Page 5 of The Man I Love

She tried to keep the giggle contained in her chest. “You don’t like to be called beautiful?” she asked.

He shook his head and smiled. “Not really.”

She inched closer, her fingers finding the edge of his polo so she could tug it free from his pants. “What do you want me to call you then?”

“Handsome, rugged.” He gave her a brief nod. “Sexy beast would be nice.” He raised his arms overhead, allowing her to pull his shirt free. He scooped her up and cradled her against his bare chest.

Soft light streamed in through the window as he knelt with her on the bed. The last bits of sunlight streamed in through the open window, illuminating blue eyes that probed deep into her soul. Yes, Tristan Montgomery was the most beautiful man she’d ever met, but what she loved most was that he saw beyond the physical.

Her heart grew full, pumping with a passion she couldn’t get used to over two years later. She gripped his face in both hands and stared at him. “What the hell did I ever do to deserve you, Tristan Montgomery?”

He frowned, then laid her gently against the pillows, his whole body following as he braced himself above her. “Because you make me the happiest man in the world, Samantha Smiles.”

Her throat closed with emotion, and she hugged him. “How will I ever leave you?” she whispered, finally allowing free the thought which had lingered in the back of her mind since the moment she’d agreed to Mr. Covington’s proposal.

He pushed up on one forearm, his eyes intense as he grabbed hold of her hand and placed it against his chest. “You won't,” he whispered. “It’s not possible.” His lips came nearer. “Because a piece of you livesright here.” He squeezed her hand, flattening it against his heart. “And it always will.”

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CHAPTER THREE

December

Eight Months Earlier

New York

“Don't thinkabout making art, just get it done,” Samantha repeated the quote by Andy Warhol as she ran her hands over the cool, slippery clay. “Let everyone else decide if it’s good or bad, whether they love it or hate it.” The same quote she’d been chanting every day for four months.“While they are deciding, make even more art.”

Four months, two days, and eleven hours. But who was counting?

Taking a step backward, she swallowed the emotion that crept up her throat and stared at the piece before her. She’d spent hours lost in it. Weeks if she were being completely honest with herself.

She tilted her head to the side, her eyes narrowing as she tried to make sense of the piece. The sculpture was round yet hollow, almost feminine, but there was something else. “What are you?” she whispered. “What the hell are you?” she saidlouder, as though believing the dark mass would open its mouth and answer her.

Her artistic growth had been stifled since she relocated to Brooklyn. Since she left everything behind for one goal—to make a name for herself.

She closed her eyes, plunging one hand back into the cloudy basin, and pulled in a much-needed breath. She fished out a sponge, letting the cool water ooze from the oceanic crevices and drip over her clay-covered fingertips.

She couldn't get used to Tristan's absence in her day-to-day life. She missed his jokes—the ones so silly she couldn’t help but laugh. The way he told them reminded her of a child telling a knock-knock joke: so self-assured, so confident. So fucking sexy she couldn’t stand it.

“Alright,Sammie, you ready for the best joke you’ve ever heard in your life?” he asked as they lay in bed, a sexy smirk on his lips that told her he’d been thinking about this joke for a while.

Sam leaned against his shoulder and nestled in. “Like always.” She grinned.

Tristan wrapped his forearm around her chest and chuckled, his deep voice sending a shiver down her spine. “Okay, so there’s this snail …”

Sam raised an eyebrow and looked back over her shoulder, “A snail?”

Tristan bit his lip and nodded. “Yeah. A snail—a really good-looking snail who goes to a car dealership and says, ‘I want to buy the fastest car you’ve got. And I want you to paint a big letter S on it.’”

Sam laughed. “Why an S?”

Tristan’s eyes twinkled. “The dealer asks the same thing. The snail says, ‘So when I drive down the street, people will say, “Look at that S-car-go!”’”

Sam laughed so hard she choked, then sat up in bed so she could breathe. “Oh my God, that’s ridiculous!”

Tristan pounded on her back but watched her with a satisfied grin. “I told you it was good.”

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