Driving Her Crazy - By Amy Andrews Page 0,61

name and she had looked back over her shoulder at him. It was a stunningly visual shot. Her face in shadow, her semi-naked body silhouetted in soft yellow light against a starry sky.

The caption read—Sadie In The Sky With Diamonds.

Beside it, enlarged and framed, was her sketch. The byline proclaiming her as the artist.

When she’d got home from Darwin she’d realised she’d left her sketch book in his car but hadn’t bothered to contact him about it. A part of her had wanted him to have it, to have a tangible reminder of what they’d shared—emotionally, not physically.

Sadie could feel heat rising in her cheeks as she looked at it now. How could he share something so personal? How could he?

She’d believed him when he’d told her how very much he hadn’t wanted Mortality to be shared. Had he not thought she’d feel the same way about this?

‘You like?’

Sadie started at the oh-so-familiar tone. She turned to find him standing behind her, his mouth, beautiful as ever, so very, very close.

Her heart started again at the sight of him. It had been so long and he looked so good. Just as she remembered from the last long six months of thinking about him. Of sketching him.

Only better.

The dark suit blunted his he-man edge to a different kind of sexy and her belly clenched.

But it didn’t change what he’d done or the sudden block of emotion welling in her chest. Her heart pounded in her ears as she shook her head. ‘How could you?’ she whispered, then pushed past him.

Away, she had to get away.

It was much harder for Kent to make his escape from the gallery than it had been for Sadie. He’d just caught a glimpse of her climbing into a taxi before someone blocked his view and it had been another twenty minutes before he’d managed to get away.

He guessed running out on your own exhibition was pretty poor form, but he’d only been there tonight hoping she’d show up.

And now she was gone, he didn’t want to be there either.

He just wanted to be with her.

Luckily he knew the way to her flat and by the time he’d parked an hour had elapsed since she’d run from him.

‘Sadie,’ he called, knocking on her door. ‘I know you’re in there. Open up!’

Sadie, sitting in her daggy track pants and shirt, jumped at the harsh command. Her hand shook as she raised the glass of red wine to her lips.

Kent belted louder this time. ‘I’m going to knock all night if I have to, Sadie!’

Sadie glared at the door. It was tempting to let him go for it. Mrs Arbuthnot from next door called the police if a cat meowed too loudly outside her door at night.

But she was pretty mad at him. And she did need to talk to him about pulling the photo from the exhibition. She stormed over to the door and pulled it open. ‘You’ve got a bloody nerve,’ she said, turning on her heel and stomping back into the lounge room, leaving him standing on the doorstep.

Kent shut the door after him and followed her at a more sedate pace, finding her waiting for him, arms crossed, grey eyes stormy, spoiling for a fight.

‘I want it pulled,’ she said straight up.

‘Sadie—’

‘No. You were supposed to delete those pictures. I did not give you my permission to use a half-naked picture of me in an exhibition that thousands of people will see.’

Kent undid his jacket buttons and thrust his hands on his hips. ‘But a fully naked portrait is perfectly fine?’

‘What other ones have you used?’ she demanded, ignoring his jibe. The portraits were consensual and he knew it. ‘Have you uploaded them somewhere? Damn it, Kent, they’re private and I want them back.’ The words were familiar and a thought suddenly hit her. ‘Oh, my God, that’s what this is about, isn’t it? This is payback for that stuff I wrote. For the last time, Kent, it was not a story!’

‘Sadie,’ Kent said, holding up a placating hand, trying not to be turned on by how gorgeous she was all het up, her hair flying around her head, her eyes burning, her chest rising and falling in an agitated rhythm.

‘They’re burned to a disc. I kept meaning to send them to you but I couldn’t bring myself to part with them. I wouldn’t share them with anyone.’

Sadie snorted. ‘Just half of Sydney!’

‘It’s one photo, Sadie. No one knows it’s you.’

‘I know it’s me!’ she