Taming His Rockstar: A Standalone Rockstar Romance by Samantha Morgan

Author:Samantha Morgan [Morgan, Samantha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-10-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

Pizza and wine. I’ve been on worst dates and even fewer sexier companions.

“So, what do you do when you’re not serving drinks at the club?” I ask as I collect my slice of pizza and lean back against his couch. We’re sitting on the floor of his living room with the pizza box and bottle of wine between us.

“When I’m not in the club? Well, mostly I work on my paintings. I do some commission work, visit art galleries to see if they’re willing to carry my works and stuffs like that.” He chuckles and waves at the paintings on the wall. “As you can see, very few people think I’m as good as I think I am.”

“Of course you’re good,” I reply. And that is not a lie. Some of his work caught my eye enough that I wonder how insulted he’d be if I ask to buy them. “Sometimes I think it’s just about waiting for the right opportunity to come along.”

“I was just teasing you, Katie,” he replies with a smile. “I know all about opportunities. I did go to art school, and trust me, there is no group that knows more about waiting for the right opportunity than a room of starving artists hoping to be the next Banksy.”

I knew Banksy and would have to say I’m not particularly fond of his art. Of course, giving I’m in the presence of someone who seems to idolize the guy, I should know better than to let my feelings show. But they must, because I hear him chuckle.

“You don’t like him?”

“I won’t say I don’t like him. Uhm, how do I put it . . . ?”

“His art doesn’t speak to you?”

I point and nod. “That’s it.”

“I’d be surprised if it did.” He turns his head to the side as if he’s studying me. Then points to a painting in the corner I hadn’t even noticed yet, given that I’ve spent the better part of the time I’ve been in his apartment moaning in pleasure. “I think you may like that one.”

I turn around and have to admit the picture of the silhouette of a woman, head thrown back as she stares of into the distance, piques my interest. There’s something about the jagged edges that form the backdrop of the pictures that reminds me of mountain peaks and sharp corners.

“I like it,” I say with a nod.

“I call it orgasm,” he says, grinning when I turn to him and roll my eyes.

Looking at the picture again, I have to admit it really does look like a woman right on the cusp of an orgasm, head thrown back, falling off a peak.

“So, you own all these paintings?” I ask him. There’s an impressive number of paintings on the walls. About eight or so.

“Not all of them. Just these three.” He points at his paintings, and I see the similarity in the styles.

The rest are so diverse I wonder if he really thought of a team before he bought them.

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