“You didn’t cause me pain,” I tell him. “You gave me growth.”
His eyes soften, and he takes a step closer. Closing the distance between us.
“And I was your teacher. Yet, you were the one to teach me, Chloe.”
“I just wanted you to be happy,” I tell him.
“Are you still holding out on me?” he reaches out his hand, and I take it.
Nothing has ever felt so right. Our paint splattered fingers twined together. The master and his
student.
“Will you sell the painting?”
I blink up at him and smile. “You were the buyer?”
“Yes.”
He presses his hand to my cheek and leans in to breathe me in. And the tension between us breaks. I
can’t be sure who pulls who. But we come together. In blinding heat and a kiss that I’ll never forget.
A kiss that promises so much more. And an apology too.
“You can’t have the painting,” I murmur against him. “I’m keeping it.”
He smiles against me and squeezes my ass in his hands.
“Then I have a proposition for you,” he tells me.
“What is it?”
“I want that painting, Chloe. I want it above my bed. Our bed.”
It takes me a moment to process his words. “You want me to move in with you?”
“Yes.”
The teasing tone is absent from his voice, and now he is all business.
“And something else. I want your work in my gallery.”
“Your gallery?”
Again, I feel like I’m not processing everything he has to tell me.
“You have an entire room of people out there who want that too,” he tells me. “So you have
options. But I’d like you to choose me, and I’ll tell you why.”
He reaches for my hands and takes them both in his.
“I already know what you’re going to say. That I’m doing this because I want to protect you. And
part of that is true. I want to keep you from the vultures. I want to keep your work authentic. And not
influenced by what they want.”