Tyce gripped the edge of the vanity. Judging by her deer-in-the-headlights look when she turned around, she hadn’t expected to see him at his own exhibition and he couldn’t blame her. His presence last night had been an aberration. He hated discussing his work, having people fawn over him and his art. To Tyce, it was a simple equation. If you liked what he did, buy it. If not, he didn’t care. There was no need to endlessly discuss his influences and inspiration for every piece. Luckily for him, art lovers seemed to connect with what he produced. His taciturn attitude to publicity and art critics and his reclusive nature added, so his agent, Tom, said, to his mystique.
He’d only gone to the exhibition because Tom insisted he meet the wealthy CEO who wanted a sculpture for the lobby of her new corporate headquarters. It was a commission that would raise the levels of his depleted coffers and it wasn’t an offer he could treat lightly.
All thoughts of the commission, his agent and staying at the exhibition evaporated when he laid eyes on Sage for the first time in three years. A second after noticing her, Tyce felt his head buzzing, his skin shrinking and his world tilting. Damn; she was still as enticing and compelling and make-him-crazy as she’d been before. The world faded and he’d spun away from the CEO—who happened to be very female, very into him and very willing to give him a commission—and pushed his way through the crowds to reach her.
It was easy to call her hair black but it wasn’t, not really. It was the deepest, darkest brown he’d ever seen. Her eyes were the blue of Moroccan tiles and her body a product of a lifetime spent in ballet class. Sage, damn her, was effortlessly graceful and knee-knocking sexy. She was the only woman who’d ever caused his heartbeat to spike, his lungs to contract and his brain to chant...mine, mine, mine. He’d been thinking of cotton sheets and a massive bed as he’d approached her and it seemed natural to open their conversation with a sexy quip. She, obviously, hadn’t and responded with that furious slap. But, because he’d seen the desire in her eyes and heard her low, excited gasp as his lips met hers, he ignored his stinging cheek and...yeah, hell then broke loose. An hour later they were both naked and panting and pretty much stayed that way for the rest of the night. Tyce ran his hands over his face. Last night they’d let their bodies do their talking but the sun was up and reality was knocking on the door.
Literally. Tyce opened the door to Sage’s soft rap and looked into her vivid eyes. Ballantyne eyes. She was gorgeous, Tyce thought, feeling the action down below. They’d just had rock-my-world sex for most of the night and he wanted more.
Tyce tensed, waiting for her to ask him when they’d see each other again, whether he’d call her later. He couldn’t do either; there were far too many secrets between them, a history that didn’t make that feasible.
“I should give you hell about that sculpture,” she said, “but I don’t have the energy for anything more than coffee. Too bad there isn’t any. I checked. Do you actually live here?”
She posed the question as a joke but it cut too close to the bone for comfort. How would she react if he told her that he only occasionally used this Chelsea apartment belonging to his biggest client? It was easier to meet Sage in Manhattan than to explain to her, and everybody, that he, despite his sculptures and paintings selling for up to five million each, had just enough cash to keep producing his massive abstracts, to buy steel for his sculptures and to pay the mortgage and amenities on his warehouse in Brooklyn where he worked. And actually lived.
Sage waited for him to respond but when he didn’t, she shrugged. “So, since you don’t have the juice of life, I’m going to take off.”
He wanted to protest but knew it was for the best so Tyce just nodded. After all, nothing had changed.
Sage shimmied those slim legs into a pair of designer jeans and hooked the tabs of a lilac bra together. Tyce, comfortable in his nudity, pushed his shoulder into the doorframe and watched the tension seep into her spine, into those long, toned limbs. He knew what she was thinking: How could they be so perfectly in sync between the sheets and unable to talk to each other outside the bedroom?