Page 43 of Out of Office Nights
This felt like a final, cathartic act. One that was intensely personal, even if she was only laying the groundwork for the final concept later. She’d just finished setting out the sixth iteration of how she wanted the pieces to be joined when Teo entered.
His hooded eyes rested on her, then after several seconds he gave a curt nod. ‘A good start.’
Like a valve released, she moved to her sketch-pad, her fingers closing over her favourite pencil. Just as the dryer pinged.
One imperious hand came up. ‘Stay.’
She didn’t bother railing against the command. But she couldn’t help following his glorious form as he rose to retrieve his clothes.
‘There’s a perfectly adequate guest room down the hall,’ she repeated his words to him then, completely compelled by forces she couldn’t stop, added, ‘You’re welcome to use it for the night too.’
He froze, his eyes boring into her.
Too frightened to examine her true meaning underlying that common courtesy, she redirected her focus to the sketchbook.
She jerked awake at the sensation of something slipping through her fingers.
The sketchbook. On which she’d drawn nineteen sketches before her back and fingers cramping had forced her to join Teo on the sofa.
He hadn’t taken up her offer to use the guest room. He’d merely relocated to the sofa after dressing and made a few calls to his twin and his head bodyguard to avoid inciting an international incident when he was discovered absent from the villa.
The only time her attention had been distracted was when he’d tensed during the phone call to Valenti. But she’d been unable to follow the rapid-fire Cartanian language which was so close to Spanish in many ways but also contained marked differences.
The charged look he’d sent her after hanging up, silently questioning why she’d stopped, thrilled her more than she wanted to admit.
She’d resumed sketching, sipping the mint tea Teo offered her in the witching hours. And…that was the last thing she remembered.
She started to stretch now, then froze, shock and desire-tinged awareness zipping through her when she realised what she lay against.
The solid column of Teo’s upper body cushioning her back. Her lower body tucked between his splayed legs. Her cheek on his chest. His heartbeat thumping steadily beneath her ear.
The savage desire to remain exactly where she was.
‘Buenos dias,’ he drawled, the rumble transmitting all the way to her toes. ‘Before you berate either of us too severely for what you think is another misstep, take a beat and tell me how you feel.’
The prompt dried up her knee-jerk urge to mitigate the disaster of finding herself in his arms and the even more terrifying silent admission that had followed it. Her breath eased out, biting back a soft moan when his fingers threaded gently through her hair.
‘I feel…satisfaction. Like I’ve accomplished something important. In a way I haven’t felt in a while.’ The admission was hushed. Filled with overwhelming relief. She blinked back the sudden onrush of tears. Then, dragging herself back from temptation, she sat up and rescued her sketchbook from the floor.
The rush intensified as she leafed through the pages. Like her previous offerings, it started off tentatively, before quickly morphing into…more. Brazen. Fearless. Poignant. Her heart jolted with sparks of joy at achieving what she’d despaired of only weeks ago.
But…while she was immensely grateful, she wanted…needed…more than sparks. She was greedy for more. Fourth of July fireworks on top of New Year’s Eve extravaganzas.
Rising, barely feeling Teo’s lingering touch on her arm fall away, Sabeen approached the fireplace. The embers were banked, a blatant metaphor for her current state if there ever was one. Tossing more wood onto it, she watched the flames catch then roar to life.
Her heart in her throat, she tore her sketches from the book, held them to the fire and watched them burn.
She felt him crouch behind her but didn’t turn. But she blinked back a swell of tears when he brushed his lips, soft, lingering, over her temple. ‘Bravo, tesoro. Now it’s my turn,’ he murmured.
Still perched on her knees, she watched him reach for his tablet. Saw the exquisite designs he was about to consign to the digital trash-bin. Her hand flew to his. ‘No, don’t! Those are incredible.’
‘Perhaps. But the fire isn’t quite done with me either,tesoro. Becauseincredibleis good, but they need to be…’ several beats elapsed before he added ‘…perfect.’
The way he said the word made her heart lurch. ‘Why?’
His gaze remained forward, tormented eyes reflecting the flames dancing in their dark depths. ‘When you’re surplus to requirements it’s easy for others to believe the worst of you. And if that status grates enough, the need to counter it by proving yourself becomes as imperative as breathing. And the quest for perfection never stops.’
She frowned. ‘Surplus to…’ she echoed then froze, a shaft of anguished, shocked empathy moving through her. ‘You? Why?’
