Page 114 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

I shake my head. “What the fuck, Rurik?”

Rurik growls and grabs my hand, pulling me to a room upstairs that the bridal party had used to get ready. He lightly pushes me inside, ignoring my indignant noises.

“Rurik—”

“Fucking answer me, Briar!”

“No! Fuck you, Rurik,” I yell back, my patience snapping like a fragile rope. “You don’t get to ignore me for days after our talk and then proceed to act like some macho man to Nat’s dad. Who the hell—”

Oh.

Oh god.

I’m not imagining it. Rurik is kissing me again.

Fuck, what is up with him and angry kisses, and why do I love it so much?

Something about his angry kisses ignites a fire within me, awakening parts of myself that have felt dormant. It feels like my body is reconnecting with life, and my mind is clearing from the fog that has clouded it for the past few days.

I grab him, wrap my arms around his neck, and press my body against him. He wraps his arms around my waist, deepening the kiss.

“You’re fucking annoying,” Rurik murmurs against my lips.

“I missed you too, angel.” I grin, nibbling on his bottom lip.

After a few minutes, we both pull away to gain back some air. Rurik swallows hard as he stares at me, and I push up to kiss his Adam’s apple.

Fuck. I can’t believe I miss him. It’s only been a few days, damn it! What is it about this man that makes me so addicted?

“Sorry,” He mutters, letting go of me, much to my disappointment. “I don’t know what happened back there.”

I grin again because I can’t help it. He’s so damn cute, I can’t take it.

He. Fucking. Loves. Me!

“I must have pre-gamed so hard this morning,” He sighs, shaking his head.

“Aren’t you technically working?” I ask. “You were painting the wedding, right? I haven’t seen it yet, but I’m excited to!”

“Yeah. I’m painting the reception too,” Rurik clears his throat, looking at my face. His eyes linger on a spot on my face, and he frowns. “What happened?”

And just like that, my grin fades. I lift a hand to touch the bruise, forcing a laugh. “Like I told Mr. Rogers, I fell. I smacked my face on the coffee table.” Rurik's frown deepens, prompting me to change the subject quickly. “You might have witnessed that if you came over or answered my texts!"

This time, Rurik rolls his eyes. “My phone broke, and I didn’t have time to get a new one until this morning.”

I cross my arms. “And you couldn’t be bothered to text me immediately?”

Rurik glares. “Why? We’re not friends.”

I glare back. “Wow, Rurik. You sure know how to make a girl feel special.”

“Don’t forget my boundaries, Briar.”

“We haven’t done anything for us to cross any boundaries, Rurik,” I scoff. “Why are you stalling?”

But Rurik just glares at me, his eyes flashing with annoyance and something else.

Then, my frustration from his radio silence boils over like a disgusting pimple. “You could have just texted me back, you know? I would have been happy to hear anything from you. We didn’t even have to fool around. We could have just hung out. I could have just shown you where I had put your paintings. We could have—”

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