Page 80 of Hard to Love
“Don’t…” His voice cracked. Could he lay himself out anymore in front of her? Allow her to see all the ways he was vulnerable?
“It’s too late. Whether or not you approve. I care about you more than I’ve ever cared for another man.”
“I don’t deserve it.”
Now, she tugged on his hand to urge him upward. “See, that’s the thing. You don’t get to say what you deserve and what you don’t. Plus, if you don’t think you deserve me, you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to prove you do and…” She trailed off as though suddenly realizing she’d mentioned a time frame much, much longer than right now.
“I told you early on that I wasn’t a good bet.”
She turned on the staircase landing, wrapped a hand around his neck, and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. “I’m just talking about tonight.”
One more night before he made her hate him.
He would take it.
Decision made, he led her into his apartment, didn’t bother to turn on the light, just drew her to him in the fading daylight creeping in through the blinds. He cupped her face in his hands, looked into her eyes, her beautiful soul. “Do you have any idea how amazing you are?”
A spot of pink bloomed on each of her cheeks, and she tried to pull away. Wasn’t happening. “I’m just a flake who does whatever strikes my fancy. That’s not amazing, it’s self-indulgent.”
“You think this—” he dipped his head to indicate the barn’s first floor, “—is self-indulgent?”
“Well—”
“You do realize that along with the general public, you’ve attracted gallery owners and managers from all over the state, right? They want a piece of what you’re doing here.”
When she looked up at him, her eyes were clouded. “I should miss my own work. Should miss creating.”
“You’re building something incredible here.”
“You know it’s not the same.”
No, it wasn’t. Because having the vision to conceive and create something like this was a gift most artists didn’t have. It was the reason so many talented people labored long and hard but rarely received the kind of money or accolades their work deserved. “Do you want to go back to blowing glass?”
“I should.” The misery in her voice sliced Alex’s heart in half. “Maybe once I can afford to hire someone to run Wild Card for me, I can—”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because I’ll need to move on to the next thing.” She wrenched from his hold and paced in a U-shape around his bed until they were staring at each other across the quilt. “That’s what I do.”
“You act like learning all these different arts and crafts has been a bad thing. Like it makes you a failure.”
“When you quit, you give up. And when you give up, you fail.”
“Bullshit.”
“Do you have any idea how many art types I’ve blown through?” She flung out a hand as though erasing him. “So many I can’t count them all. I still have a set of rifflers and drawknives from a three-week flirtation with Appalachian woodcarving.”
“Have you ever heard of the Renaissance?”
“I do have a degree in art.”
“You’re way ahead of me then.” Alex kicked off his boots and sat on the bed with his back to the iron headboard rails. “Think about what they valued back in those days. Think about people like Leonardo da Vinci.”
“He was a freak of nature,” she said. “Incredibly talented, but still a freak.”
“But he didn’t let anyone tell him what he couldn’t do. He invented things. He painted. He sculpted.” Alex reached for Greer’s hand, pulled her down on the bed. She flopped onto her stomach and lay her head across his thigh. Having her close to him was the most pleasurable kind of pain he’d ever felt. “Do you think he beat himself up when he was finished drawing his idea for a flying machine and moved on to paintingMona Lisa?”
“Again, he was da Vinci. No one can compare to him.” Greer shook her head, rubbing her cheek along his jeans. Her breath penetrated the fabric and warmed his skin. The heat crept up and wrapped around his dick.Jesus, not now.
