Page 18 of Start With A Slap

“Don’t you mean ‘safe’? With your cookie-cutter day-to-day and your boring husband and your sensible car with dual and side airbags?” He ignored her protests to each assertion. “You really mean to tell methat’salways been your heart’s desire?”

She paused before answering. “Yes!”

“I see.” He nodded. “Interesting, coming from a girl whose all-time favorite painter strove to ‘convey the emotion of a dying flower’.”

Huh? Sever Mark had a genuine interest in modern art? Or,wait...He’dbaitedher with Mitchell—two nights ago. “How could you know she’s my all-time favorite?”

Looking up at the ceiling, he emoted, “‘Mitchell’s creations are carefully considered poetry, each with its own fascinating story to tell: tales of loss intermingling with whispers of unjadedhope, of unguarded love, of relentless adventure in a single... passionate...” his eyes met hers, “stroke.’”

Ivy stared at him, unable to comprehend anything beyond the one thing she knew for sure: those wereherwords.

“UCSBZeitgeist.” He reached into a side panel and produced a copy of her college’s literary rag, published during her junior year. “Riveting stuff.”

As she looked on in shock, he opened it and read aloud from the page, “‘For me, at sixteen,Quand JJ Partit Pour New York (When J.J. Left For New York)was a revelation?—’”

She snatched it out of his hand. “Stop stalking me!”

“Ivy,” he said, eyes strangely earnest, “can’t you see why I brought you here tonight?”

It took her a second to get over the eyes. “To con me into bed?”

“When I read this,” he gestured at the book she held to her chest, “I knew who you were. What you’remeantto be. You’re an artist.”

That... was the last thing she expected to hear from a man like him. Brow furrowing, all she could do was shake her head no.

“You are.” He wrenched the book from her grasp. “Thisis passion, Ivy. This is apleafor a life that’s as sharp and rich andblazingas an abstract work of art and that’s what you’re bloody meant for, not this... snowglobe scene you’ve settled on.”

Unable to look away, she heard the book splash to the floor and felt him squeeze her forearms.

“You can go on ignoring it for the rest of your days because you’re terrified of the painful, dark places it could take you, but I promise you, Ivy, every rotten, gut-churning low is worth it, because the opposite...” He seemed to savor a memory and said, “Searing, brilliant highs like you’d never believe.”

Her mouth suddenly dry, she swallowed. He was too close to her face. His nostrils flared and she could feel his harsh, warm breath on her skin.

“You’re aching to run wild,” he said. “To scream like a dying flower.”

Her heartbeat pounded in her throat.

Briefly, he lowered his gaze to her parted, quivering lips. “Tell me I’m wrong, and I’ll let you go.”

She stared into his eyes, and after an uncomfortably long moment that could have ended with a slap or a kiss, she turned her face. “You’re wrong.”

With a disappointed sigh, Sever sat back in his seat. “Very convincing.”

He IS wrong,Ivy told herself, arms crossed over her chest. This hustle of his might have worked on the young and naïve, but it wasn’t going to work on her.

Once he gave the driver her address, she fixated on the passing scenery, making up her mind to keep quiet from here on out. She would provide no more fuel for his fire.

Still, the space between them remained thick with tension.By the time the car rolled to a stop, she was practically ready to claw her way out.

“At least,” he said as she reached for the door handle, “let me be a gentleman.”

Impossible, she wanted to say, but didn’t. Only a few more minutes and this would be over, she’d be safe in Jason’s arms...

Don’t you mean safe?

Her door opened and Sever helped her out. As she came to a stand, he bowed at the waist and pressed his lips against her hand. “Thank you, Ivy Tyler-Mark, for a wonderful evening.”

Training her gaze elsewhere, she said, “Not quite the word I’d go with.”

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