AllFreeNovel
Share Us
As the party wrapped up, Seb had asked her to come back to his apartment because he had something he needed to show her. She’d agreed. Of course, she’d agreed. Because his name was Hands, and her name was Putty.
This was a bad idea. It was difficult enough for her to keep her hands off of him when they were in a public place. When they were alone, it was going to be damn near impossible. But that’s exactly what she had to do because he’d ghosted her. Multiple times. The last time he’d left the state for months.
Not only that, but she needed to go into the show with a clear head.
No attachments.
That’s what she’d promised the producers.
It was for the best, really. Even if she hadn’t made that agreement, it wasn’t a good idea to continue to get sucked into the Sebastian Savage dick-sand. Every time they were together, she told herself it was just physical. Yet every time she came (pun intended!) away from the experience she felt even more attached, she had stronger feelings for him.
If she wasn’t careful, she was going to find herself hopelessly, irrevocably, terminally in love with him. That is, if she wasn’t already.
When they reached the top of the landing, Kennedy scooted up against the railing, giving Seb a wide berth so he could unlock the door. He pushed it open and held out his arm allowing her to go in first. She walked by, careful not to let any part of her body touch his. They may not have made physical contact, but the woodsy fresh aroma that was uniquely Seb drifted up her nostrils and spread through her body like a shot of whiskey, warming her from the inside out. His pheromones were like catnip to her hormones. She did her best to ignore her body’s reaction as she heard the door click shut behind her.
Seb stepped behind her, she could feel the heat of his body radiating off of him as he whispered into her ear, “Close your eyes.”
His breath fanned across her neck as a shiver raced through her spine. She did as he asked, her heart thumping even wilder than it had seconds before. Had he read her mind when she’d thought the only way she could speak to him was with a blindfold? If that was the case, he certainly wasn’t keeping the six-foot social distance rule. She could feel the heat of his body radiating off of him. This was going from bad to worse. Her body tingled with seduction as the warmth of his breath fanned her neck.
His large warm hands touched the bare skin of her shoulder as he effortlessly maneuvered her body so she was facing a different direction. The only thing she could hear was the pounding of her heart in her head.
“Open,” he whispered, his lips grazing the cuff of her ear.
Her eyelids flitted open, and she saw a dozen paintings in front of her. It took her a moment to take them all in and her eyes to adjust to what she was seeing. They all had a similar tone and feel but they were all totally unique. They were feminine and beautiful. The images weren’t immediately recognizable, but the longer she looked at them the more she made out. An eye, lips, hair, the curve of a neck.
As she stared at them longer, they started looking familiar. Were they her? Was she naïve, or worse, crazy to think that? She didn’t know much about art, maybe that’s what a good artist could do. They could create images that people saw themselves in.
“This is my next collection. It’s called Crashing Into You.”
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed out.
“It’s you,” he confirmed the suspicion that she’d had.
Her head spun toward him. “It is?”
She needed to make sure that she hadn’t misheard him. The intensity in his stare answered her question before his words did. He nodded. “It’s all you.”
“It is?” she repeated again, still in disbelief.
“Yes. You were my muse.”
Fuck.How in the hell was she going to go on the TV show with a “clear head” now. She’d thought she had it bad before he showed her this and told her that she was his muse. Muse. Never in her life would she have thought she’d be anything close to that.
“Why…? How…? Why…?” She heard herself stumbling over her words but she didn’t understand how that could have happened.
“I didn’t know it was when I was painting them. It was only after I finished that I saw it. I hadn’t been able to paint since the accident, but then I met you and I couldn’t stop. You gave me the greatest gift anyone could. I thought I’d lost it, lost myself, but you gave me back my art.”
Kennedy felt overwhelmed by what she was seeing, by what he was saying. She looked down at her hands and then up again. This was all nice to hear, and very poetic and romantic, but that didn’t explain his behavior.
“What?” he asked, sensing she had a question.
“Did you really miss me? When you were gone?”
His jaw ticked and she wasn’t sure if she’d said something wrong. She wasn’t calling him a liar, it just seemed strange that he could do all this and avoid her in public. And leave and not say goodbye.
He took a step toward her and his hand lifted, cupping her face. Unable to stop herself, she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.
“Yes.” His voice was rough and gritty. “Yes, I missed you. I—”
