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With each deep breath I take, I’m working on settling this restlessness that has me by the neck. A few minutes pass and it all finally coalesces. I know what this unsettling feeling is and I need to handle it right now.
With only a momentary feeling of regret, I quietly leave the bed, because my desire to paint is back with an indescribable urgency. My pulse is racing and my hands are itching to feel the brush as it strokes the canvas.
Dressing quietly, I scribble a note,
K – Had a great time. Call you later. B
I stop for a minute knowing it's too cursory. What I really want to tell her is that she seems to have opened me up in some way, because inspiration has been hard to come by and suddenly I’m full of it.
But I don’t bother with a re-write. I place the note on the pillow beside her so she doesn’t wake up confused to find me gone.
I head to the studio. I know I will be there for a while. I get so consumed by my art when I am inspired, that time passes indefinitely for me.
Taking a last glance at the direction of the bedroom, I tell myself I really will call her. Feeling assured by that thought, I close the door of the studio behind me.
Once inside, I don’t have to stop and think, because I’m possessed with ideas. It’s the only way I can describe what’s happening to me. Grabbing the biggest canvas, I drag it to the center of the room where the morning light is brightest. There are dozens of images floating through my mind, but they're all images of her. Of Katherine.
With the canvas in front of me, I take only a moment before I make the first bold stroke. There’s no confusion about what this piece will be. She’s in my head with each brush stroke, as if I’m painting a sensual symphony of colors.
I feel like I'm on fire and that hasn’t happened in too long. Much too long.
Katherine is my inspiration now, and I’m not going to question it. She’s my muse and I must have her sit for me. I don’t know how, but I’m not gonna work myself into a state about right now.
I’m here in my studio and it’s where I need to be.
I’ll call her. Later.
Chapter 9
Katherine
“What time is it?”
I whisper these words in the darkness of the room I’m in, stretching my arms as I say it. I feel the soft fabric of the sheets brushing against my naked body, and I realize that these aren’t my sheets.
Nor is this my bed. And why the hell am I naked?
It all comes to me then.
Blake.
Moving quickly, but carefully so as not to wake him up, I roll to the side and blink twice, trying to get my eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room. I half-expect to see the outline of his naked body, but all I find is emptiness.
For half-a-second I think he must have bolted on me, but that doesn’t make any sense – I’m in his apartment, after all.
Kicking the sheets back, I swing my legs off the bed and run one hand through my tangled hair. Thank God Blake isn’t around – I wouldn’t like him to see me with puffy eyes, morning breath, and messy hair. Still, he probably saw me drooling on my pillow right before he left, so there’s that.
I stay there for a while, just sitting on the edge of the bed as I remember what happened last night. I came in here decided to just have dinner with Blake, and then…I just succumbed to him.
I have no idea how that happened. I just know it did, and that it was the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me. Sure, I’m no virgin, but with Blake…it felt as if I had never been with a man before. He knows my body better than I do, and he predicts exactly what I want (or need) him to do.
It’s surreal.
No wonder he has a legion of women throwing themselves at his feet. Handsome, charming, wealthy, and an artist between the sheets (or up against the wall, for that matter)? Yeah, he sure earned his reputation.
Okay, this was fun, sure. But it was nothing more than a fling, I need to remind myself of that. I know my writer’s mind enjoys weaving little love stories out of everything, but I need to stop myself before it’s too late. Blake isn’t the kind of a guy that loves a woman – for more than a few hours at least.
Casual. I’ll keep things casual.
