She hesitated. Did she tell him all of it? In for a penny and all that... Inhaling a deep breath, she held it, then exhaled. And leaped.
“I didn’t tell you before now, but Christopher Harrison with the Tender Shoots nonprofit approached me about you at the gala. He read my article, saw the pictures of your art included in it. He wants to offer you your own show in Manhattan, at the Guggenheim. Not only to bring in money for the organization, but he would be excited about seeing you reemerge as the artist you were. Are.”
For a moment—a quick, heart-stopping moment—a light glittered in his eyes. A light that could’ve been hope or joy. But then, in the very next, his hazel eyes dimmed. And disappointment squeezed her chest, her heart. He glanced away from her, staring at the far wall as if it revealed precious answers.
“That’s not possible, and I’m not interested. You have no clue how it is to live under the weight of society’s expectations,” he murmured. His fingers curled into a fist atop the binder. But deliberately, he stretched them out, splaying them across the page—covering the image of his art. “You don’t understand the burden of always knowing someone’s waiting for you to misstep to prove that bad blood will out. It doesn’t matter whether I continue to run Black Crescent or pick up a camera or paintbrush again. I can’t escape, because I can’t evade who I am. Joshua Lowell, Vernon Lowell’s son.”
She swallowed the silent sob of frustration, anger and grief. Grief for the man who believed he was forever tainted by the actions of his father. Who believed the only road available to him was the one he trod—even if it led to a future that wasn’t his.
“Maybe not,” she murmured, cupping his cheek and turning his face toward her. “But maybe I can help you bear the burden. Just a little.”
Leaning forward, she brushed her lips across his, then covered his mouth with hers. His groan vibrated between them, before he turned, letting the binder fall to the floor, and hauled her up the bed. He took control of the kiss, crawling over her, finding his place between her thighs.
And as he consumed them both with his burning passion, she wept inside for him.
For the both of them.
Ten
“Josh, I’m heading home now,” Haley announced from the doorway of his office. “Do you need anything before I leave?”
Joshua looked up from his computer. “No, I’m good.”
Nodding, she stepped back, then paused, tilting her head to the side. “Everything okay with you?”
He leaned back in his chair, frowning. Other than a busy schedule and meetings all day, he was fine. He also had plans to meet Sophie at her apartment, so he was actually more than fine. But that, he kept to himself. “Yes, why do you ask?”
“You seem, I don’t know—” her hazel eyes narrowed on him “—relaxed this past week. Something up I should know about?”
He snorted. “No, Haley. I’m good, like I said.”
“Okay, if you say so.”
“I say so.”
“Well, not saying I don’t believe you, but whatever—or whoever—has turned you into the Zen version of Joshua Lowell, give them—or her—my thanks.” With an impish smile and arched eyebrow, she stepped back and shut the door behind her before he could reply.
“Brat,” he muttered, but after a moment, chuckled. Yes, she was definitely the annoying younger sister he never asked for. But he didn’t know what he’d do without her, either.
Glancing at the clock at the bottom of his monitor, he nodded. Six ten. Finishing a review of the report his CFO had sent him would take only about fifteen more minutes, twenty tops. Then he could head out.
When was the last time he’d looked forward to leaving his office that had become his second—hell, first—home? Not until Sophie. A lot of things in his life could be separated into two eras. Before the Scandal and, now, After Sophie.
God, when had she become that significant in his life?
The answer blazed bright and sure. From the moment she barged into his office, demanding and so beautiful.
From the release of the article, to her revelation about his supposed child, to her ice-thawing passion and kindness... She’d changed his world.
She’d changed him.
A kernel of fear rooted inside him, and try as he might, he couldn’t dislodge it. It’d been there since Monday night after she’d shocked him with the binder full of his previous artwork, and damn near taken him out with her body and the abandoned pleasure she’d offered him.
No one had ever taken the time to look further than the persona he presented. No one had bothered. Except for Sophie. She’d challenged him, as she’d been doing since their first meeting. Daring him to grab ahold of the dreams, the future he’d aborted when his father had disappeared. For a moment, he’d glimpsed what he could have, who he could be through her eyes. And the joy that had spread through him like the brightest and warmest of lights had been stunning. And terrifying.
Stunning because he hadn’t felt such happiness in years—fifteen to be exact.
And terrified because he wanted it so badly. His old life back. The opportunity to work in his
