Sculpting Grace: A Light Romance Novel (Art of Grace Book 2)

by Samantha Westlake

  Lizzie might come off as an air-headed blonde, but she listened with an almost unnerving level of focus as I talked her through the steps of managing the gallery. I got the sense that every iota of her concentration was on me, and it made me both stand a little taller and feel almost nervous about briefing her. Blink, girl!

  I showed her the back door, the back storage room where we kept a few extra pieces from some of the artists so that she could restock if some of the pieces sold. I brought her back to the front desk and pointed out the curved mirrors so she could see what was happening in all four rooms of the gallery ("Oh wow, it's like I'm a spy in a movie! So cool!"), and walked her through how to use the little machine behind the counter to process credit cards. She nodded along, her eyes glued to me, occasionally biting at her bottom lip in apparent concentration.

  "So, any questions?" I asked, as I wrapped up my explanation.

  She paused for a second, biting at her cheek as she looked around, and then shook her head at me as her face returned to the wide smile that I'd come to recognize as her default expression.

  "Nope! I think I can handle it!" she said, giving a little nod at the end of the sentence.

  I wasn't sure how much actual confidence I had in Lizzie, but I ought to at least give her a chance. After all, it had taken me a couple of days to get used to running the gallery, and I ended up doing alright.

  "Okay. Well then, I'll be off..." I paused for a moment, wondering if I ought to warn the young woman about what she was really in for with running the gallery in my absence. "Lizzie, don't be upset if there isn't a ton of foot traffic coming in."

  "Why wouldn't there be people coming in?" she asked, looking blank. She glanced in both directions at all of the art. "I mean, look at all this cool stuff!"

  I sighed, not bothering to try and explain how the city of Davis did not have a ton of people regularly heading out to spend their disposable income on art - especially not when Napa Valley, the heart of wine country, was less than an hour away along a major highway. "Just don't be too dismayed."

  Lizzie just nodded, clearly not really believing my words, and I didn't see a point in sticking around to convince her further. I shouldered my purse and headed for the door.

  "Hey, do you need these scissors that you left here?" Lizzie called after me. Fortunately, I was already halfway out the door, and she couldn't see the expression on my face before I left.

  I didn't bother heading back to my truck. I really liked driving the robin's egg blue truck, a trusty little Toyota that was one of my fondest remaining memories of my previous, ill-fated marriage, but I knew that I didn't need the vehicle to get to Onyx's studio. It was just a few blocks away, and I could probably use the exercise.

  Besides, my walk also took me right past the cutest little bakery, which sold amazing donuts that came filled with jelly, warm and fresh baked every day...

  Ten minutes later, I arrived at Onyx's warehouse, swallowing the last bite of jelly-filled pastry. I hastily licked my fingers, trying to clean off the last little bits of strawberry jam that had leaked out as I took bites of the treat. I'd at least managed to keep my outfit clean, instead slurping up the drips of jam and swallowing them in a display of affection that probably would have looked disgusting to anyone who witnessed it. Once my fingers were mostly clean, I took a deep breath, slowly let it out, and then knocked on Onyx's door.

  Onyx's warehouse was entirely unremarkable; it had taken me several visits before I figured out which of the half-dozen gray, nearly identical buildings in the area actually belonged to the artist. Like many other creative types, Onyx didn't exactly rush to advertise his home and studio location.

  I tried knocking once, then twice, not hearing any response. This was the right building, wasn't it? Frowning, I tried turning the doorknob - and found it unlocked.

  Feeling a bit like a lamb stepping into the lion's den, I opened the door and stepped into the warehouse's relatively dim interior.

  After a moment of blinking, however, my eyes easily adjusted to the interior. The view of the warehouse's inside was helped by light streaming in from a row of windows set up high, right near the sloped roof. That light lanced down in shafts, painting rectangles of brightness across the wide, polished cement floor of the building.

  Off to my right side, sheets of fabric formed walls that divided up the vast space of the interior into different sections. On the left side, the wall stood in the form of a massive wooden screen, slightly angled back and forth in panels to stand upright on its own. I was in the right building, at least - behind that wooden screen lay Onyx's personal quarters, while the hanging sheets of fabric helped to catch the dust from his sculpting work on the right side.

