If you follow Lauren on twitter then you know while she was writing Cake she would tease us with one sentence snippets. I have to admit Gregori is full of so much awesomeness he might be one of my favorite of her heroes.
His hair, currently scarlet red, stood up in liberty spikes, but other days he didn’t bother with the full Mohawk effect and he put it in a ponytail to keep it from his eyes. On many it would have looked ridiculous. But on Gregori? It worked. Like really, really worked.
He wore eye protection, but she knew beneath the goggles his eyes were hazel, fringed with sooty lashes usually at half-mast like he was thinking of something particularly dirty.
He worked in jeans so old they bore threadbare spots in all the right places and, though he often went barefoot around the loft, today he wore work boots.
In short, he was a visual buffet. And she was really hungry.
He stalked and paused. Bending to tug on something. Or to grab more tools and sharpen a piece. Wren just watched. Fascinated by the way he created.
It went on this way for another twenty minutes until he finally looked up and noticed her there.
He slid the goggles up, a smile marking his mouth. “Wren. How long have you been here?”
His accent was jagged. Like he was. He spoke in staccato bursts, the sharp twists of his words sliding through the air between them.
“I don’t know. Twenty minutes maybe. Half an hour? I brought some paperwork by and a box. Kelsey says you need to sign the papers in the red envelope and get them back to her.” Kelsey was Wren’s cousin and Gregori’s personal assistant.
He often proclaimed to hate signing things and attending to the business side of his art so she wasn’t surprised when he sighed, taking the goggles and gloves off.
Ignoring the sigh, she stepped closer. “Can I?” Wren tipped her chin toward the sculpture.
He shrugged, pleasure mixing through his annoyance. “Sure.”
She took it in. A man, crouched in the grip of briars and something else she couldn’t make out. The metal was polished in some places, hammered in others. Sharp edges fanned out here and there. “Like flames,” she murmured.
“Yes. Exactly.” He moved closer and his scent caught her attention. Sweat, soap, the product he used in his hair. The fuel from the welding stuff he used. It all married together and became essentially Gregori.
“This is brilliant.” Wren wasn’t flattering. It wasn’t a lie. He was a genius. One of those rare few who not only made a living at what he did, but had ascended to art celebrity.
He made a sound. A growl of sorts. “It’s missing something.” They both looked at it for some time longer until he sighed. “Come have tea with me.”
He issued the invitation like a command. He tended to be imperious at times. But she rarely took him seriously, so she let it wash over her and perhaps might even have liked it. A little bit.
Art student-slash-bike messenger Wren Davis pursues what she wants. And what she wants now is Gregori Ivanov, rock star of the Seattle art scene. With his tattoos, piercings and sensual sneer, Gregori is the ultimate bad boy. Wren’s gotten to know the man beneath the body art, too—and it only makes her crave him more.
But Gregori loves women like he loves cake and champagne—intensely, but only for the moment. And after Wren experiences just how scorching sex with Gregori is, she’s determined to show him that just one taste won’t be enough