23
Michael
"It’s only me." I hold up my hands.
She draws in a breath, "Michael?" Her hushed voice shudders across my skin, and a shiver runs down my spine. My nerve endings pop. The blood drains to my groin as I lean forward in my seat.
"How are you feeling?"
"A little dazed," she yawns, then looks around the room, "Where am I? What happened?" She runs her fingers through her hair. "One moment you were kissing me, the next moment, I think I blacked out…"
"You were out for a little while," I concede.
"Why are you sitting in darkness?" I sense rather than see her scowl. She reaches over, flicks on the light next to the bed, then winces. She blinks her eyes as her eyesight adjusts, then glances over at me. "You going to tell me what happened?" She folds her arms about her waist.
I rise up to my feet and walk over to her. Sink down next to her on the bed. Reach for her, but she pulls away.
"Oh, no," she shakes her head, "no, no, no." She throws up her hands. "Keep your distance, buster…"
"Or what?" I smirk.
"Or… " she glances about the room, then grabs the book next to the bed, "or I’ll throw this at you."
"You sure you want to do that?"
"Why wouldn’t I?"
"Have you seen what the book is about?"
She frowns at me, then lowers the book, "It’s a fashion sketchbook." She turns it over, then flips the pages. "With readymade templates I can use to sketch my fashion designs..."
"And…"
"And plan my outfits; and for my illustrations; also, a diary to take notes when inspiration strikes." She lowers the book, "If you think you can distract me that easily—"
"That’s not all," I nod toward the side table.
She glances down and her gaze widens. She places down the sketchbook, then picks up the other slim volume,"25 Cats Named Sam and One Blue Pussy."Her voice hitches."Am I theBlue Pussy?Is that why you bought this for me?"
"You’re my pussy, regardless of the color,Bellezza."
"Ha, you’re funny." She laughs nervously as she swipes her palm across the book.
"I mean it."
She peers into my face. "You really do mean it, don’t you?" she says in a low voice.
"You know, I do." I jerk my chin toward the book, "Open it."
"Is it what I think it is?" she murmurs.
I chuckle, "Only one way to find out."
She flips open the cover and draws in a breath. "It’s the original illustrated manuscript by Andy Warhol." She glances up at me. "Itisthe original illustrated manuscript, isn’t it?"
I arch an eyebrow, and she blows out a breath. "Shit, it reallyisthe original manuscript." She glances down at the book again, "I didn’t think this was available to buy."
"It wasn’t."