Work of Art ~ the Collection (29 page)

The memories tie us,

They bind us it’s true

Yet despite how I’ve fought it,

It’s always been you

I slip in a new sheet, close my eyes, gently sway my hips to the music and sing the next lines a bit louder.

My heart’s always known

It may break right in two

But there’s no way denying

It’s always been you

I take the wooden stick coated with vermillion and drag it along the screen, watching the soft puddle of color spread. I slide the squeegee up to the top of the screen, then stretch up and pull it back, my arms smoothly gliding as I stroke down, the color moving toward me.

At that very moment, I feel a shift in the room and look up. Sean and Max are in the doorway, silently watching me. And although the expression on each of their faces is completely different, I feel like there’s an intimacy in what they’ve observed. The fire in Max’s eyes takes my breath away.

Finally, Sean breaks the silence. “Hey, nice moves, Ava! Thanks for keeping the run going.”

“No problem,” I practically whisper as a flush of embarrassment fires up my cheeks. I glance at Max, but he’s still standing in the doorway, watching me. I search his eyes and expression as Adam’s words ring in my ears. He’s unreadable to me.

Sean decides to take over the screen work for a while as I unload the finished prints from the press and then slide fresh sheets in. Max has a lot of questions while we work. He wants to know what other artists we’ve printed, the average number of colors used and how the edition size is determined. It’s interesting to observe his natural curiosity at work.

Luckily, Sean slowly warms up to Max, and he even asks about progress on the book.

Max and I give each other wary looks.

“What?” Sean asks.

“Well, first the deadline got pushed up by almost two months, and if that wasn’t bad enough, one of Max’s ex-girlfriends tried to sabotage it.”

“She wasn’t a girlfriend,” Max grumbles.

“Sabotage, how?” Sean’s interest is piqued.

“Do you remember me telling you about Jonathan? He’s the publisher of
Art+trA,
and they’re publishing this book in a joint venture with Taylor and Tiden Press.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard Adam talk about him. He’s the one you keep meeting with.”

Max gives me a stern look.

“What?” I purse my lips together while giving him a pretend stern look. “So anyway, Max’s ex-whatever is an editor that works for Jonathan, and she was assigned to help me finish this project, now that the deadline is impossible. Unbeknownst to me, she and Max didn’t have a happily ever after, so she tried to take him down in literary flames.”

Max makes a face.

“Shit, that really sucks, dude,” says Sean.

“In more ways than one,” Max agrees.

I hold my hands up toward Max. “She’s attractive and smart, so I get why you went out with her, but simmering under all that, she’s full of surprises.”

“And not the good kind,” Sean adds.

“Yeah, well, I found out the hard way, and it was a long time ago,” he states with a tense expression.

“So, what did Jonathan do? Did he defend the ex?” Sean asks with a crooked smile.

Perhaps Sean enjoys the fact that
art guy
doesn’t have the easiest time with women either.

“No, Jonathan isn’t like that. When I explained the circumstances, he immediately pulled her off the project. As a matter of fact, instead of assigning the primary rewrite to another editor, he’s working directly with me.”

“Really?” asks Sean as he waves the squeegee—reminding me to keep feeding the paper while I’m talking. We have a lot to print.

“What do you mean working directly with you? I thought he already was?” asks Max.

“I was working with him directly, but only from a broad perspective. Yesterday, we went through the text line by line.”

“How long did that take?” Sean asks and then mumbles to himself, “That’s why you took yesterday off.”

“We started at nine and worked straight through until the late afternoon when he had to catch a plane. We’ll go through it again tomorrow night.”

“What do you mean tomorrow fucking night?” Max hisses.

I give him a dirty look and refuse to acknowledge his question.

“What, man?” Sean asks Max.

Are they’re buddies now?

“I’m pretty damn sure Jonathan wants Ava for more than just her writing,” Max snaps.

“Damn it!” Sean yells and jerks his arm mid-pass over the screen. He lifts it up for examination and presses his lips into a hard line when he spots a tear.

