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the job go faster.”
    Disappointed, she stared into her coffee. Oh, well. At least he didn’t have a fetish...or did he? She eyed him warily. “Do you ever have help?”
    He set the guitar back in its stand. “I asked Cole once, but he wouldn’t stop wise cracking long enough to take a decent picture.” He stood up and put his hands in his pants pockets. The gesture made his shirt bag hopelessly in front. Fred stared at her a moment. “I could use an assistant.”
    In spite of herself, she felt her heartbeat slam into gear. All the remonstrations of the night before were blown away by the thought of seeing him in his leather gear again. Maybe he’d even pose without his shirt ....
    Blinking, she tried to clear her head. “Uh...” The light was green, but grandma couldn’t get it in gear.
    “We’ll leave the door open,” he coaxed, moving a step closer. Slowly he reached out and eased one of her hands away from her coffee. “Let me show you my paintings.” Pulling gently, he led her step by step from her apartment up the stairs to his, keeping eye contact, smiling softly all the way. He paused at his door, and then opened it wide. “Welcome to my humble lair.”
    She shot him a look for that remark, and then gestured for him to precede her. She didn’t like the feeling of being managed. Let him have a taste of it. Her instincts told her he was trying to seduce her, not threaten her, or she never would have let him get this far. There was something about him that made her trust him, though he jogged every self-protective instinct she possessed. She just hoped her gamble was going to pay off.
    Once inside, though, she forgot her irritation and lingering unease. He was a terrible housekeeper, but that wasn’t what caught her interest. Ignoring the paint splattered drop cloth on the floor, loose wood shavings and buckets of art supplies scattered on the sawbuck and plywood tables, she headed for the nearest wall.
    “This is beautiful. You did this?” The background was of black space, dotted with stars. Starlight illuminated swirls of nebulous fog, reflecting pinks and blues. A man with a black jacket and the outfit of space pirate stood with his legs braced, a gun in his hand. A holster with silver cartridges was slung around his waist, and his black hair hung loose to his shoulders. In the glitter of the starlight, his eyes reflected silver.
    Behind him stood a woman. She was dressed in the sleek suit of a courier, complete with long black jacket, blue sunglasses and slicked back hair. Despite the shades and her frosty attitude, the way she held her head as she looked at the man spoke of shy passion.
    Fred was the hero.
    Eight paintings hung on the wall, all of spacescapes and alien worlds. Fred starred in three of them, and in each one, his eyes were like silver mirrors, shining with an alien glow.
    A shiver shook her. She looked at Fred, standing quietly beside her, his hands in his pockets. “What color are your eyes, Fred?”
    “Red and watery, if I take off my glasses,” he said calmly. “I have to squint and blink fast unless the light is really dim, and by then you can’t tell if they have any color.”
    Disappointed, she turned her attention back to the first painting, having come full circle. “I guess you make pretty good money on these? I’m surprised you don’t move into a nicer apartment. Something with better light.” She realized what she’d said and grimaced. “More room, anyway.”
    He shrugged. “I don’t need much. The one thing I would like is someone else to paint. I’m getting bored of painting myself.” He gestured to the easel in the middle of the room. It held a half finished painting, this time with Cole doing battle with a giant horned snake. “Cole’s got his vanity, but he’s not going to put up with any more photo shoots. He says it’s boring.”
    She raised a brow at Cole’s muscular body. Did he really look like that? No wonder he had so many dates. “Why