artists were represented in this house. All except Liam Jenner.

Lilly waited until the tour was over and they’d returned to the central living area before she asked about it. “Why haven’t you hung any of your own paintings?”

“Looking at my work when I’m not in the studio feels too much like a busman’s holiday.”

“I suppose. But they’d be so joyous in this house.”

He stared at her for a long moment. Then the craggy lines of his face softened in a smile. “You really are a fan, aren’t you?”

“I’m afraid so. I bid on one of your paintings a few months ago—Composition #3. My business manager forced me to drop out at two hundred and fifty thousand.”

“Obscene, isn’t it?”

He looked so pleased that she laughed. “You should be ashamed of yourself. It wasn’t worth a penny over two hundred thousand. And I’m just beginning to realize how much I hate giving you compliments. You truly are the most overbearing man.”

“It makes life easier.”

r /> “Keeps the masses at a distance?”

“I value my privacy.”

“Which explains why you’ve built such an extraordinary house in the wilds of northern Michigan instead of Big Sur or Cap d’Antibes.”

“Already you know me well.”

“You’re such a diva. I’m certain I’ve had my privacy invaded far more than you have, but it hasn’t turned me into a hermit. Do you know that I still can’t go anywhere without people recognizing me?”

“My nightmare.”

“Why is it such a big deal to you?”

“Old baggage.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s an incredibly boring story. You don’t want to hear it.”

“Believe me, I do.” She sat on the couch to encourage him. “I love hearing people’s stories.”

He gazed at her, then sighed. “The critics discovered me just before my twenty-sixth birthday. Are you sure you want to hear this?”

“Definitely.”

He stuck his hands in his pockets and wandered toward the windows. “I became the proverbial overnight sensation—on everybody’s guest list, the subject of national magazine articles. I had people throwing money at me.”

“I remember what that was like.”

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