Page 2 of The Passionate Orc (The Teddy Orcs #1)

E mryn

I was still finding glitter in my hair the next morning.

Tiny sparkly reminders of the chaos that had been the Emerging Visions gallery showing.

My showing. The one that was supposed to launch my career as a serious artist in this city.

The one that had been going perfectly until a seven-foot orc knocked over my central sculpture and set off a chain reaction that collapsed three display pedestals like dominos.

The one where I met Nar Humperdink.

I tilted my head in the bathroom mirror, picking another speck of gold from my curls. "You've got to be kidding me," I muttered, flicking it into the sink. "It's like glitter herpes. Never goes away."

My phone buzzed on the counter.

Still on for tonight? I promise not to destroy anything. Unless you want me to. -Nar

I smiled despite myself. After the gallery disaster, when most people had cleared out, and I was sitting alone amidst the wreckage, he'd stayed to help clean up. And then he'd shown me his sketchbook.

God, his sketches. Raw, powerful, vulnerable in a way I never would have expected from someone with arms the size of my thighs and tusks that could probably gore a man. There was something there with a real talent beneath all that muscle and awkwardness.

Studio's open until 10. Come by around 7? And maybe leave the bulldozer impression at home this time? I texted back.

Three dots appeared immediately. Disappeared. Reappeared.

I will be gentle as a butterfly landing on a flower petal.

I laughed out loud. This guy was something else.

By six-forty-five, I had the studio setup.

The community art space I rented three days a week wasn't fancy, but it had great northern light, high ceilings, and enough room to spread out.

I'd cleared a space in the center with two easels facing each other and laid out basic supplies on a rolling cart between them.

At six-fifty-three, the building's front door buzzed. I pressed the intercom. "Hello?"

"It's Nar. From the gallery. The... uh... orc. With the incident." His deep voice crackled through the speaker.

Like I wouldn't remember the only orc who'd ever made me laugh while simultaneously destroying my exhibition. "Come on up. Third floor."

I heard him before I saw him with heavy footsteps on the stairs that probably would have sent another person racing for the emergency exit. But when he appeared in the doorway, ducking his head slightly to enter, my heart did a little skip.

He'd dressed differently from the gallery event.

Gone was the too-tight blazer that had strained across his massive shoulders.

Tonight, he wore a simple black t-shirt that hugged his chest and arms like paint, and dark jeans.

He pulled his dark hair back in a short ponytail, revealing the sharp angle of his jaw and those striking, light brown eyes.

"I brought apology offerings." Nar held up a paper bag in one massive hand and what looked like a bouquet of paintbrushes in the other.

"You already apologized. And paid for the damages," I reminded him.

"These aren't for the gallery." He stepped closer, and I caught his scent—something earthy and warm, like cedar. "These are for agreeing to see me again."

I took the bag—it contained fancy chocolates—and the bundle of brushes, which turned out to be high-quality sable that probably cost more than I spent on art supplies in a month.

"You didn't need to do this," I said, but my fingers were already stroking the soft bristles appreciatively.

"I wanted to." His voice rumbled, low and sincere. Those green eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that made my skin prickle with awareness.

I cleared my throat and stepped back, suddenly needing air. "Well, let's see if you've got more talent than grace, shall we?"

A slow smile spread across his face, revealing those fascinating tusks that curved up from his lower jaw. They should have been frightening. Instead, I wondered what they'd feel like against my skin.

Focus, Emryn. For God's sake.

"I set up over here," I said, gesturing to the easels. "I thought we could start with some basic?—"

"Can I see your work first?" Nar interrupted, his gaze already wandering to the canvases stacked against the wall. "The real stuff, not just what was at the gallery."

I hesitated. I carefully curated the pieces I showed publicly by polishing them and making them commercial enough to sell, but safe. My personal work was unique. Raw. Sometimes disturbing. Not exactly first-date material.

Wait. Was this a date?

"Please?" Something vulnerable flickered across his face. "I showed you mine."

He had. Those sketches in the tiny book he'd pulled from his pocket after the gallery disaster were fierce yet delicate drawings that showed a sensitivity I never would have expected.

"Fine. But no critiques." I walked to a canvas-covered rack in the corner and pulled out one of my recent pieces of a swirling abstraction of blues and blacks with a single streak of crimson slashing through.

Nar stepped closer, his brow furrowed in concentration. His massive frame moved with surprising grace as he circled the painting, viewing it from different angles. Finally, he looked up, those green eyes almost glowing.

"This is you," he said simply.

Something caught in my chest. "What?"

"This. The real you." He pointed to the slash of red. "Not the pretty flowers and cityscapes from the gallery. Those were nice, but this..." He made a gesture that somehow encompassed the entire canvas. "This has teeth."

A laugh escaped me. "Are you saying my gallery show was boring?"

"I'm saying it wasn't all of you." His gaze fixed on mine. "You're holding back."

I crossed my arms, suddenly defensive. "Says the warrior who hides a sketchbook in his pocket."

"Touché." The corner of his mouth quirked up. "We're both frauds, then."

"I prefer 'complex individuals with public and private personas.'" I tucked a curl behind my ear. "And aren't you being a little direct for someone who just met me yesterday after demolishing my show?"

Nar shrugged those massive shoulders. "Orcs don't do subtle. We say what we mean."

"Really? Is that the orc way?" I couldn't help teasing him. "Because subtlety is definitely what was missing when you tried to squeeze between those displays yesterday."

His cheeks darkened with what I realized was a blush. "I was trying to get closer to you."

"To me?"

"You were explaining your sculpture to that man with the glasses. You looked so..." He gestured vaguely. "Passionate. I wanted to hear."

