Flirting With Forever Gwyn Cready (best book series to read txt) 📖

The fire in his eye only fanned her fury. “But you, you’re a paragon of honor. School for Wives. Hilarious. That was a month of hard work.” Her voice choked on the last words, and she had to muster iron determination to banish the memory of nearly destroying her career. “You’re a jerk.”

He hesitated. “I-I am not proud of that. I was put in a difficult situation by a friend and al owed myself to believe that excused a wil ful deception. I was wrong, and I apologize.”

“Yeah, wel , this time I don’t need to depend on secondhand sources. This time I know the story perfectly.”

“I don’t think you do know the story.”

“Don’t I?”

“I would assert there are pieces of which you are not aware, pieces which might persuade you to abandon your project.”

“Such as?”

“There are people who wil be hurt.”

“Real y?” She gave him a look.

“I cannot deny I wil be affected, but that is not why I’m asking you to stop.”

“Then why are you? Tel me the pieces.”

He faltered. She could see the enormous pride in his eyes. “Can you not trust me?”

“Trust? Are you serious? No, I cannot trust you. You

“Trust? Are you serious? No, I cannot trust you. You nearly destroyed my writing career.”

Their eyes met, and he squared his shoulders. It was eerie the way he projected his position, even in the building engineer’s castoffs. She thought of that night at his studio and al the things she had hoped for. She wondered if he had done any of those things he had done that night without an ulterior motive. She wondered if he had done any of those things because he cared for her.

“Since I see you cannot trust me, I wil tel you. I should like you to do this for Ursula.”

She felt an irrational anger as she watched his fingers seek out the emerald.

“Ursula? The woman of the street raised to pampered society mistress by way of your bed?”

Peter looked as if he had been punched. “How … ?”

“We are not entirely without means where I come from.”

The flip answer did not satisfy as she had expected, and she found her tongue loosening further. “I have seen your models. I have seen your portraits of her. And I have experienced your methods.” The past five weeks had given her more than enough time to satisfy her curiosity on the life of Peter Lely, though it had satisfied little else.

“Might I guess which had the most impact on your decision?”

Cam inhaled. “Fuck you.”

“I see you and your artist share a deep esteem for poetics.”

“What my artist and I share is a deep esteem for the truth.”

truth.”

An odd stiffness came over Peter. He opened his mouth to speak, thought better of his decision and made a deep bow. “I wish you both great joy.”

But she didn’t want his wishes, and she certainly didn’t want his reserve. She wanted his emotion.

“You have much happiness upon you,” he said. “Can you not find it in your heart to leave Ursula out of the story?”

How dare he manipulate her to protect a woman who hadn’t even bothered to be true to him? “Ursula is the story.

Rescued from the streets, she abandons her rescuer. It’s a classic ‘whore with a heart of stone’ story.”

“It’s a lie.”

“Al art is fiction, mine more than most.”

“You’re making a mistake. And I hope you see that before it’s too late.”

“Is that a threat?”

The door swung open slowly and Jeanne’s head appeared. “Hey, kids. How’s it going?”

“Great,” Cam said. “Party in a box. Peter was just going.”

“Going … ?” Jeanne waited for a location.

“Going?” Bal said, appearing next to her in the doorway.

“Gone.” Jacket strode by, tossing a bottle into the recycling bin and reaching for the refrigerator door.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” He pul ed out four beers, handed one each to Jeanne, Bal and Cam, then gave Peter a smile that made Cam wonder exactly what had transpired before she arrived. “Pleasure to meet ya, buddy.”

“I’m Woodson Bal ,” Bal said. “Jeanne tel s me you’re an artist.”

Jacket choked, and Peter accepted Bal ’s outstretched hand.

“’Tis kind of her,” Peter said. “I paint.”

“I was just tel ing Jacket here the stuff he does—oh, it’s marvelous,