Real: Quick & Dirty

By Kate Roth

She's a serious painter. He's a cocky photographer making too much noise in the studio next door. She thinks he's an idiot, he can't stand her but when the tension between them borders on passion they both start to feel something real.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kate Roth
• Release date: Nov 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201219505

Book preview

Chapter One

Belle

The walls shake with a thumping bass beat. It’s stronger than the throbbing of my ever-increasing blood pressure and it’s been going on for over an hour. I glance at the clock and see it’s past midnight. Aren’t there laws about loud music? Well there should be. Certainly there are rules in the leases here at Manos Artists Studios. I haven’t read through all my paperwork yet. I only moved in a few days ago but aside from whoever is making the racket next to me, I love it here. My own little studio space in this beautiful old building full of other artists. It’s exactly what I need to revive my career and put some joy back into my life.

The studio next door goes silent for a moment and I breathe a sigh of relief. I lift my brush and begin yet another stroke in the place my soul tells me it belongs. I feel myself letting go, sinking into the flow of this painting once more. And then the music blares again. I fume. I have enough in my own brain holding me back from creating, I don’t need a frat party next door distracting me too.

I slam my paint brush down and march out to the hall. Banging on the studio door beside mine with the words ‘Gray Bennett, photographer’ on it, I’m sure my face shows the kinds of curse words running through my head. The music doesn’t stop, but the door opens and my eyes land on the perpetrator.

I take in the sight of him the way I used to take in a subject I would’ve liked to paint. Back when I could do that easily. The angle of his jaw, the depth of his eyes behind black rectangle frame glasses, the highlights within his sandy hair. His strong brow lifts and his head ticks to one side as he settles his shoulder against the doorjamb. He folds his arms and a cocky grin spreads on his mouth. All while the music bleeds out into the hall. This asshole.

Can I help you?

Heat spreads down my thighs when his accent drifts in my ears over the music. Well, fuck, that’s unexpected. Ugh. This sexy British asshole.

Matching his pose, arms folded, I raise my voice. I’m trying to work next door. Can you turn the music down?

His expression doesn’t change but his eyes drag all the way down my body then up again. I’m reminded that I’m wearing my standard uniform, a beat-up racerback tank top, paint covered leggings and a scarf tying up the loose pieces of my hair that didn’t make it into the messy bun. I can’t fathom what he thinks of me and I don’t care. I just want to work in peace. I need to work in peace. His mouth