I glanced at the next piece, a newer one. One Kate and I had worked on. I hadn’t realized it before, but looking at them now, my older pieces felt kind of…flat. They lacked the movement and intensity of the newer ones.
And I thought about my life before Kate and my life since. There was no comparison. Life without her was worse than losing my ability to draw.
I let out a deep sigh, raking my hand through my hair. I’d fucked up. I’d wanted to reach out to her, to call her, but I’d been so busy preparing for the exhibit, I hadn’t had time.
No. That wasn’t entirely true. I’d been swamped, but I hadn’t made the time.
Because I was scared. Because I didn’t know how to do this or where we went from here. Because neither of us was without fault, but I still loved her.
And being here tonight, surrounded by all these people staring at and judging my art, I realized I simply didn’t care. Without Kate, this moment—what should have been a celebration of my triumphant return to the art world—felt hollow. Meaningless.
I felt as if someone were watching me, but I brushed the feeling aside. Of course people were watching me; I was the artist. The guest of honor. I glanced toward the large window at the front of the gallery. The sun had set, and lights flickered outside, casting shadows on the pavement.
And then I saw her—Kate.
She was standing on the sidewalk, looking in. She was even more beautiful than I remembered, like some sort of goddess with the light shining on her golden strands. I felt that same spark as I had the first time I saw her, that same pull.
Our eyes locked, hers gray and stormy. Mine questioning.
Before I could so much as think about it, my feet moved of their own accord, drawing me to her. Pulling my body where my heart already wanted to go.
When she spun, I was captivated by the way her hair flowed around her like molten gold. But when she started to walk in the opposite direction, I ran.
“Kate,” I called, jogging behind her. “Kate.” I grabbed her wrist, unwilling to let her go. “Wait.”
She spun to face me, and there were tears in her eyes. This close, I could tell she’d been crying, her eyes rimmed with red, her skin pale. Even so, she was beautiful, her body encased in a floral dress that smoothed over her breasts and hips like a present I wanted to unwrap.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come,” she said.
I pulled her closer, gratified by her sharp intake of breath. Even so, I never lost my grip on her. “I’m glad you did.”
“You are?” She tilted her head to the side.
“Yes. I’m very glad you came. You deserve to see the turnout for our paintings.” I’d intended to tell her how much I’d missed her, but at the last second, I choked.
She shook her head. “Your paintings. Xander, you did this. You didn’t need me. You never did.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” I stepped closer, swiping away a lone tear with my thumb. “I do need you. But more importantly, I want you. I want to paint together and laugh together and even cry together.”
She leaned into my touch. “I want that too. So much. And I’m so, so sorry I wasn’t completely honest. I’m still figuring out who I am—I think I always will be. But I know what I want, and that’s you.”
I leaned my forehead against hers, allowing our breath to mingle. A wave of relief washed over me. But I knew I owed her an apology as well. “I’m sorry too. I’m sorry I walked away when you really could’ve used my support.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, softening.
I cupped her cheeks. “Kate, I should’ve said this before. Not when we were in the middle of an argument.” I drew in a deep breath, wanting to separate the words I was about to say from the ones that came before. “I love you.”
She gave me a watery smile. “I love you, Xander. And I’m so very proud of you.”
I crushed her mouth with mine, the salt of her tears mingling with her sweetness. I could spend the rest of my life trying to figure out this woman. But that’s what I liked about her. She helped me stay calm and centered, but she also kept me on my toes.
I knew we still had things to discuss, but I was confident we’d work through any issues together. With honesty, trust, and communication.
She was my muse, my love, my everything. And I was never letting her go.
Thank you so much for reading Perspective. I hope you enjoyed Kate and Xander’s story, and I’d so appreciate it if you took the time to write a review. Short or long, they mean everything to me.
You can leave your review HERE!
Not ready to leave the Love in LA world just yet?
Up next is Unexpected. It’s a nanny/single-parent romance with a twist! Keep reading for a sneak peek of Alexis and Preston’s story.
Or check out Irresistible. It’s a friends with benefits romance featuring Kate’s brother, Hunter. Can Hunter and Lauren follow the rules, or will they break each other’s hearts?
Unpredictable is an age gap romance featuring a wedding planner and the father of the bride! It’s a story of love after loss, second chances, and hope.
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What’s Next?
He's so hot.
But off limits.
Younger than me.
Yet still so mature.
Worst of all…
he's my daughter's new nanny.
I don't mix business with pleasure.
Or at least, I've never been tempted to until him.
Excerpt
I shot him a sheepish grin. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not,” he rasped, lifting his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
“You’re not?” I felt a little silly for repeating him, but it was as if all rational thought had fled my brain the moment I’d found myself tangled up in the hammock with him.
