Work of Art ~ the Collection (103 page)

I have the vague sensation, as we settle, of time passing and I realize that Max is unusually quiet as he holds me in his arms.

My eyelids are heavy, but when I look up and see something curiously sad in his eyes, I’m suddenly wide awake.

I trail my fingers across his chest. “What, Max?”

A look of apprehension lingers in his expression as he pulls me closer. He starts to say something, then hesitates. Why is he hesitant to tell me what he’s thinking about?

“What?” I ask gently, cupping his cheek with my hand. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“It’s just that I want another baby so much, Ava. I know I promised a while back to give you more time. But time is slipping by. Now you’re talking about taking some time off. Wouldn’t this be a good time?”

“You think so?”

When he nods, his energy is buzzing. I can feel how intensely he wants another baby, both for Lizzie and for us. His hand moves gently over my hips. “Besides, don’t forget I’m going to be an old man.”

“So old,” I tease.

He groans. “Really old.”

“Max,” I whisper, “I’m glad you want another baby.”

He turns to face me and kisses me tenderly.

“Does that mean you’ll consider it?”

I rest my hand on his chest, right over his heart.

“Have you noticed how much I’ve wanted you lately? . . . Or that I’m insatiable, and we’ve been getting wild whenever we can get enough time alone?”

He smiles contentedly. “I’ve been having too much fun to question why.”

I take his hand and pull it over my breast, and his fingers gently caress me.

“My breasts are so full and tender.”

He stills his fingers.

“And I’m sleeping all the time.”

Suddenly he freezes, and then shifts so quickly that I’m suddenly under him with his face just above mine.

“Ava?”

My heart’s full as I nod.

“Lizzie’s going to have a little brother or sister.”

His expression is full of joy as he takes me in his arms. Instead of words, he kisses me gently across my face, trailing down across my breasts, and finally he kisses my belly. The warmth and contentment radiates through me until I’m sure the baby is feeling it too.

“How long have you known?”

“Well, I’ve suspected for days, but I’ve been wrong before. I took the test a few minutes before you came to find me. I’d just figured out on my laptop calendar when we’re due. I was about to come get you.”

“And?”

“We can expect our baby in February.”

He gives me a tender kiss, then another and another . . .”I’m so happy. God, I love you, Ava.”

“I’m happy too.” I wrap my legs around him, pulling him close. “So, let’s celebrate.”

“And I know how to start.” He moans as he settles between my legs and pulls me into his embrace.

Sometime, in the middle of the night, I feel a little hand pulling on my fingers.

“Mommy?”

I immediately wake. Thank goodness Max remembered to unlock our door, and we put sleepwear on. “Lizzie, what are you doing out of bed? Are you okay, baby?”

“I had a bad dream,” she says softly. “Can I get in bed with you?”

I’m tempted, but I know we should help her get over her fears, not succumb to them. We need to soothe her in her own bed.

I hear Max rustle next to me.

“What is it?” he asks with his sleep soaked voice.

“Lizzie got out of bed. I think it’s your turn to take her back.”

“Please, Daddy . . .”

He doesn’t even put up a fight. When he pulls her up onto the mattress, she happily crawls over between us and snuggles in.

“You know, we swore we were going to stop doing this,” I whisper, biting my lip to keep from laughing.

“Uh huh.” He smiles lazily as he pulls his two girls into his arms. I feel his free hand glide over me until it rests on my belly. I rest my hand over his and sigh as I sink into my pillow.

This is my family. This is the best part of my life.

For a brief moment, I look out the window, and in the dark sky dotted with points of light, I imagine Van Gogh’s
Starry Night.
His vision, swirls of stars suspended in cobalt blue, lingers as we fall into a deep sleep.

In my dream, we’ve lassoed the moon and flown through the Starry Night. In our bed-shaped chariot, arms and legs, large and small, are intertwined.

Together we are one, full of hope and love, brimming with the sweetest promise for what our future holds.

Work of Art Book I ~ The Angel Ascends

This is from the opening scene in Work of Art where Max meets Ava for the first time, told in his point of view.

I
hate these damn group art shows. I’m an artist, not a show pony. I should be in my studio painting, not on display. I especially despise these shows because they turn my manager, Dylan, into a dick.

On the first day of this New York event, it doesn’t take long for me to lose my shit with him. Leave it to Dylan to tell some rich old broad that I’ll repaint my master work in colors to match her bedspread. If that rude bitch has that much money, he should tell
her
to find someone to make her a bedspread that matches
my
painting.

In my blind rage I storm into Adam’s show pavilion. It’s taking everything I have to not turn around and punch Dylan in the face as he chases after me, yapping potential sales profits to the back of my head. Does he have any fucking idea what it means to be an artist? Why didn’t I fire the asshole years ago?

Adam’s a dealer I’ve always respected, but when he turns to face us and calm the storm he seems to be siding with Dylan. I’m looking at the possibility that I’ll have to punch Adam in the face too when I hear a young woman’s voice cry out as I explain the bedspread reference.

“That’s outrageous! What an insult!” she says from the back of the meeting space.

