To My Senses The Nicci Beauvoir Series Book 1 by Alexandrea Weis Page B

paint you
better than buildings. I have never been any good with people or
animals. They always came out one dimensional and lifeless.” He set
his drink down on the bar. “You come alive on that canvas. I see
your eyes and your face in my mind, and then I can paint it. I have
never been able to do anything like that before.”
    I stared at him,
dumbfounded. This was something that happened to other women; women
who had vivacious personalities and conquered men’s souls with the
zeal of hungry crocodiles. This kind of thing had never happened to
me before.
    “ I’m flattered, I think.” I
took a big gulp of my champagne.
    He rose from the stool and
came toward me. “You are my inspiration. I hope this is the first
of many portraits I will paint of you.” David took my drink and put
it on the bar next to his.
    Before I could catch his
eyes, his lips were on mine and his arms went around me. The
unexpected thrill of that kiss was breathtaking. I wasn’t sure what
to do, or how to act. I was frozen against him. Then, abruptly, he
broke away. His eyes searched mine and his grip on me
relaxed.
    He backed away. “I also
have a very difficult time keeping my hands off you, as I’m sure
you’ve noticed.” He picked up his drink, went into the living room,
and sat down on the sofa.
    “ I’ve noticed, but I
haven’t exactly put up much of a fight.” I smiled, remembering my
mother. “Nothing complicates friendship more than sex.” He looked
over at me, seeming more shocked than surprised at my boldness. “My
mother used to say that to me,” I quickly added, taking a seat next
to him.
    “ Wise woman. You must be a
great deal like her.” He brushed the hair away from my
face.
    “ In some ways, I hope. She
was very calm and good with people. She could charm anyone into
doing anything.” I leaned back against the sofa. “I don’t have her
patience or her generous nature. I do look a lot like her, but
inside, I’m more like my father.”
    He put his arm around me.
“What’s he like?”
    I settled against him,
getting comfortable. “Oh, my father is difficult to describe. He
keeps very much to himself. He’s not good with people. I think he
finds people something of an annoyance. Sometimes, I don’t feel I
know him at all.”
    He took a sip from his
champagne. “I felt the same way about my mother. I never really got
to know her. She was always a mystery to me as a child.”
    “ Are you like
her?”
    “ Hard to tell. I don’t
remember enough about her. Just her laugh and her smile, that’s
all. She drank a great deal and was never very happy. When she
died, my father didn’t know what to do with me. That’s when I ended
up with my Aunt Flo.”
    “ Where’s your father
now?”
    “ He died a few years ago.
Somewhere in Thailand, I think. They buried him at sea. I never saw
him much. When he did visit, he brought loads of presents and
exotic trinkets from all around the world. He would stay for a day
or two, and then he’d be off on another ship to some far away
place. I never really got to know the man. I think in my entire
life, we only spent a few weeks together.” I sat up and turned to
look at him, but he kept facing straight ahead. “When he died, they
contacted me by telegram. A few weeks later, a small box arrived
containing his belongings. All he had was a wallet with some money
and a few pictures of me.”
    “ I’m sorry. That must have
been difficult.”
    “ No pity. I don’t use my
past as a crutch, only as an inspiration. The first is too easy to
do. The second takes more imagination.” He got up from the sofa and
headed for the kitchen. “Want your champagne?”
    “ Yes.” I kicked off my high
heels and massaged my sore feet.
    He returned with the bottle and my
glass.
    “ My father says I have too
much imagination,” I disclosed, taking my glass from him. “He
thinks I spend too much of my time thinking up stories and not
enough living in the real world.” I took another