She smiled sadly. “My lecturers are always on my back. I just like to enter a dreamworld and paint. My intellect is nowhere to be found.”
“But once you step away from the artwork, the intellect gets involved, doesn’t it?”
She nodded. “Of course. But I’m more inclined to react emotionally.”
“You’re just sensitive. Which is what makes you special.” I squeezed her hand. “You don’t like conceptual art?”
She scrunched her nose. “Not really. I just like to paint and draw. I went to art college to learn how to mix paints and to study technique. It’s overly intellectual. They’ve threatened to fail me. So far, they haven’t. I received a scholarship on the strength of my work, not because of this.” She tapped her head.
“You’re following the path of the masters, like Michelangelo and Raphael, who were apprentices. You’re the most talented person I’ve ever met, Penelope.”
A sad smile touched her lips. “Maybe if I was born in another time.”
“Female artists were a rarity in Michelangelo’s time. Artemisia Gentileschi, for example, had a hard time.”
Her face lit up. “She’s someone I’ve spent a whole semester reading about. I can’t believe you know about her.”
“I went to university, Penelope.”
“Did you study art history?”
“I did one semester on the Renaissance. I’ve read a lot. And I’ve traveled to Italy. I have a keen interest in art.”
“Is that why you like me?” she asked.
“One of the reasons.” I paused to choose my words carefully. “When I discovered you created that enchanting triptych, my yearning to fuck you rose considerably.”
Penelope laughed. “At least you’re a cultured sex maniac.”
I stared her in the eye. “I’m not a sex maniac, Penelope. I’m just insatiable around you.”
A grin touched those lips that had wrapped themselves around my dick earlier so seductively. “I am wondering how many women you’ve fucked, though.”
“I’ve lost count.” I paused for a response, but she remained silent. “Jealousy can’t be retrospective. I don’t even look at other women.” I stroked her warm, curvy thigh. “Let’s just say that you’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted to keep seeing.”
“What makes me that special?”
“You’re a very unique woman. I believe you’ll do great things.”
After a pause, I heard sniffles. Casting a side-glance, I noticed tears pouring down her cheeks.
I stopped the car.
“Why are we stopping?” Penelope asked.
I removed a tissue from under the console and passed it over to her. “Are you okay?”
“Thank you for believing in me.” She looked at me with those big watery eyes.
I held her, like a close friend would. As someone who didn’t normally hug, that was new for me.
Noticing her smudged eyeliner, I passed her another tissue. “Here. You might want to fix your makeup.”
She pulled down the sunshade and looked into the mirror. “Oh. Shit. Look at me. I’m a mess.”
“A beautiful mess.”
She dabbed her eyes and then fell into my arms. Her lips were sweet and salty. I’d never been much into kissing, but with Penelope, my lips were sore because they couldn’t stay away.
28
* * *
PENELOPE
THAT ANCIENT CITY HAD my creative juices flowing and other bodily fluids, too, thanks to Blake. I took endless photos, including some with Blake as the subject, looking devilishly handsome. It was the most relaxed I’d seen him. He was so patient as I positioned him in front of a jaw-dropping facade chiseled by the Romans. His hair was tousled, and he wore that sultry smirk so well. His eyes twinkled a breathtaking aquamarine after I’d asked him to remove his Mr. Cool shades, and my legs went to jelly.
After grabbing a quick coffee to go—we were running late thanks to my need to gawk at everything—we made a dash for Blake’s meeting.
As we drove through the lush grounds of the estate, I sighed at its beauty. The gray-stone mansion was surrounded by a garden of flowers and manicured shrubs that seemed to glow in the sunlight.
After parking the car, we walked up a pebbled path and were met by a flirtatious realtor, who giggled like a child and fluttered her eyelashes shamelessly. Once we’d done our initial introduction, she largely ignored me.
I left them to discuss business and headed down the embankment. The colors were so vivid that when I blurred my eyes, the scenery resembled a Monet painting, especially with the shimmery stream at the bottom of the garden, trickling under an arched bridge.
Blake gestured for me to join them. Dressed in a tan sports jacket, he had sexy rich guy written all over his handsome figure. I could almost smell the hormones pinging off the pretty blonde, who seemed to hang on to his every word.
After she wiggled off, I asked, “Can we look inside without her tagging along?”
Blake grinned. “That’s my intention. I’m not super keen on a salesperson at my heels, hyping up the property in my ear.”
“Something tells me she’d babble about anything.”
He chuckled. “Are you jealous?”
“Maybe.”
He took my hand, which meant a lot to me.
I gushed at the heavily ornamented ceilings and the wall of windows that led one’s eye to the garden. Persian rugs strewn about gave the place a warm vibe, and I sighed at the staircase, which snaked up to a stained glass window on the landing.
I left Blake and visited the main bedroom upstairs, where I stepped onto the balcony and breathed in the country air.
Blake returned to the bedroom. “Okay. I’ve seen enough. Let’s go.”
I almost ran to keep apace. “What’s wrong, Blake?”
“We need to go.”
“You don’t like it out here?” I panted.
“I prefer London,” he responded curtly.
“What’s not to like? This place is gorgeous.”
“I’ll buy it and turn it into a hotel, giving Londoners a place to escape for a weekend.”
“But it’s beautiful. You’re not going to gut it?”
“I have a design team who come in and fit it out with the mod cons people demand. I can’t charge obscene fees otherwise.”
He seemed so cold suddenly. “But you must keep that lovely balcony, the carved ceilings, and the staircase. They’re works of art.”
He nodded. “Those stay. The kitchen will be renovated and a few walls knocked out here and there.”
“Here and there? It’s perfect the way it is. Places like this need to be preserved.”
“And it will, wherever possible.” He placed his hand on my back and moved me along.
I studied him. “I’m sensing something.”
“Penelope, too many questions. It’s business. Now, let’s have lunch, and then I must visit the Cotswolds.”
I followed him silently to the car. His brusque tone hurt. It was difficult to believe this was the same man who earlier had asked me to wear a lacy teddy, only to tear it off with his teeth.