Page 162 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

So imagine my fucking surprise when she scowls and stuffs her phone back inside her purse, zipping it close.

My fucking migraine.

Am I being hypocritical? Possibly. But the moment this Steve asshole offered to take my Briar on a fucking date, I’m past the point of caring.

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As soon as I left Nat and Oscar’s place — after begging them for their help and telling them the truth about me and Briar — I got what I needed.

After Briar left my showcase, she changed her locks. She was quick-thinking; I’ll give her that. I came over the next day to apologize in person, but I was surprised to find that the keys she gave me didn’t work.

Now, desperate times call for desperate measures. She can’t keep herself away from me. I refuse.

Here I am, entering her apartment without permission like some sick asshole. I lock the door, looking around and breathing in slowly. I see my paintings on her wall and note how neat and tidy she likes to keep things.

God, the place smells like her. I can't believe I miss it here.

I'm about to rummage through her kitchen cabinets, just like she did mine the last time when the door jiggles.

Shit!

She’s home earlier than I thought.

I quickly look around, darting across the kitchen and ducking underneath the table.

As soon as the door opens, the oxygen in my lungs vanishes as I watch the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen walk in.

Fuck.

I am fucked.

I’ll keep repeating it. And Again. And again. And again.

I am one motherfucker who is fucked.

I’m such an idiot. What fucker thinks it's a good idea to sneak into someone else's property? Oh, right. Me. I'm the idiotic fucker.

Briar closes the door behind her with her foot, drops her keys on the coffee table, and releases a tired sigh.

The sound goes straight to my dick, and I have to adjust myself.

She turns and pads her way to the kitchen. I crawl from under the kitchen table so she won’t see me.

As soon as her back is to me, I stand up with a grunt.

“Who the fuck was he?”

She whirls around, her hand on her chest, and her jaw drops at seeing me. “Rurik? What the fuck… How did you get here?”

I close the distance between us until I'm caging her in against the counter with my arms on either side of her. “Not important. Now answer the fucking question.”

She stares at me, blinking as if waking up from a hazy daze.

“We’re supposed to be exclusive, remember?” I say harshly, leaning down as my lips barely brush against hers.

She places her hands on my chest — and I'm not ashamed to admit just how much I missed the warmth radiating from her touch — and forcefully pushes me away.

I watch her closely, my eyes tracking her every movement as she hurries around the kitchen table, putting distance between us. She raises a brow and scoffs, her eyes bright again. “What's wrong, Rurik? First, you tell me to leave you alone. Now that I'm granting your wish, you're still pissed?”

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