Read To My Senses The Nicci Beauvoir Series Book 1 for Free Online Page B

instant I saw his profile, I knew the face.
    “ So you weren’t lying when
you said you were an artist,” I remarked when I looked into David’s
eyes.
    “ Nicci!” His face lit up.
“How wonderful to see you here.” He stood and wiped the paint from
his hands. “What are you doing down here?”
    I raised my bag of perfume.
“Shopping.”
    “ I’m glad to see you
again.”
    “ Thank you, David.” He just
stood there smiling at me. “So ah…tell me about your paintings.
They are quite remarkable.” I turned away from his piercing
eyes.
    He frowned. “Is that your
diplomatic way of saying you don’t like them?”
    “ No! God no. I like them
very much.”
    “ I’m very glad to hear it.
For a moment I was a bit worried you didn’t approve.”
    “ I like your use of color.”
I pointed to one of the paintings on the fence, and then hastily
added, “I really don’t know anything about art.”
    “ You don’t have to know
anything about art, except what you like about it.”
    “ Yes, but I’m sure my
opinion is rather meaningless.”
    “ What do you like about the
paintings, besides the colors?”
    He stepped back, and I
stood alone for a moment, taking in the full scope of his
work.
    “ You have a way of brushing
the canvas that makes the painting appear like a blur, but it
doesn’t distort, only enhances the subject. But the subjects are so
plain, so lifeless. They almost seem to detract from your style.
Except for this one.” I pointed to the portrait of the lady sitting
on the balcony. “This one I really like. The style and colors
complement her beauty and make her seem alive, as if only posing
for a second…as if caught in time.” I turned to him and smiled. His
eyes were bright and beaming. They burned into mine. “Like I said,
I don’t know anything about art.” I hastily looked away.
    “ You know a great deal.” I
could feel his eyes on me. “You are quite something, Miss Nicci
Beauvoir.”
    “ There is one thing that
bothers me.” I motioned to the pictures, purposefully ignoring his
last statement. “You seem as if you are close to what you want to
achieve with your work, but not there yet. Your frustration comes
through in the painting. Does that make sense?”
    “ Yes.” He sighed and threw
the rag on his stool. “I’ve always felt like I’ve not quite reached
my potential as an artist. I know it’s there, within me, but I
don’t know what I can do to bring it to fruition.”
    “ Maybe you haven’t found
the right subject yet.”
    “ Perhaps one day I’ll
create something wonderful.” He slammed his lips together. “Then I
can find myself a better sponsor.”
    “ How is Sammy? Fully
recovered?”
    He shot me an odd look.
“Quite recovered.” He glimpsed the ground. “Look, about the other
night I wanted to—”
    I waved my hand at him. “It
doesn’t matter.”
    “ I just didn’t want you to
leave thinking….” His voice trailed off then his eyes rose to meet
mine.
    “ What I think is not
important, David.” I turned and focused on the paintings ahead of
me, avoiding him.
    “ Perhaps I could buy you
breakfast.” He fidgeted next to me.
    I wrinkled my brow. “It’s
eleven-thirty.”
    “ Brunch?” he
pleaded.
    I gestured to the
unfinished canvas sitting on his easel. “What about your
work?”
    “ I can’t work when I’m
hungry. Besides I need a break. It will give us a chance to finish
our conversation.”
    “ Which one?”
    He moved closer to my side.
“The one where you were going to tell me about your dreams. I’m
still waiting.”
    “ I never said I was going
to tell you anything of the kind!”
    “ Well, today you are!” He
started packing up his brushes and paints.
    I folded my arms defiantly
across my chest. “What makes you so sure you can get me to talk
today, of all days?”
    He bobbed his eyebrows,
whimsically. “Because I know a waitress at the coffee shop down the
street who will slip some truth serum into your coffee,