Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 126589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
She’d look and then return whatever it was. She wouldn’t return the sketch of Granny June and Spock but she refused to keep anything else.
When she was inside, she immediately sat down at the kitchen counter and lifted the flap of the envelope and peered into the dark interior. There was a stack of paper inside and she inhaled deeply, bracing herself, before removing the paper.
She released the breath she had been holding at the sight of the first sketch. It was familiar to her, that image of her in leathers, with horns and a tail, wielding a whip. She looked like an evil, sexy demoness, ready to dish out punishment to whomever deserved it.
There was the explicit nude—it made her blush and she rapidly hid it at the bottom of the stack before going through the rest—a drawing of her as Hella. Another of her as Cruella. So many female villains, all of them hyper sexy and wearing her face and body. They were flattering, gorgeous, and very detailed. He’d captured moles and freckles, the slight difference in her breast sizes. In many of the images she was wearing glasses, in some she wasn’t. He’d given her long hair, short hair, spiky hair, curly hair. So many versions of her and yet they were all beautiful and powerful and striking.
There were more images here than there had been that night she’d first seen them, telling her he’d added to his collection. There was a gorgeous ink and watercolor sketch of Greta Greyspawn—that one made her smile in spite of herself.
Toward the bottom of the pile the images changed. There were sketches of her dancing in her window, others of her staring off into the distance and smiling. Another one of her asleep. There she was dancing with a rake, leaves showering down around her.
And right at the bottom there was a sketch of her looking disheveled, wearing oversized camo fatigues, with her foot planted on the back of the prone figure of a man who very much resembled Gideon. She had her arms up in victory, rifle pointed to the sky, with a triumphant smirk on her face.
There was a note at the bottom of that sketch and she peered at it through blurry eyes.
She folded both hands over her mouth as she forced back what could only be described as a sob and sniffle mixed in with a giggle.
A sniggle?
These would all have to be returned, she knew that, and yet her eyes lingered on Greta, and then on the paintballing sketch and she wondered if he would notice if she kept those.
No. She had to be strong. She had to maintain her stance. She wasn’t giving in on this.
She and Gideon were over!
She did not give a damn what his reasons were for being such an absolute prick to her at that party. He had hurt her and humiliated her. He’d attacked her and made her feel like less than nothing.
He didn’t deserve her forgiveness. And she wasn’t about to allow him back into her life again. Not in any capacity. Not as enemy, friend, lover, or sweetheart. He would remain less than acquaintance. All that had passed between them would soon be nothing more than a distant, painful memory.
She gathered the sketches up and carefully returned them to the envelope. Then realized that she had left Greta and the paintballing sketch on the counter. Her fingers curled into her palms as she glared at them. She had to put them back. Keeping that first sketch was already pushing it. She couldn’t keep two more.
She checked the time on the kitchen wall clock. It was nearly nine. She needed to get to work. She would slide the sketches in the envelope when she stopped for tea at eleven.
It was nearly time for Gideon’s morning show—uh, exercise routine—so she grabbed her laptop and retreated to her patio to work.
That evening, after she’d showered and changed for dinner at Cat and Cam’s, she stood by her kitchen peninsula and stared down at the two sketches again. She had visited them several times throughout the day, but she was no closer to putting them away and returning them to Gideon than she’d been that morning.
She heaved an impatient sigh and shook her head. Later… she’d do it later. She was going to be late for dinner if she didn’t leave right now.
She grabbed up her coat and her car keys and left the house without a backward glance.
Gideon was just mounting his bike when she opened her car door and he raised his hand in greeting but she ignored him. She felt a twinge of regret when she glanced in her rearview mirror and saw his arm drop listlessly to his side.
She pushed the feeling aside when his shoulders and head drooped disconsolately.