Page 39 of Sawyer
And for Madison and Kyle.
Neither were around when he came downstairs the next evening. Perhaps they were seeking separate corners after the charged encounter last night. Sawyer felt for them. He’d meant every word he’d said to Kyle, but he had a date to get to, and at the moment his focus was fully on Phoebe.
Letting himself out of the house, he took a cab to their rendezvous point at Librairie Madame Giveny, one of his favorite bookshops for rare books. Of course, they’d textedabout that too while continuing to volley quotes back and forth that had his heart dancing around like his paintbrush on canvas.
She was waiting for him in her aqua coat, like she had their first date. He wondered if it was a British compulsion of hers to be early. Tonight he would discover more about this woman who had captivated his heart and vision, but before he lost his nerve, he walked right up to her and kissed her on both cheeks Parisian style. “God, you’re so freaking beautiful."
Her husky, “Bonjourto you too,Sawyer,” shot him full of lust and delight, as did the musky floral scent of her perfume.
His head spun. “No wonder you’ve become my muse,” he blurted out before slapping a hand over his mouth.
Her eyes widened before dancing playfully. “Your muse, huh? Do tell me more…”
That light-headed feeling was back. Maybe it was her perfume—and her beauty—and oh boy, he was so into her. “Did I sayBonjour?”Suddenly he couldn’t remember. “Ah…since our first date, I’ve painted two large paintings of you. I hope that’s all right.”
She touched his cheek, laughing. “All right?Being immortalized is so my schtick. Do you need me to sit for you? Oh! Is one of them a nude? Because if it is, you probably should make sure it’s true to life. I’m against false advertising.”
His cheeks heated as he sputtered out a laugh. Sure, he’d drawn live models, but somehow it was different with her. He knew her. Wanted her. And yeah, he’d thought about her naked. “How did I know you’d respond that way?”
“Are you blushing, Dr. Jackson?” She took him by the shoulders, her green eyes dancing. “Surely you’ve had live models.”
“Of course I have.” He tried to give her a stern look worthy of Brooke while not answering directly. “I love nudes, although I haven’t painted one.”
She took his arm and led him into the bookshop, whispering, “We could start tonight. After dinner. I’m freshly shaved?—”
“Phoebe Anderson!” He had to rein in the wild lust coursing through him now as images flashed through his head. “You are what some would call shameless—a daring flirt—and I’m completely delighted.”
They stopped at a glass display showcasing old astronomy books with bold script and color ink drawings. “I’m glad you think so.” Her wink was pure mischief. “You know, my mother is so very proper now, but when she was a young woman, she was a regular on the party scene of artists in London, Paris, and New York. That’s where she and my father met. He even painted her nude—which she burned when she filed for divorce, saying she refused to allow my father’s interpretation of her body to live on past their marriage. He threatened to sue her for the destruction of private property. It was a nightmare. I personally thought she was short-sighted.”
He closed his mouth after a moment. “I don’t know what’s more shocking. That she burned a great work of art by River Kennison or that you knew about all of this as a kid.”
She laid the back of her hand to her forehead. “My therapist tells me I’ll survive having seen nude portraits of my mother as a child. I’m joking. Mostly. My parents think therapy is a necessary tool to delve into one’s inner psyche.”
“My mother has that horrible belief about therapy being bad for your reputation. I think it might have helped me.”
“Maybe. Depends on the therapist and a whole bunch of other things I won’t delve into. For me, all I did every week from the time I was six until I was eighteen was talk about my feelings, especially what made me feel bad or scared. Even when I didn’t have anything to report, I was expected to. There were thingslurkingin my subconscious. I realized at ayoung age it was making me neurotic. Because when you go to therapy, you learn words like that.”
He realized his heart was bleeding—right there inside the bookstore—for the girl she’d been.
“Oh, don’t look that way.” She brightened up an assuring smile. “It was great practice for learning how to convince people about what I didn’t really feel, my parents included. Because there was no way I was trusting them with that.”
He took her hand and pressed it to his chest. “I get that. I don’t want you to feel you have to do that with me. I like who you are.”
He watched her face ripple with shock before she leaned against him, all earthy smiles and spicy-scented woman. “I believe you. Which only makes me like you more. Did you know many artists are absolute liars? Oh, the stories I could tell. Let’s change the subject, though, and get back to these gorgeous astronomy books. Do you have a favorite planet?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” he asked, making her chuckle. “Saturn. Because it has the most rings.”
She pointed to the display case. “Mine isn’t depicted here since it was discovered in 1930.”
“Pluto.”
“Very good, Dr. Jackson. I love it because it holds the best story. It was aseriousplanet, one of the Big Nine, for a hot minute until they downgraded it to a dwarf, like they’d gone all Tolkien in astronomy circles. And why? Because it wassmallerthan the other ones. Of course, they say it was because of its orbit, but I don’t believe that’s the main reason. Never say astronomers aren’t bitten by the male fascination with size. I mean, really. Now I wonder. Does it have an image problem? Feel like it’s not as good as Jupiter or Mars. I wonder about these things.”
“Planet shaming should be a crime,” he said, loving when he made her laugh that husky laugh of hers. “How about a quote for the day?”
She rubbed her gloved hands together in delight. “Yes! Lay it on me.”
“She's beautiful, and therefore to be wooed.”
