Breaking Free (5 page)

Huh. Sophie pondered his response, having half-expected some crap about "beauty comes from within." Perhaps that was true, but she found it difficult to believe that wasn’t something women told themselves to feel better.

"You're so fucking dirty," she told Tennyson wryly. "Maybe I should've asked for the filtered version."

Tennyson smirked. "And maybe I withheld some things, after all."

She rolled her eyes but grinned. "Sure you did. Me and my innocent mind can't even imagine." She ignored his narrowed eyes and popped a cherry tomato into her mouth. "Shouldn’t we get going?" Checking her phone, she saw it was eight thirty, and they'd be getting their art supplies in half an hour.

She didn’t know the first thing about art, but she wasn’t worried. She could fake it until she made it, and she'd seen some fucked-up shit being auctioned off for charity in the past. Art could be anything, it seemed.

"I suppose you're right." Tennyson wrapped up his burger, perhaps to eat the rest on the way. "I'll go pay."

"Tennyson—" She spoke before she could think, placing a hand on his arm. She bit her lip, hesitating, and he looked back at her in question. "Um. Could you ask to get that in a to-go cup?" She pointed at the milk shake.

Tennyson waited, as if there was a punch line coming, but screw it. Sophie wanted at least a sip or two. And when Tennyson realized she was serious, he smiled. A lazy smile mixing with approval and surprise.

"You got it, princess."

Chapter 7

When they arrived at the art café, Tennyson noted there weren't any paparazzi lurking outside, but he could see a few people with cameras inside the café. He opened the door for Sophie, who—much to his delight, which he couldn’t quite understand—was still nursing the milk shake.

They hadn't spoken much in the car, but every time he'd heard the thick draw of the shake through the straw, he'd grinned to himself.

Tennyson was aware of Sophie's reputation with men, so the fact that she
blushed
because she was enjoying a damn milk shake was…endearing.

"I think I'm high on sugar," she whispered conspiratorially as she passed him. "Don’t tell anyone. Oh God—" She pivoted and pushed the cup into his chest. "I can't be seen in public with this garbage."

Well. Rome wasn’t built in a day.

Tennyson's grin appeared again, and he threw away the milk shake in a trash can, then joined her side to greet the café owner and the spokesperson for the charity.

Art wasn’t his forte, nor was he particularly interested in it—unless it was film, of course—but Sophie seemed to know enough. He shook hands with the people in charge and glanced around the industrial interior of the café. Mismatched chairs and tables stood along the walls and windows, and the street-corner feel and graffiti art didn’t exactly impress him.

Sophie working a crowd did, though.

She knew when to tease, when to be serious, when to comment, and how to make those around her smile. The twenty-something people listened, recorded, and photographed her as the spokesperson asked about her view on animal rights and endangered species.

"Do you have any pets, Ms. Pierce?" the café owner asked with interest.

"Unfortunately not." Sophie smiled softly. "Hopefully someday."

Tennyson folded his arms over his chest and brought one hand up to pinch his lips together. He knew he was observing the young girl next to him much like art enthusiasts would study a painting, but it couldn’t be helped. He found himself intrigued by Sophie, especially with the changes that had been going on.

"If you ever wanted a pet, would you consider adopting?" the spokesperson asked Sophie.

"Oh, of course." Sophie said it like it was obvious. "I see no point in breeding for profit, and I'd rather give an abandoned dog the home he or she deserves."

She wasn’t stupid at all.

The people around her were pleased with her answer, and then it was Tennyson's turn for the spotlight when the spokesperson asked him about his brother's own foundation, Fight for Fighters.

Ever since Tennyson and Asher were young, their parents had provided shelter and food for homeless dogs, and Asher had taken it to the next level after college. He'd started Fight for Fighters to raise awareness and assist with adopting dogs that came from abusive owners or had been injured in illegal dog fights.

Tennyson had always enjoyed helping his brother, but it had been a few years now since he'd had the time. His last pup had been a pit bull that'd been blind, and she'd died of cancer two years ago.

I should make time…

He did miss companionship.

Once they'd covered the topic of animals, the spokesperson moved on to tonight's event. An assistant came out from the back of the café, and Tennyson and Sophie followed the guy into a studio-like area. The concrete floor wasn’t bad, but the blinding spotlights bouncing off the white-painted brick walls were pure agony.