His blue eyes locked on mine. “No.”
One hand was tucked beneath his cheek, but he used the other to caress my face. He traced my jaw with his thumb before brushing it over my lips. I felt like I was locked in a dream, an alternate reality. And I wanted so badly to embrace it, to embrace him. I wanted to believe it was real.
“Kiss me,” I blurted.
His eyes darkened, and he leaned forward, his breath feathering over my skin. He bypassed my lips, opting to place delicate kisses along the corners of my eyes, over my nose, on my cheeks. His touch was so light, so reverential. And I felt it all the way to the depth of my very being. I’d never felt more connected to someone.
I relaxed into his arms, reveling in the moment. It felt so decadent—to lie in a man’s arms without a care in the world. To be kissed and worshiped as if it were his sole purpose in life to cherish me.
Unlike any of the other men I’d been with, there was no rush. If anything, Preston seemed intent to slow down and savor the moment. And I found myself noticing more—the feel of his scruff against my skin. The way my nerve endings tingled, reaching out for him.
I was on the verge of begging him to kiss me when he finally slanted his lips over mine. My body hummed with excitement, but he continued to keep his movements slow. We sampled each other, our bodies forced together by the fabric of the hammock, making it feel like we were in a cocoon. Even when he teased the seam of my lips with his tongue, it was a languid movement. It felt like we had all the time in the world, and he wanted to spend it with me.
He didn’t push for more, and neither did I. Instead, we explored each other, our legs and tongues tangled together.
I could’ve stayed there all night. But then, I heard Sophia calling for me, and I bolted upright.
“Mommy?” Her voice was more insistent, and she sounded upset.
I rushed to find my footing, one of my feet getting stuck in the hammock. “I’m coming!”
Preston helped free me, only for me to fall flat on my face. I scrambled to my feet and rushed over to where Sophia was standing by the back door.
My heart was racing as I wrapped my arm around her. “I’m here, baby. What’s wrong?”
She sniffled. “I had a nightmare.”
Talk about a nightmare. I’d just experienced the most amazing kiss of my life—with my daughter’s nanny. My employee. A man who was nine years younger than me.
But overriding all of it was guilt. I hadn’t been there for my daughter when she needed me. When I should’ve been comforting her, I was making out with her nanny.
“It’s okay.” I held her close to me. “You’re okay. Why don’t we go inside and cuddle for a little bit?”
She nodded, allowing me to lead her toward the doors. “Mommy.” She sniffled. “Why is there grass on your shirt?”
I glanced down, brushing it off quickly. “I, um, was doing some yoga before bed.”
I could hear Preston’s quiet chuckle in the dark, could feel him watching me as I shut the glass door behind me. I shook my head, more at myself than him. This couldn’t happen again. But the way his low laughter threaded through my belly told me that would be easier said than done.
Read Unexpected
Available on Amazon and FREE on Kindle Unlimited
To the readers—I love writing for the pleasure of it, but seeing your reactions, reading your comments and reviews is definitely a highlight.
To my editor, Lisa with Silently Correcting Your Grammar. I so appreciate your attention to detail, and your patience with my questions. You always go above and beyond. And your comments crack me up! Thank you for helping me create a thoughtful and well-polished book I can be proud of.
Thank you to LJ for designing such a gorgeous cover that really captures the feel of the story and characters. And a huge thanks to Linda for everything you do. You’re a rockstar!
A huge thank you to all my beta readers. Thank you for making me a stronger writer, for offering your unique insight and advice. You each seem to bring something different to the table, and I’m always amazed and impressed by your suggestions. I’m honored to have you on my team!
Thank you to my husband for always encouraging me. For always supporting my dreams. You are better than any book boyfriend I could ever imagine. And to my daughter, for always putting a smile on my face. You are spirited and independent, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Dream big, my darling.
A big thanks to my parents and my in-laws for taking such good care of our daughter while I write. And to my mom for always being my number one fan.
If this list of people shows you anything, it’s that dreams are often the effort of many. I’m grateful to have such an awesome team. And I’m honored that you’ve taken the time to read my words.
Contemporary romance author, Jenna Hartley writes about strong, independent women and the men who dare to love them. Her characters aren’t perfect; they're authentic. Her passion is to make their stories feel as real for readers as they do to her, infusing each one with sexy, sweet, and laughable moments that reflect real love.
When she's not writing, Jenna spends her days chasing after a hilarious and imaginative toddler, as well as hunting down new allergy-friendly recipes for them to cook together. She lives in Texas with her family and loves nothing more than a good book, good chocolate, and Topo Chico.
www.authorjennahartley.com
Perspective (Love in LA Book 1) Page 11