He lowers the screen and turns to me. “Is this true, Ava? Is he horn-dogging you? I’ll kick his ass!”

I give Sean a hard look and do the same to Max. “No comment,” I finally say and fold my arms across my chest.

“Isn’t that fucker old enough to be your dad? What the hell!”

Since when is Sean on Team Max?

“Jonathan would never talk to or treat me the way you two are right now. So put that in your pipe and smoke it. This discussion is over.”

I turn around and pick out a song I like on the iPod dock. The tension is thick in the uncomfortable quiet of the studio.

When I turn around, Sean gives me puppy dog eyes. “Sorry, Ava.”

“Me too. I’m sorry. This whole situation has really stressed me out,” Max adds.

“I know it has.” I remember Adam’s mandate and smile at him. It’s time to play nice. “All’s forgiven. Now let’s talk about something happier, okay?”

Sean groans. “Damn. I don’t know about happier . . . but I have to burn a new screen to finish this color, and I put everything away. This is going to take me a while.”

“Well, I can start with the second color on the dry prints if you set up the screen.”

“Okay, that’s good. Max, want to help?”

“Sure,” he agrees.

As Sean leaves to retrieve the screen for the second color, Max steps closer to me. “So do you have dinner plans? We could grab something when we’re done.”

“I’d like that,” I say with a smile, glad things have lightened up. “Ready to work?”

He nods with a huge grin.

Sean returns and hooks up the screen before heading to the back with a groan.

I’d be irritated too, since it’s a long process to remake the damaged one.

I prepare the next ink, a vivid shade of violet.

Max moves closer and observes what I’m doing. His eyes have a pensive look, as if he’s hypnotized by my movements and the swirl of color.

I roll the first drying rack over and show him how to align the prints that already have , printed under the second color screen.

“Are you going to be able to keep up with me?” I tease.

He arches his eyebrow and gives me a smug smile. “I’ll do my best.”

I nod to the reproduction and original work in the viewing booth. “What’s the name of this painting?”

“
Tropic of My Imagination
.”

“Mmm, I like that.” I smile.

We begin the new run and remain quiet while we quickly establish our rhythm. We finish about a dozen prints before I realize he’s not moving. I look up and catch the hooded dark look in his eyes. Color immediately burns across his face.

“What?” I ask tipping my head to the side.

“You,” he whispers just loud enough to hear.

I stop printing and set the squeegee down.

“You’re working on my art—you’re part of it. I didn’t know . . . I didn’t realize how this would affect me.”

He’s breathing hard and his eyes are wide; it stirs me up. I want to reassure him that I understand that this experience makes me feel even more connected to his art.

“Ava,” he says with urgency and holds onto the press as if he’s trying to tether his emotions to something solid.

I’m moved by his show of emotion. “I know, Max. It means a lot to me to be working with you, too.”

“But it’s more than that.” He takes a deep breath. “It’s hard to describe . . .”

I wait for him to find the right words or simply surrender to what he wants to say.

He runs his fingers across his chin and down his throat as he gazes at me. “It’s unbelievably erotic.”

Now it’s my turn to blush and my heart starts to pound.
Did I hear him right?
Is my entire world suddenly upside down, every straight line now jagged?

There’s a long silent pause as his stare burns with intensity.

I feel like he’s seeing me for the first time.

“I’ve really tried, Ava. God only knows how hard I’ve tried. But I can’t fight it anymore.”

I grip the screen’s frame. “What are you talking about?”

“I can’t deny how I feel another day . . . I can’t stay away from you anymore.”

Stay away from me?

My mind tumbles, trying to consider what those loaded words mean. The opposite of staying away is everything, an open sky that holds us together above our fears. I instinctively respond with an unrestrained heart.

“Then come closer.”

He takes a sharp breath and closes his eyes as the softest smile works its way across his face. Is this an agreement, the ticket to ride with him on a speeding train?

“Will you show me how you do this, Ava?” He waves to the press. “I want us to experience it together.”

I nod and gesture him toward me. “Come here—I’ll show you.”

