Page 56 of The Blackmail of Denise Randall

I hold the box close to me and turn my torso, keeping the box out of his reach. “No. Damage is done. It won’t be done in vain. I’ll treasure this forever.”

“Since it’s from me?” I blush and roll my eyes. “You have a habit of rolling your eyes.”

“Kind of.” I look him up and down. “You’re still practically naked.”

“This is part of your present. You’re welcome.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes now that he’s pointed it out. I look down at the leather book. I flip the rest of the pages to find blank crisp white pages. It’s a sketchbook.

“I also noticed at the house you had a lot of sketches lying around.”

“You noticed quite a bit while there, detective.”

“Can’t help it.” He shrugs. “I guess art is a shared passion between you and Alice?”

“Yeah, except she has real talent. She captures anything and everything her eyes see.”

His brow furrows. “I saw your sketches. You have talent too. You create beautiful designs. You think because it’s something you made up in your head, it’s less? The idea is already before her. She replicates it. You imagine and bring it to life on paper. That takes creativity and talent.”

“I draw clothes. Dresses. Pantsuits. Calm yourself. It’s not exactly van Gogh.”

“Shit, you’re difficult. You’re brilliant, alright? Argue with me again and I’ll handcuff you.”

“I’m not an…” I stop when I see the hard look he’s giving me. I roll my eyes and work to fight the smile trying to break through. In a haughty voice, I say, “I am an artist.”

“I know you were trying to throw sass in there to get under my skin, but guess what? I liked it. Made you sound more confident. It was sexy.”

Sexy? I feel my cheeks warm. I press my lips together to keep the stern look on my face. He takes my hands and begins massaging them. My chest rises and falls as I stare intently at him. Mesmerized by the way his caress is gentle yet firm. Appearing innocent yet so erotic.

My phone rings, breaking me from my trance. It’s sitting face up on the couch next to me. I look over to see Wyatt’s name on the screen. I glance back over to Keaton who is still perched on his heels between my legs.

“You can answer it. Or better yet, let me answer it.” The wicked smirk on his face lets me know he’d love nothing more than to torment Wyatt with the fact I’m at his place tonight.

A little part of me wants to let him, Wyatt cheated on me after all. I decide to take the high road and answer my phone.

“Hello.”

“Happy birthday, beautiful. I’m glad you finally answered my call. Are you home yet? I went by your parents’ house, but they said you’re out. I have a surprise for you.”

“Thank you. Not yet. The girls took me out, so I don’t have my car.”

“Where are you? I’ll come get you.”

“Wyatt…that’s not necessary.”

“Denise, don’t be like this. We were heading somewhere. Our relationship. You were starting to let me in, don’t do this.”

“As you mentioned, it’s my birthday, so I’d really appreciate it if we didn’t do this now.”

“Then when?” He pauses and huffs. “Can we please just talk? I made a mistake, okay? That was a one-time thing, I swear.” Liar. “People make mistakes. That doesn’t mean you get to throw away what might’ve been. We had a friendship. I don’t want to lose that.” He pauses again and takes a deep breath. “You know, you ditched me for Sloan. How do I know what all went on there?” Is he serious? He’s trying to turn this around on me!

I freeze. He’s never spoken to me that way. Keaton straightens next to me and I wonder if he heard it. Wyatt continues in a softer voice. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m just so frustrated by this situation. I really want to be with you.”

Keaton holds his hand out. I remove the phone from my ear and stare at it. I hear Wyatt say, “Denise? I already miss you.”

I roll my eyes and Keaton smiles. I place the phone in his waiting hand. He puts the phone on speaker and holds it next to his mouth. “I don’t think she’s had time to miss you yet. Kind of hard for her to think about you when she’s in my handcuffs.”

My eyes about pop out of their sockets. I cover my mouth to muffle my laughter. I whisper, “Keaton! Oh my gosh. That sounds so dirty.”

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