He slid down his shades from the top of his head and cursed himself for not bringing painkillers. He'd need them soon enough, he was certain.

Sophie gave him a curious look before she followed the assistant to a large table full of art supplies.

"We will give you privacy to work soon," the spokesperson explained, "but do you and Ms. Pierce have anything to share before we leave? Any glimpse of what you're going to create together?"

First of all, Tennyson didn’t know they'd be given privacy, and to learn they would was a relief. Second of all, no. It was laughable, but he didn’t have the faintest clue of what he and Sophie would do.

"I think we'll stick to saying it's gonna be
wild
," Sophie answered for him with a spark of mischief in her eyes.

Tennyson chuckled at her wit.

The spokesperson tittered a laugh, and the reporters took another few photos of Sophie and the art supplies behind her. After that, the café owner announced that everyone was welcome to refreshments in the café while they waited for Tennyson and Sophie.

Two hours—that was how long they had—to create an art piece that would be sold at the fancy auction this fall.

Soon, it was only Tennyson and Sophie in the room. The assistant slid a door shut, and Tennyson let out a sigh.

"What the hell are we going to do?" he asked. "I don’t believe I've painted anything since I was advised to take an art class in college. Not even my mother would give me a raving review."

Sophie giggled and tapped her chin, turning to the table with all the supplies, and Tennyson joined her there. "Let's see. There is one thing we could do—if there's any paint that’s nontoxic." She began sifting through the bottles and tubes of paint. Acrylic, oil, water, and some Tennyson didn’t recognize. "I'm not much of an artist either, but this will be easy." Sophie sent him a lopsided grin. "As long as you're willing to get dirty."

He lifted a brow. "Should I be afraid?"

She laughed softly and shrugged. "No more than I should. My friends back home would be fucking appalled." Her mirth faded and she tried to shake it off. "I can't care about that," she whispered, seemingly to herself.

Tennyson's brows knitted together, and he was struck by the concern he had for Sophie. There were many things about her he didn’t understand, but he did know about peer pressure—especially for young people who were trying to fit in. Most people went through that at some point in their lives, and Sophie was doing it with paparazzi stalking her.

"What exactly is it you have planned?" he wondered.

"Aha!" She held up a bottle of black paint. "Nontoxic. Okay, so here's what I was thinking, and please hear me out before you make up your mind." She waited for his nod before continuing. "It's kind of a trend. You can buy a kit with specific paint for this, and the idea is for a couple to cover themselves in paint and…and, um, have sex on a canvas." Tennyson's brows shot up as shock washed over him. "We won't do that—
obviously
," she rushed to explain. "But we could simulate it. Like, lie down on the canvas, place our hands here and there, shift around a bit… We could even take turns. We don’t have to touch."

All right, Tennyson got the gist, and this would certainly go well with the theme, but
Christ
. Hearing Sophie Pierce mention sex, even simulating it, did things to Tennyson. It was almost unimaginable, and he was highly uncomfortable with the fact that a part of him even entertained the thought of what it would be like.

What it would be like to
fuck
her.

Tennyson couldn’t help but feel slightly irritated with Sophie for bringing up that word.
Sex
. Because it opened doors in his head he wanted to keep shut and deadbolted. Yeah, it was fucking ridiculous. Tennyson was attracted to women his own age. Women with experience. Women he had something in common with.

"I can't tell if you're mad or stunned behind those Ray-Bans," Sophie told him quietly. "Look, it was only an idea. I thought it'd be harmless—we roll around a bit and then call it a day." She looked helplessly at the supply table again, clearly trying to come up with something new. "I'm sorry if it sucked. I guess we can always do our best and paint an animal in the wild or something."

Then she did
that
. And something tugged at Tennyson. He remembered when he'd called her in Denver and told her they would reshoot her scene outside of the university. She'd sounded so incredibly defeated, like now, and he'd have to be both blind and deaf to miss that she was trying. She was trying very hard, and she was improving, too.

"Your idea doesn’t…suck, Sophie." It was the truth, too. Now that the shock had settled. "It just caught me off guard." She didn’t look like she believed him, and Tennyson wanted to reassure her. "I mean it. It doesn’t suck. Your idea's bold and creative."

