Kat flinched at the reminder, at the truth behind those words. How many times had her mother scoffed at her? How many times had she made it clear that she fully expected Kat to fail miserably and come crawling back when she crashed and burned as an artist?
Way too many times…
“I showed up, carried your ass to bed and made you stay put for two days as you recovered.”
Kat remembered that part of course, the way Bradley had watched over her like she was one of the foals on his ranch. He’d been right there, cooking her meals, making sure she drank water and refusing to let her work until she’d rested enough. The rest of the story was easy enough for Kat to repeat as well. “And at the end of that, I came up with a new idea for the campaign that he loved.”
“That’s right. You don’t give yourself nearly enough credit, Kat. You think that if you just keep pushing harder, you’ll get where you need to be, but it blinds you to what’s right in front of you.” He squeezed her thigh as if driving home the point.
Kat looked right at Bradley, but it made her jerk her gaze away.
He caught her chin and brought her eyes back to his. “Why won’t you look at me?”
“What?” She tried to play the question off as she always did. “You’re living here. How can I not look at you?”
Still, he didn’t release her, didn’t let her hide. “You used to look right at me, in the eye, but now? You always look away, or down, or anywhere but my eyes. If you were anyone else, I’d say you were scared, but I know you too well to think that.”
Kat took a deep breath and, just to prove him wrong, did as he wanted. She stared right into his dark eyes, into the familiar brown that she’d fallen for so long ago. The moment she did, however, it was as if the past merged with the present and she struggled to find her bearings again.
“Better.” His grip gentled and he ran his thumb along her bottom lip. “We know each other too well to play these games.”
“We always played games.”
“Youalways played games. I was just along for the ride.”
Ouch.As much as Kat wanted to argue that, he wasn’t wrong. Bradley was honest to a fault, whereas Kat didn’t know what she thought, let alone how to talk about it. “So what are you doing back here?”
He didn’t answer at first, and the seconds dragged on as Kat waited. Finally, he let out a soft laugh. “Never would have figured I’d fall for a brat, but I guess that can’t be helped. Doesn’t matter how long passes, seems I can’t quite get you out of my system.”
Kat’s brain worked to find some sharp retort to fire back, to lighten the mood, to make the moment less intense and less serious, but Bradley was a step ahead of her.
He silenced her with a kiss, forcing her to swallow whatever she might have said. The kiss was sweet—almost like a question rather than a demand. His lips teased hers until she forgot whatever she might have tried to say.
When he broke away, he stared at her for a moment before smiling. Whatever he found on her face must have pleased him, because that expression of his said it all.
Kat licked her bottom lip, finding the bitter taste of the French roast coffee he tended to drink lingering there.
Bradley lifted his eyebrow—was he daring her to say something?
Kat had no idea what thatsomethingmight have been, so she rose from the couch. “I should get to work,” she said, refusing to look away, to give in after he’d pointed out her avoidance. “Like you said, I got a late start.”
Bradley chuckled and picked up his book again. “Sure, Kat. I’ll come get you in a couple hours for lunch.”
“I might work through lunch,” she said.
“You can try, but I’m pretty sure you’ll lose that fight.” He opened his book and appeared as if he’d stopped paying attention to her entirely.
Still, his words lingered just as his kiss had, and Kat couldn’t help the excitement inside her at his words.
Maybe she’d been wrong to write him off so quickly…
* * * *
Those three new images never happened. Despite Kat’s best effort, nothing came to her. No cute penguins, no dragons drinking coffee, nothing that she could sell in her shop.
Which meant after half an hour of staring at a blank page, she picked up her brush and started to work on another painting. It was something, right? The pile of finished paintings from the years rested against her wall, forgotten and useless. This one wasn’t as dark as the one of the girl in the light, surrounded by shadows. Instead, this showed two faces close together, their lips nearly touching, and the hand of one wrapped around the throat of the other.
However, the mood was different. It wasn’t dark, but painted with soft lines and muted colors—something romantic and whimsical.