Page 3 of Chasing Me

“James?”

“Yeah?”

“Love you.”

His voice dropped.“Prove it when you get here.”

The click sounded in my ear.I pushed my cell phone back into my pocket and headed toward the kitchen for cleanup duty.The minute I saw James’s portraits, hidden in the attic of his mansion in Key West, I knew he had exceptional talent.The way he was able to capture the emotion on the strangers’ faces made them no longer strangers.He’d refused to do anything with his art, hiding it from his friends and parents, until he showed up in Chicago, ready to try.Enrolling in the up-and-coming art school—Brush Institute of Art & Design—was key.Admission was tricky, and just the fact that he was in proved he had talent.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t used to strict discipline with his classes, especially basics he’d already mastered.His teacher seemed to be on a crusade to tear him down in front of his other classmates, making the past few months difficult.I wished I could help in some way, but he was determined to take care of things himself.I think it had to do with his past responsibilities, or rather, lack of them.He’d been a college dropout, huge partyer, and frat-boy extraordinaire.

But I believed in him.Always did.Always would.

We were in this journey together, and the future was bright.I’d finally graduate from Chicago State, begin internship at the rehab, maybe work on my master’s in social work, while James took the art world by storm.Sure, it wouldn’t be easy.I’d learned in my life long ago that nothing was, but I also believed that hard work paid off.Paying my dues.

All in all, not such a bad deal.

I lifted my chin with determination and focused on getting through the next hour before getting some well-needed rest.

Chapter Two

JAMES

I HUNG UP THE PHONE ANDstared with disgust at my current drawing.The lines were bold enough, the light and shadow contrast decent, but something was missing.The element of emotion and intensity that usually transferred onto the board and gave the sketch life.

This was bullshit.

I grabbed the half-finished drawing and shoved it into the closet, slamming the door in a toddler tantrum that made me choke.I was tanking, and pissed off.When I got into Brush Institute, I thought it would be the first step into making my art into a career that would be productive one day.I mean, let’s be honest, I’m a literal spoiled rich boy who lives off his parents’ money.Funny, it used to bother me before, but not enough to change things.Now, with Quinn in my life, desperate to make an impression on her and her Dad, each obstacle before me seemed harder.

My admission test placed me at a high entry point, which meant I got to skip a lot of bullshit classes for beginners.Guess my book studies and years of practice on my own had given me a good start.But when I tried to get into the more advanced classes, my current teacher from hell blocked me.

Ava Goodridge.

She was both talented and recognized in the art world for her fierce manner in watercolors and bold sketches of the male form.Not my usual cup of tea, but she was a force of creativity and energy I couldn’t deny.

Unfortunately, she fucking hated my guts.

I grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and sat at the table brooding, waiting for Quinn.From the very first meeting, Ava had looked at my work with a cool disregard that burned in my gut.And instead of approving me for the painting and portrait classes I wanted to take, she denied me.Stuck me in an elementary drawing class, telling me I needed to relearn my mechanics.

For the past four months, I worked my ass off to impress her.Nothing did.Her suggestions and subtle insults to my work were well known in class.My peers looked at me with sympathy when she used me as an example of what I did wrong on all counts.Didn’t matter how I responded, either.If I was quiet and took her shit, she dubbed me a disinterested learner.If I defended my position or tried to explain, she cut me off with a withering glance and told me I was there to get better, not defend crap.

She tied me up in knots until I questioned everything about what I was doing.But I needed to hang tight, get through the rest of the semester, and show her what I had.I also needed to prove to Quinn that I could take the shit with dignity.I was done with running or looking for the easy way out.God knew, Quinn showed me with her own sense of responsibility and work ethic that she needed a man to match her.Someone worthy of her love.Not a rich kid who depended on his parents’ millions and spent his life jet-setting with a bunch of assholes, partying nonstop.No, not anymore.

I was gonna make sure I didn’t fail.

The door opened.I was used to the slight shock I always got when I looked at her.Something about her gorgeous dark eyes, so open and honest, with the spill of her chocolate-brown hair and amazing body.Her skin was soft and warm and responsive to anything I wanted to do with her or to her.Our sexual chemistry was a force I’d never experienced before.Even standing in a room, it was like a buzz of electricity always hummed between us.Yeah, I sound whipped, right?Funny, I didn’t give a crap anymore.She was my drug of choice, and I needed a steady hit, or I’d go bat-shit crazy.

She pulled off her jacket and hat, tossing it on my worn couch I’d gotten used, and gave me that smile that kicked my heart into gear and made my dick so hard it could cut stone.“I’m hungry,” she announced.

I gave her a slow grin, stalking her until she pressed back against the door, those dark eyes going all intense and foggy.God, I loved how just my look got her all hot.With Quinn, a few touches and she was so wet for me, her needy groans vibrating in my ear, making me feel like a fucking god.

“So am I.”I reached her, running my fingers through her silky hair and beginning to unbutton her pink flannel shirt.The little catch of breath told me she didn’t mind waiting for dinner, and she enjoyed our little games just as much as me.Raw hunger ripped at me.I swallowed the crazy need to tear off her clothes and fling her to the ground, shoving myself deep into her wet heat.Instead, I fought back the intensity and dragged in a breath.Quinn deserved gentleness and worship.Not being treated like an animal.I needed to control my caveman reactions, even if it almost killed me.

I parted the material and gazed at her simple white bra.She liked to surprise me.Sometimes she’d wear the sexiest, laciest underwear and tell me about it when we were in a public place, knowing it made me nuts.Other times, she played the innocent, with white bra and cotton panties.

Funny, I think the virginal stuff revs me up even more.

I managed to calmly flick the clasp of her bra open.Her red nipples were already tight and hard, begging for my tongue, and she arched up like a pretty present just for me.I palmed the gorgeous globes of flesh while she quickly unfastened my jeans with an expert ease that always impressed me.Quinn may have looked innocent and sweet, but she was the hottest, most responsive woman I’d ever been with, her arousal so intense sometimes my cock wept for the feel of her tight, slick folds clasping me in a vise.She also loved dirty talk, one of my favorite things in bed.

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