Page 4 of The Passionate Orc
"I brought apology offerings." Nar held up a paper bag in one massive hand and what looked like a bouquet of paintbrushes in the other.
"You already apologized. And paid for the damages," I reminded him.
"These aren't for the gallery." He stepped closer, and I caught his scent—something earthy and warm, like cedar. "These are for agreeing to see me again."
I took the bag—it contained fancy chocolates—and the bundle of brushes, which turned out to be high-quality sable that probably cost more than I spent on art supplies in a month.
"You didn't need to do this," I said, but my fingers were already stroking the soft bristles appreciatively.
"I wanted to." His voice rumbled, low and sincere. Those green eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that made my skin prickle with awareness.
I cleared my throat and stepped back, suddenly needing air. "Well, let's see if you've got more talent than grace, shall we?"
A slow smile spread across his face, revealing those fascinating tusks that curved up from his lower jaw. They should have been frightening. Instead, I wondered what they'd feel like against my skin.
Focus, Emryn. For God's sake.
"I set up over here," I said, gesturing to the easels. "I thought we could start with some basic?—"
"Can I see your work first?" Nar interrupted, his gaze already wandering to the canvases stacked against the wall. "The real stuff, not just what was at the gallery."
I hesitated. I carefully curated the pieces I showed publicly by polishing them and making them commercial enough tosell, but safe. My personal work was unique. Raw. Sometimes disturbing. Not exactly first-date material.
Wait. Was this a date?
"Please?" Something vulnerable flickered across his face. "I showed you mine."
He had. Those sketches in the tiny book he'd pulled from his pocket after the gallery disaster were fierce yet delicate drawings that showed a sensitivity I never would have expected.
"Fine. But no critiques." I walked to a canvas-covered rack in the corner and pulled out one of my recent pieces of a swirling abstraction of blues and blacks with a single streak of crimson slashing through.
Nar stepped closer, his brow furrowed in concentration. His massive frame moved with surprising grace as he circled the painting, viewing it from different angles. Finally, he looked up, those green eyes almost glowing.
"This is you," he said simply.
Something caught in my chest. "What?"
"This. The real you." He pointed to the slash of red. "Not the pretty flowers and cityscapes from the gallery. Those were nice, but this..." He made a gesture that somehow encompassed the entire canvas. "This has teeth."
A laugh escaped me. "Are you saying my gallery show was boring?"
"I'm saying it wasn't all of you." His gaze fixed on mine. "You're holding back."
I crossed my arms, suddenly defensive. "Says the warrior who hides a sketchbook in his pocket."
"Touché." The corner of his mouth quirked up. "We're both frauds, then."
"I prefer 'complex individuals with public and private personas.'" I tucked a curl behind my ear. "And aren't you beinga little direct for someone who just met me yesterday after demolishing my show?"
Nar shrugged those massive shoulders. "Orcs don't do subtle. We say what we mean."
"Really? Is that the orc way?" I couldn't help teasing him. "Because subtlety is definitely what was missing when you tried to squeeze between those displays yesterday."
His cheeks darkened with what I realized was a blush. "I was trying to get closer to you."
"To me?"
"You were explaining your sculpture to that man with the glasses. You looked so..." He gestured vaguely. "Passionate. I wanted to hear."
