He sucked in a breath and continued. “Art...art was where I retreated to when my mom wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t move for days on end. It was the place I could hide out in, pretend everything was okay. I used to lose time sketching and drawing. It was the place where I fell into that creative zone where nothing could touch me.”
“Are you not going there anymore?” Sage gestured to the oil. “Because this tells me that you are...”
“It’s just so damn easy, Sage.”
Sage placed her hands on his chest and tipped her lovely face back to look at him, her eyes full of warmth... Love? Affection? “Tyce, you’ve had a hard life. You’ve looked after your mother, your sister and you sacrificed so damn much for them, your scholarship, your wealth to buy the Ballantyne shares, your youth. Aren’t you allowed to have one thing in your life that’s easy? Could this not be life giving you a break?”
Tyce dropped his forehead so that it met hers, hauling in big breaths of much-needed air. Could she be right? Could he finally accept that not everything had to be a fight, a battle to be won?
“You’re so talented, Tyce, the most amazing artist I know.”
“You’re biased.” Tyce rumbled the words, so badly wanting to believe her.
Sage stepped back and looked at him. “Do you remember when you painted the Tired Ballerina?”
The painting in her loft. God, he didn’t but it was early on in his career.
“It was nine years ago and I’ve always been obsessed about ballet and wished I had the talent to be a professional dancer. I saw that painting and I fell in love with it. I was nineteen, twenty? I begged Connor to buy it for me but he wouldn’t. When I turned twenty-one Connor released some money into my trust fund and I tracked down the owner and I paid him three times what he originally paid. I hadn’t met you yet but I wanted that painting more than I wanted to breathe.”
Touched, Tyce opened his mouth to speak but she held up her hand to stop him from saying anything. “I persuaded my siblings to buy Jaeger one of your sculptures for a birthday present, and Connor, at my insistence, bought another three of your paintings for his private collection. One is on the main wall of the reception area of Ballantyne International. Connor said that, while he’d never liked the Tired Ballerina, he loved your new work. He said that you were going to be one of the best and one of the most influential artists of the twenty-first century and... Guess what? You are. You are worth every cent you are paid. If you don’t believe one word I’ve ever said, please, please, believe that.”
Tyce closed his eyes, not wanting her to see the emotion there and he dug his fingers into her skin, hoping that she wouldn’t feel the trembling in his hands. He felt both tired and rejuvenated, wiped out and energized.
And God, free. Sage’s words made him feel empowered, unrestricted. She made him feel like he could take on the world single-handed and win. He wanted to tell her how much what she’d said meant to him, how life-changing it was, but the words stuck in his throat. He ducked his head and hoped that he could convey what he was trying to say with his mouth, his hands, by worshipping her body.
But Sage was way ahead of him. She stood on her toes and placed her lips on his, her tongue tracing the seam of his lips, demanding that he open up. He whispered a Hell, yeah and she slid her tongue into his and she dialed up the temperature, demanding his response. Tyce yanked her to him, his hands looking for bare skin. He was still pulling her shirt out of her jeans when Sage’s hand slid under his sweatshirt and her fingers tap-danced their way across his abs, her thumb swiping the space between his belly button and the low band of his jeans. His stomach muscles contracted and she groaned her approval and her kisses turned wild.
Then Sage’s hands attacked the button on his jeans. Who was this woman taking control, whose hand was sliding underneath his underwear to encircle him? She’d been timid, sometimes shy about telling him what turned her on but today she knew exactly what she wanted. Tyce felt blood pump into his erection and he turned rock hard in her hand.
Sage gave another throaty murmur of approval and she wrenched her mouth from his and stepped back to pull his shirt up and over his head. As soon as his chest was bare she slapped her open mouth against his sternum, her tongue tracing a fiery path down his body.