  Once inside, I let the door close behind me. I opened my mouth to call out, to shout Onyx's name, but paused as my ears caught the clink of metal hitting stone. The sound came from off to my right, beyond the hanging fabric sheets.

  I grinned to myself and moved towards that clinking sound, hoping to sneak up on Onyx and catch him unawares. As I moved in, I reminded myself of my goals for this visit.

  Goal one: get the information about Dean Benjamin de St. James that I needed.

  Goal two: don't get caught by Onyx's personal field of seduction, drawn into an activity that, amazing as it might feel, would not be a smart long-term move.

  Two goals. I could handle this.

  Chapter Six

  *

  I moved silently through the sheets on the inside of Onyx's warehouse, my ears pricked as I listened for that soft sound of metal hitting against stone. Get in, get the information I need, and then get out, I reminded myself. Easy enough goals.

  The sheets that hung from cables strung across the right side of the warehouse were little more than thin cotton bedsheets; they helped keep some of the dust of Onyx's carving work from drifting throughout the entire building. I felt a bit like I was walking through drying sheets hung by some spectral washerwoman; a little part of me kept on waiting for a face to come popping out of one of the sheets like a poltergeist from a scary movie.

  I stepped through a crack in the last barrier of sheets and saw a piece of art. As I watched, that piece of art slowly moved, positioning a hammer and chisel for the next blow.

  Onyx stood before me in front of a block of black stone, his back turned to me. He stood a couple inches over six feet, and he wore no shirt over his broad back. I felt like I was looking at a model of a man, something created to show off how perfect a man's musculature could possibly become. Every single muscle on his back stood out in clear definition, and I bit my lip as I watched them shift and roll beneath his mocha colored skin. Little beads of sweat stood out from his clearly defined shoulder blade, one of them slowly making its way down along the small of his back towards the dark jeans that hung low on his hips as I watched.

  Oh god. I felt my resolution to handle this quickly and professionally melting away, like ice under a flamethrower. He definitely looked good enough for me to take a bite.

  I took another step forward, and Onyx's ears must have caught the soft sound of my shoe on the polished cement floor. He lowered the hammer and chisel from where he'd braced them against the half-finished sculpture and turned around towards me.

  I gasped. I couldn't avoid it; as good as he looked from the back, it couldn't hold a candle to the sight of him from the front. It wasn't fair! I never saw him working out and he looked like a Greek god brought to life, while I did my best to keep myself from slipping too far off of my diet and still looked like mashed potatoes.

  "Rebecca," Onyx greeted me, his voice a low purr like a jungle cat.

  "Hi," I managed to reply, and then ran out of words.

  I stood there, frozen, as he lowered the chisel and hammer in his hands, placing them on a small table off to one side. He moved in towards me, his steps smooth as a stalking jaguar. I felt frozen in his gaze, and understood why mice just stared up at the cat as it approached.

  His arms slid out,
wrapping gently around my waist as he pulled me in for a soft, feather-light kiss on the cheek. "It's good to see you. It's been a while."

  Instead of replying, I just took in a lungful of his scent, dark and primal. I hadn't seen Onyx in a couple of weeks, not since I managed to sell a massive statue of his, making just enough in commission to pay the last of my debts to my ex-husband and put that failed marriage completely behind me. Since then, Onyx seemed to have made himself scarce, no longer randomly stopping by the art gallery to drive me crazy with built-up sexual tension. I tried calling him once, but he just told me that he had found a new rush of inspiration, working on another series of sculptures.

  After a moment, he released me - although he still remained a little closer than two platonic friends might normally stand. "How's the gallery going?" he asked.

  The words, however, weren't important. Instead, all of his communication was below the surface, in the tone of his voice - he was asking me about whether I was still single, if I was yet ready to give in to his seduction and let him blow my mind in a dozen different ways on the far side of that wooden screen.

