Want to come back? I’m have this idea of tossing paint onto a canvas and rolling around in it with you. It would be a piece for my very private collection.
Sage smiled, shuddered with longing and flipped another look over her shoulder but Tyce had gone back into his building.
So tempted, Sage typed back, But I doubt the Saudi princess, or my boss brother, would understand me blowing off a meeting with one of our biggest clients to play with paint. Rain check?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Do you want to get some coffee?” Tyce asked Lachlyn as they left the small, warm studio and stepped into the icy wind barreling down the street. Lachlyn had asked him to meet her at a new gallery she’d discovered, thinking that he’d enjoy the eclectic pieces sourced from all over the world. He had.
“Sure.” Lachlyn looked around. “There’s a coffee shop at the end of the block.”
“Sage’s apartment is around the corner. She’s at a meeting at Ballantyne HQ but her coffee is fantastic.”
Lachlyn nodded her agreement and they started walking in the direction of Sage’s apartment. “How is Sage?” she asked.
“Fine. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, because when you told me you were moving in with her after her accident, you said it would just be for a couple of days. It’s been a couple of weeks and you’re still there. Did she crack her spine or is her arm paralyzed?”
Tyce narrowed her eyes at his sister. “Smart-ass.”
But it was fair question. Why was he still living with Sage? Every day he made the trek to Brooklyn, worked in his studio and at night he made his way back to SoHo. It was because making love with Sage was like a Class A drug and he was hooked. He couldn’t imagine a day without her in it, not waking up next to her, exploring her body every night. God, that sounded like he was…
No, don’t say it, don’t think it. His need to be with her had nothing to do with the L-word, or a future they could spend together, a life they could make. He was still the reserved, taciturn, need-to-be-alone artist he always was.
Except that his actions, every damned day, contradicted his words. Crap.
“So, what did you think of The Den?” he asked in a deliberate attempt to change the subject. They hadn’t had any time to talk about her meeting the Ballantynes and how she felt about her new family. Talking about The Den, and Lachlyn’s extensive tour of the house with Jo, Linc’s mother, was his way of easing into that conversation.
“Oh, Tyce…it’s definitely the most amazing house I’ve ever seen.” Lachlyn shoved her gloved hand into the crook of his elbow and snuggled in. “There is a Picasso hanging in a small sitting room, Lalique glassware everywhere and, I swear, what I thought might be a Fabergé egg.”
Remotely possible but not likely, Tyce thought.
“You only saw the one lounge and the formal dining room but Linc and Tate mostly use a massive room that’s as normal as any I’ve seen. There were toys on the floor, drawings on the fridge. Okay, admittedly, most people don’t have purple crayons squished into Persian carpets but I liked that room. I could see that Tate and Linc lived there.”
Lachlyn continued her description of the iconic brownstone occupied by generations of Ballantynes and he let her ramble because he was interested in the house Sage grew up in. His ears pricked up at the mention of Linc’s state-of-the-art gym and climate-controlled wine cellar in the basement.
“And Sage?” Tyce asked, his heart picking up speed. “What did you think of her?”
Sage and Lachlyn were the two women who were going to be in his life for a long, long time. It was important that they liked each other. And they were also now part of the same family. That was important too.
“She’s a little prickly.” His sister frowned. “Maybe that’s not the right word… Scared? Vulnerable?”
“But do you like her?” Tyce persisted.
“Yes, I suppose I do.” Lachlyn frowned again. “We were supposed to have dinner this week but she postponed. I’ve sent her a couple of texts trying to reschedule but she’s booked up at the moment.”
Tyce frowned at the note of hurt he heard in Lachlyn’s voice. Trying to reassure her, he put his arm around her shoulder and hugged her close. “I have heard many mutterings of a picky Saudi princess who can’t make up her damn mind.”
They turned the corner onto Sage’s block and, like a homing beacon, Tyce’s eyes were drawn to a slim figure at the end of the street, wearing black pants tucked into black boots, and a scarlet coat. Sage was looking down at her phone and wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings.