“And if I can’t be happy and want to go back to platonic? If I can’t handle fooling around?”
“Then we’ll figure it out. Even if it means annulment. Like I said, there are zero feelings involved, so you won’t hurt my pride if you say that you’re not attracted to me, all right?” He squeezed her against him.
“Oh, please. You know you’re attractive.” She rolled her eyes.
“Well now my ego is incredibly flattered.”
“Let me think about it,” she said.
“Absolutely. I want you to trust me. We should be able to trust each other, you know?”
Trust? The fact that he was bringing trust up made her snort. “You’re one to talk. How about this, then?” She sat up and looked him in the eye. “You show me your secret room and what you’re doing with all these notebooks, and I’ll agree to give the sex thing a shot. That way, we’re both opening up and sharing. Fair enough?”
His nostrils flared. For a moment, she actually thought he would refuse. Instead, he pushed himself off the couch. “You want to see? Fine.”
Chapter Fifteen
Sebastian led her down the hall to the room he always kept locked. He reached up to a painting that was next to the door, ran his fingers over the top edge, and pulled away a key. Aha. She watched as he put the key in the lock, and tried not to seem too eager. She’d shared so many of her secrets with him, and now she got to see his.
He hesitated, a hand on the handle. “Do me a favor, Chelsea?”
“Hmm?”
“Don’t laugh, okay? I know it doesn’t seem like much, but it’s very personal to me.” He pushed the door open and stepped aside so she could enter.
She stepped inside, gazing around her in quiet surprise. It was a study all right, and a bit of a mess. The walls were papered with sketches of women. Some were famous and easily recognizable. She could see the swollen curve of Angelina Jolie’s lips on one face, and the strong, square jaw of Kirsten Dunst in another. They were sketches of women in all kinds of poses, some nudes, some not. All were tasteful.
All were excellent and at a skill level that staggered her.
The papers littered the room, hundreds and hundreds of sketches that must have taken hours upon hours to draw. A half-completed sculpture of feminine shoulders sat on a shelf, along with a mannequin.
She moved toward the paper-covered desk and sucked in a breath when she saw another sketch of herself, her hand curled against one cheek and smiling at the viewer. She looked so soft and sultry. So inviting.
Was this how he saw her? Chelsea’s skin flushed with pleasure. She turned and looked at him, surprised. “Why would I laugh at this?”
He shrugged and crossed his arms, looking surprisingly vulnerable. “Because I’m a grown man and should be watching the stock market instead of doodling women?”
“But your art is beautiful,” Chelsea said, picking up the sheet with her on it. “This looks just like me.”
“I couldn’t get the eyes right,” he said, moving forward and plucking it from her hands. “You always smile with your eyes, and I wanted that to convey, but I’m not happy with it.”
“Sebastian, these are wonderful. So wonderful. Why would you keep this a secret?”
He put the picture back on the desk and rubbed his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “No one in my family approves. They feel that artistic sentiments are a waste. Unless it’s fashion, of course,” he said sarcastically. “That’s different.”
“I would never laugh at any of this,” Chelsea said, genuinely shocked. “You’re crazy to think that this isn’t amazing. You’re so talented.”
“And yet you hid derby from me, didn’t you?” He looked at her, mouth quirking in a faint smile of understanding. “Because you were afraid I wouldn’t understand or I’d try to make you stop?”