He walks to my side of the press, and I can feel the energy surging off of him. As a result, every emotion’s passing through me, and I worry that my knees are going to give out.

“Okay, take this and stand here,” I say as my trembling fingers try to hand him the squeegee and step to the side.

“No.” He shakes his head. “I want to do it
with you
.”

Oh my God . . . I’m going to combust.
How can I do this? The rules have suddenly changed. How can I work so close to this gorgeous man and not lose all control
?

“Okay,” I say unsteadily. “We start with the ink.” I take his right hand and place it over mine, take the stick and gently stir the paint in the can. The violet swirls, and I lift the wet stick and drip it across the screen.

I try to focus but his touch and the heat from his body permeates my senses.

Next, I pick up the squeegee, and we complete the motion, but it’s awkward with his hand on only one side of the squeegee. As I lift the screen, he steps around and removes the print and reloads silently.

When he returns, he steps directly behind me, and since he’s taller and larger than me, he curls around me and reaches everything easily. He slides both of his hands on top of mine.

I can hardly breathe I’m so electrified. Swirl, lift, stroke . . . His breath is hot against my neck.

We grip the squeegee, slide, pause, drag back with more force, lift. I close my eyes so I can focus on his scent and the feeling of his arms wrapped around me.

He pauses before he steps away to switch the paper.

When he returns, he steps even closer so that when we extend ourselves across the print, he presses against me.

I gasp. All I can focus on is his arousal pressing against me. I’ve never wanted anyone this much.

By the third pass, I’m trembling, and when he thrusts forward, I press my ass back into him, imagining him inside of me.

“Ava,” he moans.

As much as I want to turn around and face him, I don’t want to stop. I don’t want this moment to end.

“Again,” he groans.

This time, as I slide the squeegee up, he lets go, slides his hands up my arms and trails them down my sides. All the while, his lower body is firmly pressed against me. I could cry it feels so good to have him touch me in ways I never thought he would. I slowly grind my ass against him. His hands move down to my hips, and his fingers grasp my curves, pulling me closer.

I’m surprised he has the focus to change the paper, but he doesn’t reach around to help me with the screen this time. Instead, his hands return to my hips as our bodies press together, and he run his hands down the sides of my thighs and back up. He slips his hands under my tank, moving up my sides, across my ribs, and just skimming the edge of my bra. My nipples harden, aching for his touch, and my breaths are quick and short.

I drop my head and moan, “Max.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he whispers, pressing his lips in my hair at the nape of my neck. He steps away again and replaces the paper quickly.

“Again, Ava, for me.” He brushes his cheek softly above my ear and presses into me a little harder.

I try to concentrate on the trail of violet left from my stroke, but as I push up, his hands part. One slides down over my jeans, between my legs, and presses firmly against my sex. I drop the squeegee and grab the edge of the table, just as his other hand snakes under my shirt and pulls my bra down to cup my naked breast.

My breath catches in my throat as I revel in every sensation.

His fingers gently tease my nipple, and he kisses the side of my neck up to my ear.

I moan as the room spins, and I try to make sense of what’s happening as I come undone. The room is hazy with the softest highlights and shadows. I wonder if this is a dream. There’s only one way to know for sure. I take a deep breath, take a step to the side, straighten my shirt and slowly turn to face him.

Dozens of emotions cross his face—everything from vulnerability to command, with passion the most pronounced. He hesitates and then extends his hand.

“Ava?”

“I’m scared,” I whisper, my heart still wildly pounding. Admitting my fear leaves me raw and vulnerable, and I pray he treads carefully.

He gazes at me tenderly. “I’m scared too,” he whispers as he moves his hands slowly up my arms. “Ava, you don’t know how dark things are in my mind. What I am inside . . . what I can be like. I wanted to protect you from all of that.”

“You’ve been protecting me?” My mind can’t make sense of the very thought of it.

He nods, his jaw twitching as he watches me intently.

Needing some space, I take several steps back until I’m under the arch to the hallway. I put my hands up to my face and back up until I’m against the wall. The coolness of the stucco is startling against my burning body.