Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
He reeled her in, set his arms around her waist. “I have all these warehouses full of artists creating amazing art, and I never weigh in on it because even though I’m not artistic myself, I understand that the artist has to create their own vision.” He looked at her for a long moment. “It was like you with Dylan. You understood where the artist in him was coming from, maybe from your experience with San Holo.”
She ran her fingers through his hair. “I’ve had a lot of experience in the art world. But you understand artists too. Now you’ve learned something as well. Your heart wanted to fix things. But you see that, ultimately, they have to fix it for themselves.”
He closed his eyes, relishing the feel of her fingers on his scalp. “You have such wisdom about the artistic temperament.” Then he looked at her. “I’m really surprised you didn’t continue with your own art, with all your insight.”
She said with a shrug, “Given the artist I work with, I’ve learned so much over the years.”
He could resist no longer and pulled her onto his lap, right where he’d wanted her from the moment she walked into the apartment. He held her tightly with all the feeling he had, all the gratitude for how she’d made him see when he’d wanted to shut his eyes. Then he kissed her with all the passion filling his soul.
Clay kissed her until she couldn’t breathe, until they were so close it was as if they were one being.
But she had to push back because she had so much more to say. “What you’re doing is amazing. TED Talks for artists. You could have a therapist talk about how to deal with unsympathetic or unsupportive parents.”
“Like Gareth.”
And like her. “Experts who can talk about ways to live on a small budget.” She gasped. “These lectures could be for every artist, not just the ones in your studios.”
He tightened his grip on her. “We need Dylan on this.” A hint of pain still clouded his eyes, but there was excitement too. Almost a frenzied look. “We need to ask what Dylan needs right now, after what happened to him. Did you see him downstairs?”
He almost dumped her off his lap as he leaped up in his enthusiasm. She savored his fervor as much as she savored his kisses, his touches, the feel of him inside her. “He was already working on a new piece.”
He held her shoulders, looked into her eyes, and whispered, “You did that for him. Now it’s my job to do that for everyone else. I need his help to do it.”
She was already backing away. “I’ll get him for you.”
She felt as if she’d witnessed an amazing metamorphosis—Clay coming to life with all his brilliant ideas. She dashed back with Dylan in minutes, her heart racing, her skin flushed with exertion, but also from Clay’s breath-stealing kisses and all the ideas spilling out of him.
Dylan threw himself onto the sofa, leaning back, resting one booted foot on his knee. “What?”
The young man wanted to sound tough, but she could see him still bubbling and roiling inside, despite the new piece he’d started after cleaning up his studio.
Instead of standing over him, Clay sat on the opposite end of the sofa, and Saskia took the armchair. “After what happened to you, Saskia has made me realize I need to provide counseling to help artists through that kind of thing. How to prepare before it even happens. I’d like you to help me see what’s needed.”
Dylan abandoned his sullen posture, sitting up, looking at Clay. “You want my opinion?” He pressed his hand to his chest as if he couldn’t believe it.
Clay snorted. “I absolutely want to hear from a brilliant artist who’s just had critics jump all over him. I can’t fix that for you, but I can help you find ways to fix it for yourself.”
Dylan’s shoulders grew straighter, and the lines of his face appeared stronger. He seemed to mature right in front of her. As though Clay asking for his opinion was more important than what people thought of his artwork.
They bandied ideas back and forth, not like a successful man in his thirties and a teenager, but like equals. Though she added a few comments, she wanted this to be between them.
Something transformed inside her as she saw Clay in this new light. She adored his idealism, but she loved how good he was with Dylan, listening intently, jumping up to add things to the file he’d created.
He’d actually listened to her and acted on what she said. Clay was a doer. The moment he realized she had a point, he’d acted, making plans even while she’d been at home working on ideas for the mural.
She ordered takeout, and they talked while they ate. Watching them, her heart felt so full.