  "It's going well," I answered, fighting against all the instincts of my body and taking another step back, moving myself out of his arms. "Carter stops by a fair bit, keeps me company, since there aren't a lot of customers."

  "Carter," Onyx repeated, and it didn't take much effort to hear the new note of distaste in his voice.

  Move past it, I told myself. "But if we can get this new artist, Dean Benjamin de St. James, to sign on with the gallery, it will bring in a lot of publicity - and more sales, too," I hurried onward. "And that would be great for me. So..."

  Onyx just waited, his eyes locked on me.

  "So, can you help me out? Give me de St. James' address? Did you dig it out of your files?" I finished, hoping that he wouldn't demand some price from me in exchange for the information.

  For a moment longer, he just kept on looking at me - but finally, he nodded.

  "I did find it," he said, and moved towards the wooden screen that blocked off the living area. I waited, wondering if he'd bring it out to me.

  "Coming?" he asked after a moment, and I jumped. I would finally get to see behind the screen!

  I stepped around the wooden screen, and my eyes went wide as I looked around. "This is where you live?" I asked, incredulous.

  I wasn't sure what I'd expected; I imagined that maybe Onyx would only have the bare minimum, just a bed and a desk sitting, alone and small, in a corner. Something that echoed the emptiness of the rest of the warehouse interior.

  Instead, I saw decorations that made me feel as though I'd stepped onto the showroom floor of a modern furniture store - or maybe into the lobby of a modern art museum! The concrete floor transitioned into dark wood, polished to a high sheen. Black cabinets ran up from the floor to bulkheads, their fronts covered in glass to add to the modern appearance. I saw a kitchen off to one side, with all the appliances in gleaming stainless steel and black marble counters. I briefly wondered if Onyx had shaped and carved those counters, before my gaze moved onward.

  And then I spotted the bed, and I knew that I'd be fantasizing about this for days. The bed looked absolutely massive, at least a king size - if not even bigger! With white sheets on top of a black frame and headboard, it reminded me of a floating cloud, suspended in midair. Covered in a soft comforter and at least half a dozen pillows, I could just imagine myself sinking into that softness, maybe with Onyx beside me...

  "Over here," Onyx called, and I dragged my eyes away from that gorgeous bed with a monumental effort.

  He stood next to a desk, and I saw that his side of the warehouse had the kitchen at one end, the bed in the middle, and a living and study area at the other end. I walked around a black leather couch that looked untouched, past several black-and-white stained glass lamps, and over to a large desk that appeared to be made entirely of glass. Onyx stood behind it, holding a single sheet of paper.

  "Had to do a lot of digging to find it, I see," I commented, wondering where the man even kept anything. The whole apartment seemed too sleek and sterile, like no one actually lived in it. Where were the half-empty coffee cups? The scattered coasters? Magazines, or books propped open on their pages to save the reader's place?

  Onyx just shrugged. "I like to keep the place clean."

  I reached out and took the sheet of paper from him. Sure enough, it had Dean Benjamin de St. James' name on it, along with an address that I recognized as being located somewhere on the north side of Davis. I folded the paper in half and tucked it into my purse, under my arm.

  "Thanks," I said, but Onyx reached out to catch at my arm.

  "I want to warn you about Dean," he said, stepping out from around the desk and leading me over to the big leather couch.

  I let him plop me down next to him on the seat, feeling the cushion sink beneath me. The couch might have looked unused and new, but it still felt comfortable. "What about him?" I asked, trying to not let myself get too comfortable.

  Onyx opened his mouth, but paused. I felt my eyebrows raise - was Onyx actually speechless? In all my encounters with the sexy artist, I'd never before seen him appear flummoxed and not sure of how to respond!

  "He's... quite aggressive and grouchy," Onyx finally said, shaking his head. "He's very prickly to interact with, and can be quite particular about what he likes, or doesn't like. It makes him tough to be around."

  "What decides whether he likes or doesn't like someone?" I asked.

  He shrugged. "No way to really know. Even in the artistic community, people tend to tiptoe around him. Best not to set him off - once he blows up, he goes nuclear."