Had she been anyone else, he would've shrugged it off by now. If someone chose not to believe what he was saying, that was their problem. Not his. Yet, he was willing to go further to make Sophie understand.

"Now, I assume underwear stays on?" His mouth tugged up, and he was glad when Sophie's expression brightened.

It meant something.

"Of course." She let out a short giggle and covered her mouth. "So, we need a roll of canvas—here." She ignored the ones that had already been prepared on wooden frames and grabbed a large roll. "Can you see if there are other colors that aren't toxic?" She handed him the bottle so he could compare labels.

While he did that, Sophie rolled out a big piece of canvas on the floor.

"Tennyson, can I ask what the deal is with you and your sunglasses? I mean, they're hot and all, but you never seem to take them off."

He wasn’t too surprised she didn’t know, despite that most people who'd worked with him knew. He was pretty sure it was listed on his Wikipedia page, as well.

"I suffer from photophobia," he answered absently, going through the colors.

"What's that? Are you like, camera shy?"

"No, you brat," he chuckled. "Light sensitivity. I get headaches if it's too bright."

"Oh…" She stopped whatever she was doing, and her feet padded away. Then the spotlights overhead dimmed. "Better?"

He turned around and saw her standing by a light switch near the door. "Yeah. Thank you, Sophie." He smiled and slid off his shades.

She beamed back at him then returned to straighten the canvas. "Did you find any other colors?"

"Two." He brought over the three bottles they'd have to work with. Black, white, dark purple. "You seem to know what you're doing, so what's next?"

"Depends on who goes first." She stood up and kicked off her shoes, wiggling her toes a bit. It was…cute. She also removed a rubber band from her wrist and gathered her hair in a twist at the top of her head. "If you go first, that means you gotta take off your shirt and dress pants. Then I help you put paint on."

Tennyson eyed the blank canvas on the floor. It was approximately five feet long, so at six foot three, he wouldn’t exactly fit. But he supposed it didn’t matter.

"Might as well."
Get it over with
. He didn’t add that last part in case Sophie would be offended. But as he unbuttoned his shirt and watched Sophie pour paint in a plastic bowl, he began to dread this as much as he'd dreaded their first dinner together.

This was Tennyson's first PR relationship, but he'd witnessed actors going through them, so he knew the so-called showmances involved surprisingly little affection. Because it didn’t take more than a discreet touch, the occasional hand-holding, or hell, even going grocery shopping together before Hollywood went crazy with rumors and speculation.

Having Sophie's hands all over him hadn't been the plan.

Stepping out of his shoes and pants, Tennyson ended up in only a pair of gray boxer briefs—certainly not how he'd thought this evening would go. He placed his shades and his personal belongings on the supply table, then waited for Sophie.

He'd seen countless actors naked throughout his career, and he would even see Sophie mostly nude tomorrow for a scene, but no one ever saw the director shed his clothes, goddammit.

"Are you ready?" Sophie kept her gaze firmly on the bowl in her hands as she walked around Tennyson. If he wasn’t imagining things, she appeared uncomfortable. Her cheeks were pink, anyway.

"As ready as I'll ever be." He stiffened when he felt Sophie's hand on his shoulder blade. Wet, cold, sticky paint slithered down his muscles, and he grimaced. "It's going to be lovely getting dressed later with paint stuck to my skin."

Sophie laughed quietly. "Yeah, I don’t think they have showers here. But at least it'll be over fast. We don’t need two hours to make a mess." More paint was applied, until Tennyson felt it all over his back. "Um, I hope you don’t have a strong attachment to your underwear."

"I don’t, no." Tennyson chuckled at the situation he was in. Part of him still couldn’t believe it.

Wanting to get it over with for several reasons, he twisted his body a bit so he could reach the bowl in Sophie's hand. He scooped up some of the black paint and applied it to his underarms and palms.

Next, he froze as Sophie continued with the backs of his thighs. It was too much, too intimate.

Up and down in firm strokes, Sophie painted him with her small hand. And it felt good.
Jesus Christ
. He closed his eyes briefly, desire coursing through him. It rattled him to admit it. It felt way too good, and he didn’t manage to convince all of him that it was just his lack of a sex life talking.

When was the last time he'd had sex? He'd dated someone casually a year ago, and before that…Trisha? It had to be.