She snatched her shirt from his feet and stormed out the door. The clickety-click of the keyboard followed her out.
The sound taunted her all the way to the kitchen where she slapped together a sandwich for herself.
She’d never been outright rejected in an
attempt at seduction, no matter how half-assed, and it stung that he preferred hairy monsters and bats over a willing woman. Willing was the key word. The sandwich stuck in her throat and 74
Sweet as Sin
scratched with her swallow. She was horny. That incredible-but-too-fast orgasm in her office had skyrocketed her hunger and no ham on rye could ease the appetite.
His phone rang. There was no echo from deep in the house so apparently this was the only wired extension. He’d never hear it down the hall, as wrapped up in his writing as he was, so Livvy lifted the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Oh. I was looking for John. Are you…his
wife?”
Livvy narrowed her eyes at the cautious
feminine voice. “No, may I ask who’s calling?”
“This is Karen Edwards. Is John there?”
Karen who? “He’s busy at the minute. Can I take a message?”
“That’s okay, just have him call my cell when he’s free.”
“Sure, just let me grab a pen to wr—”
The light laughter chilled down Livvy’s spine.
“Oh, he has the number. Just tell him I owe him a big, fat kiss and to call me.”
Livvy stared at the receiver as she hung up. His sister was Gina. He’d said his agent was named Christina. Who the hell was Karen and why did she owe him a kiss? The urge to stomp into his office and ask ripped through her but she fought it.
She’d only known him a few days. He had a life Inez Kelley
75
prior to finding her bra, knocking on her door and kissing her senseless in her office.
Jealousy was stupid right now. She’d jumped that gun already. Memories welled of strange women calling, asking for her father, and their occasional astonishment that, yes, Bryan Andrews did in fact have a wife and children. She scrubbed a hand across her eyes. She had to trust John. The phone call didn’t mean squat. Karen could be anybody. Livvy had guy friends. Maybe John had a woman friend. As in a nonsexual, not-sneaking-behind-her-back friend.
But then that friend would know he wasn’t married, wouldn’t she?
Frustration fueled her through the quick dinner cleanup. The constant rhythm of the keyboard grated her stretched nerves. Using too much force to wipe the barely smudged countertop, she knocked a sketchpad to the floor. It landed belly up and the penciled drawing displayed made her stop.
It was her. Well, sort of her. It was her face in caricature, in a fanciful half Dr. Seuss, half Tim Burton style that brought a stunned grin to her face. John had made her a pixie, with tattered wings and a so-what smirk. The pixie’s dress was vaguely similar to her tank and cut-offs, had she thrown them through a wood chipper. He drew her in a fresh, sexy-yet-innocent anime way.
76
Sweet as Sin
Flipping the page, she found hundreds of other drawings—some cute, some macabre, others too strange to figure out.
John’s art had a dark take on life yet each doodle hinted at a lighthearted undercurrent. Like the skull with the bleeding, bloodshot eyes holding a daisy between its exposed teeth.
Apparently John had been unimpressed by his Chinese meal one night because his Peking duck ended up being a king peeing on an irate feathered bird.
Page after page held glimpses into his mind.
Every single piece of paper was utilized. She thumbed through each one, wondering what he was thinking at the minute he’d drawn them.
Some he’d scratched out, as if they were
unworthy to grace the paper. A few astounded her.
In such simple short strokes, he captured the soul of whatever he sketched. A car looked like it could fly off the page, leaving skid marks. A vine seemed to writhe like a serpent and the geometric design was nearly 3-D. Turning the sketchbook upside down, she tried to figure
The sound taunted her all the way to the kitchen where she slapped together a sandwich for herself.
She’d never been outright rejected in an
attempt at seduction, no matter how half-assed, and it stung that he preferred hairy monsters and bats over a willing woman. Willing was the key word. The sandwich stuck in her throat and 74
Sweet as Sin
scratched with her swallow. She was horny. That incredible-but-too-fast orgasm in her office had skyrocketed her hunger and no ham on rye could ease the appetite.
His phone rang. There was no echo from deep in the house so apparently this was the only wired extension. He’d never hear it down the hall, as wrapped up in his writing as he was, so Livvy lifted the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Oh. I was looking for John. Are you…his
wife?”
Livvy narrowed her eyes at the cautious
feminine voice. “No, may I ask who’s calling?”
“This is Karen Edwards. Is John there?”
Karen who? “He’s busy at the minute. Can I take a message?”
“That’s okay, just have him call my cell when he’s free.”
“Sure, just let me grab a pen to wr—”
The light laughter chilled down Livvy’s spine.
“Oh, he has the number. Just tell him I owe him a big, fat kiss and to call me.”
Livvy stared at the receiver as she hung up. His sister was Gina. He’d said his agent was named Christina. Who the hell was Karen and why did she owe him a kiss? The urge to stomp into his office and ask ripped through her but she fought it.
She’d only known him a few days. He had a life Inez Kelley
75
prior to finding her bra, knocking on her door and kissing her senseless in her office.
Jealousy was stupid right now. She’d jumped that gun already. Memories welled of strange women calling, asking for her father, and their occasional astonishment that, yes, Bryan Andrews did in fact have a wife and children. She scrubbed a hand across her eyes. She had to trust John. The phone call didn’t mean squat. Karen could be anybody. Livvy had guy friends. Maybe John had a woman friend. As in a nonsexual, not-sneaking-behind-her-back friend.
But then that friend would know he wasn’t married, wouldn’t she?
Frustration fueled her through the quick dinner cleanup. The constant rhythm of the keyboard grated her stretched nerves. Using too much force to wipe the barely smudged countertop, she knocked a sketchpad to the floor. It landed belly up and the penciled drawing displayed made her stop.
It was her. Well, sort of her. It was her face in caricature, in a fanciful half Dr. Seuss, half Tim Burton style that brought a stunned grin to her face. John had made her a pixie, with tattered wings and a so-what smirk. The pixie’s dress was vaguely similar to her tank and cut-offs, had she thrown them through a wood chipper. He drew her in a fresh, sexy-yet-innocent anime way.
76
Sweet as Sin
Flipping the page, she found hundreds of other drawings—some cute, some macabre, others too strange to figure out.
John’s art had a dark take on life yet each doodle hinted at a lighthearted undercurrent. Like the skull with the bleeding, bloodshot eyes holding a daisy between its exposed teeth.
Apparently John had been unimpressed by his Chinese meal one night because his Peking duck ended up being a king peeing on an irate feathered bird.
Page after page held glimpses into his mind.
Every single piece of paper was utilized. She thumbed through each one, wondering what he was thinking at the minute he’d drawn them.
Some he’d scratched out, as if they were
unworthy to grace the paper. A few astounded her.
In such simple short strokes, he captured the soul of whatever he sketched. A car looked like it could fly off the page, leaving skid marks. A vine seemed to writhe like a serpent and the geometric design was nearly 3-D. Turning the sketchbook upside down, she tried to figure
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