Chapter 30
Andre had embarked on a journey to suffice for a rant he had previously had with Cheryl. The sketches were taken to a friend of Renee's. He was employed with a publisher. The publisher had been overjoyed on the spot, longing to offer Cheryl a contract for a book. He'd called twice since then, pleading with Andre for Cheryl’s contact information. Andre had been hesitant to give it out since Cheryl didn't even discern that he'd shown the sketches to someone else. He speculated what she'd say when she found out.
He had to go and see her. He had to tell her about this proposal. He couldn't let her stubborn pride and wounded feelings keep him from making Cheryl aware of what could be her road to success. As much as he had trepidation in confronting her, he knew he could never live with himself if he didn't.
She had a right to know those seemingly horrible drawings were worth more money, even as coarse and unpublished as they were than she would ever make in a year. Didn't she? Absolutely, he determined as he picked up the sketchbook. She did.
And maybe, if he found enough courage to face her, stare her in the eye and apologize, he might discover why he couldn't get the damned woman out of his thoughts. Or maybe out of his heart?
Andre was the last individual Cheryl anticipated seeing when she answered the knock at her door. She was speechless and could only stare at him. God, he looked just as attractive as she remembered. And his hair was still untamed. Perfect. She rubbed a hand over the ache in her heart. Could he really be here, or was she hallucinating—seeing him because she couldn't get him out of her thoughts?
Maybe he'd missed her, and that's why he'd come. Yeah, right, a little voice in her mind snorted. “Hey,” she replied. It could happen.
Then he spoke shattering her illusions. "For heaven's sake divine, are you going to ask me in, or are you leaving me languishing here standing in the hall?"
She hadn't changed. Not that he'd want her to. Though he was probably in desperate need of therapy, he liked Cheryl just the way she was. He shook his head to hide his smile. She stepped back to let him in.
"What are you doing here?"
"Returning this." He held up a sketchbook. "I thought you'd want it back."
"I'm surprised you didn't dispose of it either by burning or trashing it."
"I was tempted." he motioned.
"But I just couldn't."
"Why not?" Heading toward the kitchen, she called back over her shoulder, "Have a seat. I'll get you a beer."
"Thanks," he said when she returned with two bottles of Hairoun beer handing one to her. "I couldn't destroy something that shows so much talent." He pointed at the sketchbook. "And it's a benefit I didn't. I showed it to a buddy of mine’s in publishing. He is more than willing to offer you a contract to do an entire series of cartoon books. In addition he wants to engage you for regular contributions to an established magazine. As a bonus he'll grant you a huge advance for the book."
When he proffered a figure, Cheryl blinked then gaped at him. "What did you say?"
"You heard me right." Shifting on his chair, he sipped the beer. "I don't understand why you're so stunned. You must know how very gifted you are."
"But I—I thought you hated those cartoons. Why would you show them to your friend?"
He shrugged looking away. "It wasn't the drawings I hated. It was the thought of knowing you felt about me like that."When he turned back to face her, the tears glistening her eyes nearly made him dizzy. He steadied himself composing his stature.
"I'm sorry for the manner in which I treated you," he said, handing her a slip of paper. "This is the name of the publisher along with his telephone number. You really need to consider call him as soon as you can." He set the empty beer bottle on the coffee table heading for the door. "You have a tremendous amount of skill and talent Cheryl. Do not let it go to unharnessed and wasted. Instead use every opportunity to share your work with the public."
"Andre wait," she called as he reached for the doorknob.
Briskly she walked toward him, almost terrified that this was just an additional fantasy—like the ones that blurred her memory every night since they'd kissed—and he'd vanish the moment she touched him. When he put his hands on her shoulders and she turned around to face him, he didn't disappear. Nibbling on her lower lip she stood frozen watching him.
"I don't have a bad opinion of you," she said, unsure of how to convince him. Maybe she should just go with the truth. "I did those cartoons in self-defense." She cleared her throat. "The fact is, thinking about you drives me crazy. When I came to your house that first day and you easily opened that solid door, you turned me sensitive and inside out. You looked so adorable displaying no frustration."
He stroked his knuckles over her cheek whilst teasing his fingers through her hair. When she shuddered, a thrill ran through Andre’s entire body.
"I really got shot with Cupid's arrow the minute our lips met." A small grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "It's a good thing you’ve been such a pain in the butt. That’s made it easier to accept that you're so obviously out of my league."
"Out of your league? I wouldn't be the first rich girl to date a man who works with his hands. But I don't understand what makes me out of your league. There may be reasons, I admit." His face remained serious, but her eyes were smiling.
"Reasons such as lack of respect for a girl's sleep and grooming time."
"I'm a failure, Cheryl. I couldn't keep a job. I—"
"How can you say that?" she demanded. The sting in her voice shocked him. Her shove caught him entirely by surprise and he faltered back a couple of steps. Fisting her hands on her hips, she glared at him. "How can you even think about something like that?"
Snatching up the sketchbook she stormed over and marching back she slapped it against his chest.
"This book isn't the work of a failure. It's the work of a clever and brilliant artist." She snorted.
As he ran for the door she caught him and pulled him into her arms. "Really?” He asked, delighted. "Really?" When he struggled, she just stiffened her embrace grinning. "How about a kiss to appease?"
"How about a punch in the nose for being a monkey, instead?"
Cheryl’s grin widened. "Nah, I prefer a kiss." He nibbled on her lips and watched the passion flare in her eyes. "Since you called me good-looking, does that mean you have the heat for me?"
"I can also call you an idiot as well you know," she muttered, but her arms wound around his neck. "You seemed to have missed that."
"No, I didn't. I just figure after we're married, you'll call me that so often, I should start tuning it out now." He kissed her long and deep until they both moaned. "Ignoring your insults is good practice for later." His lips took possession of hers again.
"M—married," she stammered