Granted the opportunity to model for world-famous yet reclusive artist Edgar, journalist Janelle Ryan thinks she's finally landed the story of her career. What she doesn't realize is that by staying at Edgar's famous "Art House," her focus shifts from the news story to experiencing an unexpected personal awakening of her mind, body, and soul.
As a consequence, painful emotions she's been repressing for years begin to reemerge. Facing her demons head on, she realizes what is most important to her - how to forgive, and most importantly, how to love again.
- Title: The Art House
- Author: Scarlett Knight
- Type of Book: eBook, erotic romance
- Pages: 245
- ASIN: B01E9G9IDU
I didn't read the description before reading, so I started the story thinking I knew where it was going. I assumed Janelle was going to this artist's house to meet the Dom who would bring out the sub in her and they'd fall in love and yadda, yadda, yadda.
I was WAY off.
Because I had the wrong expectations, at the beginning I was becoming skeptical. Knight's descriptions of setting were lush and detailed, and the flirtation (which turns into much more) with Edgar's associate threw me a bit. When she arrived at the Art House, I knew I was off the mark, and after her first meeting with Edgar, I was hooked. The romance is masterfully done. Knight kept me on the edge of my seat, wanting them to get together, dangling it in front of my nose. And there is no D/s. Just two people with issues, falling in love in a way that hooked me hard.
The book is about a woman discovering herself, but not just physically or sexually. It's about a woman whose heart was broken, who abandoned her dreams of writing books to bury herself in journalism that didn't even matter. Her stay at the Art House reconnects her with love--love of family, romantic and sexual love, love of her work, and love of herself.
Scarlett Knight has written something profound in The Art House. Read it and reconnect with your soul. It feels good.
Janelle opened her eyes and stared at her cell phone, which buzzed on the other side of her laptop. She’d fallen asleep at her desk again. Not unusual. That dream, however…
She hadn’t had that dream in years. It didn’t surprise her, though. While she’d been at lunch with Trixie, she’d been thinking of the very unicorn sculpture that had originally started those dreams. But the emotion that came along with it, the extreme desire she felt from the unicorn to run to its destination, that was the same feeling she’d felt in the past. It was like stepping back in time, reliving it.
Pushing herself upright, she picked up her cell and saw she had a missed call from someone on the office phone. What time was it? 8:35 a.m. She’d fallen asleep sometime in the middle of the night. Her bra was tossed across the room on her bed, her shoes at the foot of it. Her digital tape recorder sat at the edge of the desk having turned itself off. She’d been right in the middle of transcribing a phone interview when she’d dozed off.
As she stood to stretch her stiff muscles, she wondered absently if it had been Carlos. He usually called from his cell, but things might be different now. She’d left his house last night after he’d poured out his regrets. Reluctantly, she’d given him a hug and a kiss on the cheek before she’d left. Looking back, she should’ve said something, even a simple, “I’m sorry.” But she’d walked out, and just like that, it was over and done with.>/p>
The window in her tiny apartment kitchen let in the early September morning sunlight. Birds chirped but were not to be outdone by the relentless traffic that had become white noise to Janelle over the last few years. She opened her fridge and pulled out the bag of ground coffee in the door.
As the coffee sputtered and dripped, she breathed in the scent of Columbian roast and brought the room into focus. The first thing her eyes landed on was the long-stemmed rose Trixi had left behind yesterday. She’d found a narrow clear glass vase she never used anymore and had filled it with water and placed the rose inside. It was a little too long and drifted to one side, the rich red petals a splash of color in an otherwise simple, and admittedly drab, room.
Would she be seeing much of Trixi again? A little stifled voice from deep inside shouted out in hopes that it would be so. Recalling the brilliant tree that was tattooed on the woman’s back, she wondered if it had hurt much. She’d always been curious about tattoos but had been far too reluctant to ever get one. It wasn’t the fear of pain so much as she didn’t know what she’d want to get. Had Trixi winced when her husband brought the needle to her back? Had the woman’s blue-green eyes gone moist with pain? Had she bitten her sensuous lower lip, white teeth pressing against flesh the color of the rose?
Coffee finished, Janelle poured herself a cup, leaving it black. Then she sat down at her old faded green card table she’d been using as a dining table. Staring at the rose in front of her, she wondered if Trixi had picked it out just for the occasion. Had she intentionally left it as a gift for her? So the woman was a tattoo artist with a tattoo artist husband. Her hands were no doubt nimble, attuned to her customer’s every move.
Janelle sipped her coffee and stared at the flower. After a moment, she put her coffee cup down and reached out to rub one of the soft petals in between her fingers. Perhaps Trixi’s fingers were not only skilled but also soft like these petals. How sensuous it would feel if they were to touch her hand and slide upward to hold onto her elbow. Her heartbeat quickening from more than just the caffeine, she let go of the petal and got up from the table. These feathery hints of arousal perplexed her. Was this feeling leftover residue from her unfinished sexual encounter with Carlos, or was it solely the thought of Trixi touching her that had her nipples hardening against the thin silk of her beige blouse?