  "Is that why he dropped off the map about six months ago?"

  Onyx actually winced at that question! "No," he said shortly. "And don't ask, or you'll quickly end up on his bad side."

  Great. This sounded like it was just getting better and better. "So I guess I'll just have to try and get right to the point and not let him find anything to dislike about me," I said, trying to fill my voice with more conviction than I actually felt.

  Onyx smirked at me. "Honey, you just smile at him and lean forward while wearing a low-cut shirt, and he won't be able to find a single thing to dislike about you," he promised - and reached out, once again looping his arm around me.

  Danger, danger! Part of my brain flashed to red alert - but the message didn't make it down to my body, which leaned in towards Onyx and let the warm weight of his arm settle around my shoulders. He did feel good - and although Carter had made a couple of advances towards me in the last few days, I'd declined them, not sure exactly whether I wanted to be rushing into anything.

  "In fact," Onyx continued as he drew me closer, practically into his lap, "I'm finding you pretty irresistible right now."

  "I'm not wearing a low-cut shirt," I pointed out, even as my breath caught in my throat from the feeling of Onyx's hands on my hips. His fingers slid up, pushing my shirt upwards and exposing my pale midriff. I couldn't help but gaze down at his chest, still bare after his work in the studio.

  His smile widened, even as his hands crept further up my body. "We could change that. Give me a moment, and you won't be wearing a shirt at all."

  Oh man. I felt my entire body stiffen at the mental picture of when I'd previously allowed Onyx to explore my body. The feeling of his hands on my chest, his thumbs setting my areolas aflame as they played with me, his mouth on mine, his body effortlessly pulling me up against his eager hardness...

  "I, uh, I really ought to get going," I stammered out, suddenly struggling to escape his grasp. As amazing as it would be to let myself go mindless here, let him do what he clearly wanted to do with me, I had a job to accomplish. "I'll, um, I'll talk to you soon and tell you about how my encounter with de St. James went."

  Onyx didn't try to hold me back, but he rose up to stand next to me. His chest was glistening slightly with residual sweat from his prior exertions, and I nearly bit my to
ngue off as I stared at his body's perfection. "I bet I could make you stay."

  "Probably, yes," I babbled, "but really, I have to go. Next time!"

  He sighed and took a step back, releasing me. "Next time."

  God, I wanted him. The paper with de St. James' address in my purse, I fled from Onyx's studio before I gave in and let him continue seducing me. My heart pounded in my chest as I ran, and I tried to tell myself that, as amazing as it would be, I needed to get the job done first.

  Still, every time I closed my eyes, I saw his bare chest, muscles standing out like he'd carved his own body as a study in perfection. I bit my lip as I left the warehouse. Why did all the men in my life need to push my buttons so much?

  Chapter Seven

  *

  Half an hour later, I brought my truck to a stop outside of a large, modern-looking house in a residential neighborhood. Frowning, I looked at the numbers printed on the mailbox, and compared them to the address on the sheet of paper that I held against the steering column.

  Yep. They matched. This, according at least to Onyx's records, was Dean Benjamin de St. James' house.

  It did look like the kind of house where an artist would live, I had to admit. The house had very modern, rectangular lines, with a multi-level flat roof covered in rocks, oddly placed rectangular windows, and a couple of rectangular metal shapes extending out from the house, apparently only present for decorative purposes.

  I parked my truck and climbed out, pausing for a moment to tilt the side mirror away from the truck so that I could examine my reflection. Despite still feeling off-balance and disheveled from the temptations of Onyx, I still looked alright in the mirror - especially once I tugged my shirt back down so that it firmly covered the top of my dress pants. I frowned for a moment as I looked at how my stomach bulged out a little - definitely no rock-hard supermodel abs here - but overall, I thought that I looked presentable.

  For a moment, I remembered Onyx's advice and considered tugging my shirt's neck down a little. I didn't exactly have the most amazing assets to work with, however, and I gave up on trying to show off my slutty side. The only way I usually accomplished that goal was with a full closet of choices and a good amount of advance warning.