The confession knocked me off balance. "So you weren't just a clumsy orc in a china shop?"

"Oh, I was definitely clumsy." Nar grimaced. "But not without purpose."

"So crashing my exhibition was what, flirting?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Not my finest moment." He ran a hand through his hair, looking sheepish. "I'm better with a battleaxe than in social situations."

I bit my lip, fighting a smile. "You're not exactly scoring smoothness points with that comparison either."

"See? Terrible at this." He gestured between us. "But still trying."

There was something so disarming about his honesty. No games, no pretense. Just an enormous orc warrior openly admitting he'd made a fool of himself trying to get close to me.

"Well, let's see if you're better with a paintbrush than you are at gallery etiquette." I moved to the easels. "Show me what you can do when you're not destroying other people's art."

Nar's face lit up, and my stomach did a little flip. Dangerous, that smile.

"What should I paint?" he asked, taking a position at the easel.

I considered for a moment. "Paint what you see."

His eyes locked with mine. "You?"

Heat rushed to my cheeks. "I meant we could start with still life or?—"

"I'd rather paint you." The intensity in his voice made my mouth go dry.

"Fine." I sat on a stool across from him, trying for nonchalance despite my racing pulse. "But I warn you, I'm a harsh critic."

"I can take it." Nar selected the brush he'd brought for me and twirled it between his fingers with surprising dexterity for such large hands.

For the next hour, we worked in companionable silence. I sketched him, those strong features too interesting not to capture, while he painted me. Occasionally our eyes would meet across the easels, and something electric passed between us before one of us looked away.

"Can I see?" I finally asked, setting down my charcoal.

Nar hesitated, then turned his canvas toward me.

I gasped. He hadn't painted a portrait in the traditional sense.

Instead, he'd created an impressionistic swirl of blues and golds that somehow captured exactly how I felt inside—vibrant, searching, a little chaotic.

In the center, he'd painted my eyes with such detail and emotion that they seemed to stare back at me.

"This is..." I struggled for words.

"Terrible?" He winced.

"Beautiful." I moved closer, examining his brushwork. "You've never had any training?"

He shook his head. "My clan doesn't... art isn't considered a warrior's pursuit."

"Your clan is missing out." I touched the canvas gently. "You have genuine talent, Nar."

His expression shifted, pride warring with vulnerability. "You think so?"

"I know so. And I think..." I took a deep breath. "I think I could help you develop it. If you want."

"You'd teach me?" His eyes widened. "For real?"

"Why not? I've taught beginners before. Though usually they're human and under twelve."

Nar laughed, a deep rumble that I felt more than heard. "I promise to follow instructions better than a human child."

"That's a low bar, but I'll take it." I smiled up at him, suddenly aware of how close we were standing. "We could meet here. Once a week, maybe?"

"I'd like that." His gaze dropped to my lips for a heartbeat before returning to my eyes. "A lot."

The air between us thickened. Part of me—the sensible part—knew I should step back. Create some distance from this mountain of muscle who'd crashed into my life like a wrecking ball.

Instead, I swayed slightly closer. "Your technique needs work," I murmured.

"Show me." His voice dropped to a rumble that I could practically feel vibrating through my bones.

Before I could think better of it, I reached for his hand, his enormous hand that dwarfed mine, and wrapped my fingers around his, guiding the brush he still held.

"Like this," I said softly, drawing our joined hands through the air in a sweeping motion. "Fluid. Confident."

His breath caught. I felt the tension in his arm, the careful restraint in his grip as he allowed me to guide him.

"Again," he whispered.

I traced another stroke, then another. The pretense of an art lesson was wearing thin.

We both knew this was about something else entirely as the electricity crackled between us, the magnetic pull I'd felt since the moment he'd stayed behind at the gallery to help me clean up my shattered exhibition.

"Emryn." My name in his mouth sounded like a prayer.

I looked up, and suddenly the space between us seemed unbearable.

"Yes?" I managed.

"I'm going to ask you something, and if the answer is no, I swear I'll never bring it up again." His expression was dead serious, those green eyes burning.

My heart hammered against my ribs. "What's the question?"

"Can I kiss you? Because if I don't, I might actually die."

A startled laugh escaped me. "That's a little dramatic, isn't it?"

"Orcs don't do subtle, remember?" He smiled, but uncertainty flickered across his face. "Is that a no?"

Instead of answering, I rose onto my tiptoes, placed my hands on his chest for balance, and pressed my lips to his.

For a heartbeat, he froze, his muscles tense beneath my fingers.

Then his arms came around me, gentle despite their strength, enveloping me in his warmth.

The scent of leather and pine filled my senses as he drew me closer.

His lips met mine, soft and yielding, kissing me back with a tenderness that made my knees weak.

A shiver raced down my spine, desire pooling in my core.

I melted into him, savoring the rough texture of his skin against mine, the heat of his breath mingling with my own.

When we finally broke apart, both breathing harder, I couldn't help smiling.

My heart raced, pounding against my ribs like a caged bird seeking freedom.

Nar's eyes sparkled with a mixture of wonder and hunger, a look that sent another wave of longing washing over me.

His hands lingered on my waist, his touch searing through the thin fabric of my shirt.

The air between us crackled with unspoken want, a magnetic pull that threatened to draw us back together.

I licked my lips, tasting him there, savoring the moment.

"Was that clear enough for you?" I asked. "Or do orcs need more direct communication?"

His answering grin was wicked. "I think I got the message. But maybe we should make absolutely sure there's no misunderstanding."

As his mouth came down on mine again, more insistent this time, I thought that helping Nar with his art might be the best decision I'd ever made.

And the most complicated.