Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 75195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
I could feel her eyes on me, her curiosity probing, and I knew that she would want to see everything. The thought of her eyes on that painting, of her knowing what I had unconsciously captured, made my heart pound.
Nova scanned the space. “This is where all of the magic happens?”
“One of the many studios that I have all over the world.”
She smirked. “Don’t worry. I will not touch anything.”
“Actually. . .I might like you to touch some of it.”
“Hmmm.”
I went over to my long work table covered in tons of opened sketchbooks. There, I set my gift bag in the corner.
I can’t believe she bought that sketchbook for me. She will never know how much that truly meant to me.
Nova gazed at the various sketchbooks on the table.
I tensed as she perused various anatomy studies where I practiced drawing various poses, muscle structures, and facial expressions to gain a better understanding of how to sculpt lifelike forms.
Then there were the many sketchbooks flooded with tons of notes on the experiences I wanted the viewers to have with my exhibitions.
Other sketchbooks displayed my doodling of different color palettes.
Nova shook her head. “All I can say is. . .wow.”
I blinked.
“To say you are passionate about art is to. . .miss the point. Art is your life. It is your. . .soul.”
Warmth washed over me.
“It is the true canvas of your heart.” Nova looked at me. “Or am I. . .sounding crazy?”
“You’re correct.” I gestured to the table. “Tell me this. Do you see how none of those sketchbooks are as nice as what you gave me?”
She blushed.
“In fact, yours is so nice. Now, I’m almost scared to draw in it.”
“No. You have to do stuff with it.”
“The sketchbook is too pretty. Too reminiscent of that night.”
“Then, how about I get you more sketchbooks.”
No.
I tensed.
The faint hum of the air purifier sounded in the background.
Nova slowly walked off, putting her gaze here and there. Thankfully, she never noticed my reaction.
Why did it scare me for her to get me another sketchbook?
My nerves flared.
Should I have let her come in here?
All of my art studios were my sanctuaries—breathtaking havens for me to unleash my imagination. Each space served as an awe-inspiring testament to the power of art and the boundless potential of human creativity.
Why did I want to have our date in here?
So smart, Nova neared the corner where the curtain covered the canvas.
How the hell would she know to go over there?
I cleared my throat.
She pointed to the covered canvas. “What’s behind there?”
She’s too fucking good at figuring me out.
I hesitated, my mouth suddenly dry. How could I explain something that I didn’t fully understand myself?
“It’s not finished,” I finally managed to say, my voice betraying the undercurrent of fear. “Maybe you can see that another time.”
She looked at me, her eyes narrowing slightly, as if sensing that there was more to it. But she simply nodded. “I’m just happy to be in here.”
My nerves calmed.
I followed behind her as she perused everything.
The scent of clay and paint saturated the air.
At this time of day, my spacious studio was filled with natural light due to the high glass ceiling. Huge canvases leaned against the walls, each one showcasing paintings that I had done long ago in my art career.
Old clay models and forgotten sculptures filled shelves and were all in different stages of completion. These pieces ranged from abstract forms to lifelike figures.
“Wow.” She reached her hand out to one and then stopped herself. “I’m sorry. I promised not to touch.”
“No.” My body hummed. “Touch them.”
What was it to have my sacred space invaded by this sexy, inquisitive woman.
Will it ever be the same?
I doubted it.
Nova was inside my studio, putting her scent and memories of her in that white sundress all over the space.
This might have been a bad idea, but I’m fucking loving it.
Nova continued to explore, and then her eyes were drawn to the large screen embedded in the wall.
She gestured to it. “You like to watch television while you create?”
“No. I usually turn it on afterwards.”
“What do you watch on here?”
My throat went dry. Recently, that screen had become a window into my secret obsession of her. “I would say that. . .lately when I turn it on, I’ve been entertained.”
“But, what entertains you?”
I thought of Nova rubbing my tie over her wet pussy. “Captivating moments.”
“Okay.” She chuckled.
I took Nova’s hand, led her to the left side of the wall, and guided her around the corner.
“Oh. There’s more studio.”
“A lot more.”
Once getting on the other side, she gasped.
Does she like my surprise?
The staff had carried out every detail with precision.
More important, Nova appeared absolutely captivated by the romantic and elegant indoor picnic that had been meticulously arranged before her.
A thick, white cashmere blanket—delicate and ethereal—lay on the floor, surrounded by plush pillows in shades of ivory and gold.