Page 72 of Capturing You
“You know what? You’re right.” She smiled, getting into it now. “You know what else he said? He said, ‘Who do you think you are, Ansel Adams?’ Which…whatever. I mean, I’m not Ansel Adams, but the wayhe laughed as if he’d made a very clever joke, when he knew, heknew,how much I admired Adams’s work. I told him how I wanted to do with digital photography what Ansel Adams did with film. He knew that. He said that just to hurt me.”
“More than to hurt you, Brooklynn.”
She narrowed those clear blue eyes, tipping her head to the side as if she wasn’t sure what he meant.
“Taggart knew exactly what he was doing,” Forbes said. “I have a vague idea of who Ansel Adams is, but not knowing everything about him doesn’t make me feel small or stupid. It just makes me acknowledge that I don’t know everything. A guy like Taggart? He probably needed to pretend, to fake it. You knowing something he didn’t know and doing something he couldn’t do? I bet that killed him. I’ve known my share of Lennys. Insecure little boys who can’t stand being outshined by anyone, especially a woman. He had to cut you down to feel good about himself. He had to cut you down because he didn’t want you to realize you were too good for him. Guys like that aren’t worth your time.”
He wasn’t sure what reaction he expected. Maybe defensiveness. Maybe an exuberant nod at his brilliance.
He wouldn’t have hated that.
But she smiled her joyful smile, her wide eyes reflecting the firelight, gleaming as if she had a secret.
“What?”
“You keep proving my theory true.”
He growled, sounding like the boogeyman she’d accused him of being.
Her smile just widened.
Okay, fine. “What theory?”
“When you get angry or feel passionately about something, you talk in full sentences, even paragraphs.”
He clamped his lips shut and faced the fire.
She was right.
This woman could read him like a trifold brochure.
He was waiting for her laugh, but her hand slid around his forearm. “Hey, Ford?”
“Hmm?”
“I like that about you. You’re like an iceberg. There’s so much beneath the surface, and every time I get a peek of it, I see how beautiful it is.”
Beautiful?
There was an adjective he’d never aspired to.
He must’ve made a face because she gave him a little squeeze. “Maybe that’s not the right word, but…actually, it is. Because when you get angry and passionate, it’s usually not because someone’s hurt you. It’s because someone’s hurt someone else. Me, in this case. That’s righteous indignation, and it’s beautiful.”
He grunted, which was just one step above the growl. He needed to work on his communication skills. “If you say so.”
“I do. Trust me. I know beauty. I am an…artist, you know.”
Her eyes twinkled as if the admission filled her with joy. Her hair fell in waves all around her face, shining in the light of the fire. She was, quite simply, the most gorgeous creature he’d ever seen.
He didn’t stop to think, didn’twantto think. Just slid closer and brushed a tendril behind her ear.
She shivered, and he didn’t think it was because of the cold.
That reaction lit a fire inside him to rival the one in the hearth just a few feet away. He slid his fingers into her silky hair, loving the way her curls wrapped around his hand.
Loving the way she leaned into his touch.
Loving…all of it.
