He sucked in a deep cleansing breath, and when he turned back, Arik was already moving toward the art selections along the wall. He stood in his spot for a fraction of a second more before he picked up the piece again. The man was just as enticing to watch from behind as he was face-to-face, especially in the way that expensive suit hugged all the right places. He’d be willing to bet Arik Layne spent a good amount of time in the gym. Just the thought of the resort owner working out, sweat rolling down his chest as his muscles flexed under the strain, had him wishing for things he shouldn’t.
When Arik disappeared behind a moveable wall, Kellus followed and found him unwrapping the first piece he’d brought in.
“My God, it’s beautiful,” Arik gasped. Kellus’s heart soared at the admiration in his words and eyes, but he said nothing, just letting the praise warm his battered soul. “Is it you?”
The question shocked Kellus to his core. No one, not even John when he first saw the piece, had ever figured that out. “How did you know?”
“I feel your work. It moves me. I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced anything like it before. Growing up with Gage, I learned to appreciate art, but I hadn’t experienced its allure until Gage sent me your first piece. It’s actually in my living room, not at the hotel like Gage intended.” Arik gave a laugh and looked over at Kellus, before turning back to the sculpture. “I had my designer redecorate around the painting.” Arik shared the unguarded words, his tone pensive as he continued to study the sculpture.
Kellus had never been so thoroughly complimented in his life. He watched Arik as he took a few steps backward, then cocked his head and moved to the side, just continuing to stare at the piece.
“Were you sad?” The words were spoken so softly, so reverently, as if the man saw right through his carefully constructed façade, knowing the answer before even asking. Kellus couldn’t reply, couldn’t form the sentence needed to change the subject. Nor could he simply say yes like he wanted to. Because attempting to explain the pain he’d been trying to purge from his system when he’d made that particular one would only encourage a new set of questions and possibly judgments, which he didn’t need or want.
“Why were you sad?” Arik asked. He turned to study Kellus’s face, then turned back to the sculpture. The sculpture was so deeply personal to him. Yes, he’d been sad, and so fucking hurt, over everything John had put him through. And he’d been completely lost and scared to death about facing his future as a newly single man diagnosed with HIV. But he couldn’t tell anyone that, so he remained silent and watched as Arik admired his work.
After a lengthy moment of silence where Kellus felt shell-shocked, Arik looked back at him over his shoulder. “It’s magnificent.”
“Thank you,” he simply replied. Arik’s words were like a gentle caress across his skin. Goose bumps sprang up along his arms, and he forced himself to turn away. He had so much work to be done. He turned a full circle before he gathered himself enough to refocus. He needed to check each piece for placement in Gage’s designated spots.
“Can I see the others?”
His gaze connected with Arik’s. Arik Layne’s intensity was too much to absorb; he was a force to be reckoned with, and Kellus broke the eye contact again. He willed himself to focus on anything else.
“Gage and Sara have a grouping system down. I don’t know if they want them uncovered yet or not,” he said, walking from wall to wall, moving pieces here or there, making sure everything was in the right space.
“Then we’ll recover them.”
Luckily, Kellus was around the corner when he heard the first tear and a smile came to his lips. Why had Arik even asked? He clearly did what he wanted to do. Looking around the side of the wall, he watched Arik on his knees at one of the medium-sized canvases, looking down at the painting.
“You’re truly talented.”
“Thank you.”
They went on like this, Kellus ensuring everything was where they’d designated, and Arik following behind him to unwrap each piece for his viewing pleasure. He came back to the front of the gallery, gathering the bits of foam and butcher paper Arik had torn open. The man must not have to clean up after himself. There was a large trash bucket in the corner, probably placed there for the hangers to use in the morning. Kellus stuffed his trash inside.
“You do just about everything.” Arik had opened an acrylic he’d done of his brother. His brother’s face—the parting look on the day his family had staged their intervention—had been so embedded in Kellus’s mind that he’d had no choice but to paint him.