I turn around to see who just defended me—what mysterious soldier joined my side of this battle? I fight back a satisfied smile when the dark-haired beauty’s gaze meets mine. My compatriot is an alluring vision with her fierce expression and demure business attire. I’ve never noticed her before, but I’m immediately intrigued. I also have a sense not to underestimate this woman.

A calming feeling settles over me. Her presence, a soothing blanket of support, smothers out the rage that has riled me since Dylan tried to sell me out as his art whore. I’m mesmerized by this woman’s unwavering stance, her fists still resting on the curve of her hips. Considering the other’s lack of support, she’s brave to defend me.

Adam and Dylan’s protests become grey noise to me as I step toward her, and watch her bright eyes widen with a curious expression. The only thing that I note from Adam and Dylan’s babbling is her name.
Ava.

Ava.
The name fits her and I love the way the word fits in my mouth before my lips part to address her.

“Ava, such a beautiful name.”

Her cheeks glow pink making me want to frame her lovely face in my hands. Is my intense regard overwhelming her? Does this
Ava
, with a Picasso strength of character, and Botticelli face, not understand that she has cast her net over this beast of a man and is pulling me in?

In that moment of our gazes locking, all I know is that I need to get her away from this brothel of art pimps and their soulless customers. I’ll find a place to take her that’ll be our island. We’ll be castaways from the madness of Manhattan. I want to know everything about her and what mythical land she escaped from before she appeared as a vision before me.

Once alone, I’ll show her only brief glimpses of the real me so I don’t scare her off. But in time if she inspires me, and she wants more, I’ll take her to my bed and consume her, taste every inch of her before I part her thighs and fill her as fiercely as she just defended me. I’ll arouse and fuck her with such raw passion that I’ll become her drug.

She tips her head and watches me with an arched brow and audacious smile. Hopefully she can look into my mind and see her long legs wrapped around me. I’m not sure if that idea has settled over her yet, but it will. I’ll make sure of it. Painting isn’t my only art form when I have a woman lying across my sheets.

Are you ready to have your mind blown, Ava?

I’ve got that surge of lust-filled adrenalin and all the colors that surround us glow brighter, almost psychedelic. I have a hunger to know what she tastes like between her legs. Will she be spicy and hot on my tongue, or sweet as sugar? I want all her flavors. I want every part of her.

She gives me a long look as Adam scowls, and finally she let’s out the breath she’s been holding as the corners of her mouth curl up. There’s something about this Ava . . . as if she has a secret hold over me and I have to know why.

Despite the other’s silent protests, I give her a wink and take her arm to lead her away. After we’ve gone several steps she turns toward me.

“Do you always get your way?” She asks as we work our way through the crowded aisle.

I shrug. “Pretty much.”

What I don’t share is that it’s been a long time since I’ve known what I really want. Maybe all of that is about to change.

With each step forward I pull her away from the expected—the ordinary, and into my world.

Work of Art Book I ~ Passion in the Print Studio

W
e are friends. Friends.

But that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve wanted Ava since the first time I laid my eyes on her. There’s no denying the current that sparks between us. It’s undeniable . . . she just hasn’t been ready for me and I’ve been determined to wait until she is.

I’m completely amped up to join Ava in the print studio. I’ll be watching one of my paintings come to life in print form, one color at a time. I’ve always wanted to oversee the silkscreen process, but doing it with Ava makes it something else entirely—something intimate, one more way our passions bring us closer.

When the print run starts, we share weighted looks, doing the delicate dance we’ve always done. I ask her to show me her technique, and Ava pauses as if she’s considering what she should do versus what she wants to do. Finally she whispers to me, “Come closer.”

I don’t have to be told twice.

As I move toward her, my gaze never strays from watching her on the press. She sways her hips while dragging colors across the screen, and any restraint I have melts like snow falling on fire. She is touching my art—her scent, her breath becoming part of it. I’ve always loved Ava, but now it’s beyond me not to have her in every way.

When I step behind her and press against her, I can barely breath. I’m like a teenager finally about to fuck the girl he’s long been obsessed with. It’s unreal . . . the glory of my hands on her bare skin, moving slowly across her hips and up to her breasts. I kiss her sweet neck as my eager fingers slide between her legs and into her warmth.

She’s brilliantly electrified. When she rocks her ass against me and moans, I lose my sight for a moment. The raw lust is powerful enough to render me blind to anything but the feeling of Ava in my arms.

In this perfect moment how does everything explode apart? After I practically beg to fuck her, I’ll never forget the look on her face. It’s like I can see her heart twist shut. In the silence of the studio, the sound of her cries will always haunt me.

“You’re wrong . . . I don’t want to fuck!” she yells as she pushes me away.

What the hell?
She was all over me with one hand grabbing my cock, and the other my ass . . . and now this? I’ve never gotten my signals so screwed up with a woman.

But this isn’t just any woman, it’s
my
Ava and without her arms holding me, I fall off our cliff. She’s tethered me to her world with threads of sanity and without them I tumble, not sure the direction of my descent.

As I fall, every color in the room but red fades, and the red glows hotter until I can feel the burn all over my body. We were so close to finally being together and now we’re shattered fragments. Hope is nothing to me now but a four-letter word.

I’m destined to be without her. I don’t deserve her and now I must live with this emptiness as my loss slowly . . . painfully . . . eats me alive.