My mind doesn’t take it all in, just him nearly naked with the towel around his hips is distracting. “What?”
Sam laughs and pulls me to the edge of the bed. “We have to be in Fredericksburg by two this afternoon.”
“Why are we going to Fredericksburg?”
“To meet with that gallery owner, he can see you today at two. We’re cutting it close but it will work. It will take awhile to prep the paintings for moving. Come on, he said to bring six. I have the stuff to wrap them up in my truck.” He pulls on a pair of underwear from the standing drawer, where both of our underwear is sharing space. From the closet he pulls out a black polo shirt and jeans. “Come help me pick them out. I’ll wrap them up and you can get ready.”
I sit up but I don’t follow him. I’m still sitting there where he left me when he comes back. His hands come around my arms and he pulls me up off the bed and against him, where I all but sag against him. “Zoe, being late for something like a job interview is a bad idea. And from what I’ve read, prepping paintings for a move isn’t easy. Hey, what’s the matter?”
I try to burrow into him but he won’t allow it. His hands on my arms pull me away from him so he can see me.
“Zoe, talk to me. What’s going on?”
“What if, what if they aren’t good enough?” It’s a whisper of sound from my tight throat.
“Hey, look at me.” His finger slips below my chin and brings my eyes up to his. “I’m not an art fan and I don’t know a Van Gogh from a Picasso but I know what I like and I like what you’ve done. I’m not saying it to make you feel better or because I love what we do together and I’m worried you’ll stop if I say I don’t like them, I like them. They are beautiful, they have a movement to them a person wouldn’t expect, they’re soft and calming. Kind of like you. If he doesn’t like them, someone else will. If someone can like a fucking can of soup, someone will like what you’ve done. It might take time but you’ll find the people that do.”
It hits me now what most appeals about and kind of scares me about Sam. His eyes tell me everything that is going on inside him and he’s always looking into my eyes, unflinching, not hiding. He isn’t lying to soothe me and telling me what he thought I want to hear.
“Okay.”
His kiss steals my breath, his tongue sweeps in, commanding, demanding and the taste of me on his tongue is intoxicating, Sam is intoxicating. When at last he frees me, my arms are around his neck, and he smiles as he pulls them down. “Let’s do this, baby.”
I nod my agreement and move to throw on a shirt.
It takes almost an hour to pick out and wrap the canvases for transport. Of the fourteen finished Sam picks his three favorites and I pick three. Sam begins to take them out to the truck and I run for an extremely quick shower and to do my hair and change out of the shirt I had thrown on. After a few minutes of indecision I pick a black maxi dress, sleeveless with straps. I pick out a long turquoise necklace and make sure I have my gloss for when we are close to the gallery.
I’m coming out of our room as Sam comes in from outside.
“Why did you put your hair up in a bun? I don’t like it, take it down.”
“It l
ooks more professional. I’m not taking it down.” It had taken forever to smooth it and put it into a tight bun.
Sam stalks me and dear lord, am I some kind of freak to be turned on at the leashed power in his body as he pulls me close, his hands holding my head in place and his mouth comes down on mine. It’s pure domination, my mouth is his, my body is his to do with as he pleases and he pleases me so very much. Then his hand is in my hair and the covered elastic holding up my bun is gone and my long hair tumbles down around us. Only then does he let me go, his eyes running over me with satisfaction.
“The black is bad enough, with your hair up you look like you’re going to a funeral. I don’t like your body on show but the black works, your cock aching curves are outlined just enough to please without grabbing attention.
Let’s go, or we’ll be late. We still have to stop and grab something to eat for the road. I’m starving.”
Chapter Fourteen
We make it into the small town with about twenty minutes to spare. Sam’s navigation system directs him to the gallery and he pulls into the back and we are right on time. Sam urges me into the gallery, he would bring the paintings in.
The gallery owner is an older white haired man with the jeans and checked shirt appearance of a cowboy in from the range but the diction of an English aristocrat. He’s thin and his handshake firm. He invites us to call him Dale and walks us into a large open area for storage where he had set up six easels. Sam is carrying a painting in each hand and promises to be in with the others. Dale is careful as he cuts away the bubble wrap that had cushioned the paintings on top of each other and below the bubble wrap is plain brown paper that protected the paint.
I can only watch, my nerves tightening as Dale studies each painting and set them on the easel. When all are set up in place, he flicks a switch and a bright light shines down from above in a line. Throughout the whole process the man said nothing. Sam pulls me tight against him and I lean into his warmth.
“I can see your progression, these two, they are the earlier ones. Yes?”
I nod.
“Hmm, I thought so. You showed promise here but you appear to work better with oils than acrylics, it looks like you figured that out and it appears you are coming into your own, here and here.” Waiving a hand at my last two paintings he seems the slightest bit smug. “I’ll take four. I’ll put them up and we’ll see how you do, we’ll give them a four week rotation. Twelve hundred each piece, standard gallery commission of fifty percent. If they sell, I’ll want to see more. If they don’t sell, well, we’ll go from there. Those, two, the one in browns and yellows and the bluebonnets can go.”
Sam squeezes my waist as I sag against him in relief.
“It was nice meeting with you finally, my dear. Now, I must be on my way. I’ll have Harold come back and help you wrap the ones you’re taking back.”