“These are amazing,” I said, shaking my head. “They remind me of something that should be in a gallery, not locked up. Have you ever tried to sell any?”
He walked over and stood beside me. “No. Don’t think I’m good enough. I never trained.”
“Crap, James, can you imagine what you could do with some formal schooling?” My eyes widened when I spotted another small stack of charcoal drawings in a variety of poses. “These too?” I asked.
“Yeah. That’s how I started. I was always sketching, doodling. I used to make comics for my friends in school. I spent a lot of time alone in my room, drawing to keep from getting bored.”
These sketches were simpler, as if he was building the basics of delving behind the surface of people. He had taken something definable in each of them, whether it was a soft look in their eyes, the clenching of fingers, the tilt of the chin. Each one spoke to me on a different level. I put my drink down on the floor and immersed myself for a while.
When I was finally done, I looked up. “You said you weren’t an artist,” I said quietly.
He jerked back. “I’m not. I like to draw and paint. I never sold anything. I never trained.”
“Why not?”
He let out a breath. “Because it’s a hobby. Because it’s ridiculous to think you can make a career out of something like this. Everyone has a crafty sort of thing they do in their spare time. Just because I’m rich, I’m not about to force someone to show my stuff.”
Bingo. The truth slammed through me. He was born to do this, but had gotten caught up in too many voices telling him he couldn’t. Not that I blamed him. After a while, when everyone tells you you’ll fail, you begin to believe it. Anger coursed through me at the total waste of his talent and his belief in everyone but himself. “James, you’re good. Really good. This is what you’re meant to do. No wonder you were strangled at your dad’s bank and Ivy League schools. You need to follow this.”
“Whatever. Let’s go eat.”
He turned, but I jumped in front of him. His pretended ignorance was a big fat lie, and I couldn’t take it. Not from him. “Don’t pull that bullshit with me,” I said. “Why can’t you admit this is what you want? You have the money to go to art school and study. You have no excuses.”
His jaw clenched and his blue eyes sparked. “Exactly! Do you think I want the world believing I bought my way into galleries or school because of my money? I could make a call and get connected with something just from my family name. I don’t want anyone’s charity, goddammit. I’m not good enough.”
I practically spit with frustration. “Did you ever even try?” His stubborn expression told me no. “Maybe you’d find out if you submit your work to them and see? Fuck the family name. Just don’t use it—make one up and satisfy yourself it’s on your terms. You never gave it a shot, because that way you’ll be safe. But you’re not safe, James, you’re just alone. Throwing parties and wasting time and looking for something that’s already here. You’re a f**king artist! Just be one!”
He fisted his hands and stepped back. I watched the conflicting expressions war for dominance, and suddenly, all that energy hit me like a sucker punch. “It’s not that easy.”
“It’s not that hard.”
“I don’t know if I’m good! Jesus, don’t you get it?”
I got closer to his breaking point, almost scenting his rawness beneath the surface he gave me glimpses of. But I wanted more from him, dammit, I wanted everything he had, whether or not I had the right. “No, explain it to me.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
I let out a strangled cry in pure frustration. “Bullshit! It does matter, it all matters, but you’re being a coward by not admitting it. Just f**king tell me what your problem is!”
He gave a vicious curse. He seemed to struggle with temper that was more directed toward himself than with me, but it swirled with a raw emotion that turned me on. This was the James I ached for—his feelings and soul as naked to me as his body. The combination screamed sexual power. “What do you want from me?” he ground out. “Why are you pushing?”
I was breathing hard, aroused, and pissed off at his stubbornness. “What do I want? Oh, that’s right. Let me make sure not to demand too much emotion here. Let’s just keep it to f**king each other’s brains out, okay? Better now?” I knew I was taunting him, but I ached to push past his barriers, and when our bodies connected, all walls came crashing down.
His control teetered, paused, and crashed. “You want to know everything? All the touchy-feely bullshit? Fine—my whole life I had one f**king thing I dreamed of: making it in the art world, on my own. But if I don’t have it, and I fail, there’s nothing left. I shot my load and I got no backup. And won’t my f**king parents and friends laugh their asses off? You get it now? You happy?” His voice rose and crashed around me, full of naked and swirling emotions I never glimpsed before.
“Yes, I’m happy now. Now do something about it.”
He stared at me, poised on the brink, and then he closed the distance and hauled me into his arms. Blazing blue eyes locked with mine. My ni**les hardened and I grew wet.
“Fuck this,” he muttered. Slamming his mouth over mine, he kissed me, his tongue thrusting into my mouth and taking what he wanted. I gave it back, pressing myself against him, digging my fingers into his hair and holding on tight. He bent me backward and swallowed me whole, until there was nothing left except what he gave me. My bare thighs scraped his belt buckle, and he ripped off his shorts, shoving down my bikini bottoms, and lowering himself to the floor. Our mouths never broke away, and I whimpered as I grew wetter, wiggling on top of him so I could get his c**k deep inside me where he belonged.
He broke away and bit my earlobe. I shuddered. “Condom. Pocket. Put it on.”
I fumbled with the wrapper and rolled it on him. He gripped my hips and lifted me over him, my pu**y dripping, my ni**les begging for his teeth and lips and tongue.
“Ride me, baby. Ride me hard.”
I cried out his name as I sank down, taking his c**k in one long surge. He buried deep inside me, and I panted for control, digging my nails into his skin as I fought for control. My hair streamed loose over his chest and he groaned, arching up so I was forced to take more. “All of me, Quinn. That’s good, so good.”