Rock Redemption (Rock Revenge Trilogy 3)

“No. I’d like to know what’s got you so riled up. Your painting is lovely. You even made some of the flowers look ethereal.” He took a step forward and I growled. He sighed and put his hands up, returning to lean against his post. “You should be excited, not upset about it.”

Why did he have to be so understanding? And always in my damn business. He’d been here for weeks and was always hovering on the fringes like a fucking puppy. Always watching me, as if waiting for me to kick him. Always ready to do something for me. To fetch and keep me happy.

Dammit.

He was being too…perfect.

It was pissing me off.

“I know the difference between when you’re not having a good painting day and not.” He tugged the elastic out of his hair and leaned forward to rake his fingers through the strands.

God.

He needed to stop.

It was so much shorter, but I knew just how silky it felt. I remembered how it tickled my thighs when he went down on me. How it mixed with mine when we slept. My almost white-blonde to his ink. The perfect yin and yang.

He flipped it back, totally unaware that I was mentally reliving half of our morning sexcapades. Because I shouldn’t be reliving them. I was trying to be strong. I didn’t know if I could walk back into the intensity of living with Ian.

And this new perfect gentleman?

Yeah, no.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t him. Again, he was playing chameleon to be what he thought I wanted.

I grabbed the rag off the side of my scaffolding and stepped away from my canvas. “What are you doing here, Ian?”

“Beckett sent me out of the orchard. Something about me meeting with Laverne when she got back from town.”

“So why are you bugging me?”

He shrugged. “She’s not back yet.”

“And you couldn’t go take a nap or eat or something.” He was always freaking eating. And it was showing. Not in a bad way. No, he was filling out from all the manual labor and I was having a very hard time concentrating whenever he was near me.

And saying no to all the dates he wanted to take me on.

Wooing.

Who even said wooing anymore?

Ian, that was who.

“Maybe I should have. You’re being a right bit of a…” He swallowed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, maybe I should head out.”

“Finally.” Relief poured through me at the fire in his eyes. I stalked toward him. “You’ve been so fucking polite. I can’t stand it.?

??

He fisted his hands in his pockets. “It’s called being a gentleman.”

“Shrug off the British, Ian. Tell me what you wanted to say.”

“No. I don’t insult women if I can help it. Especially when it’s the woman I love.”

I pushed him back a step until his shoulders slammed into the post.

Again the fire lit in his stormy eyes. “Watch it, Magic.”