Ethan

“So, about this thing you wanted to show me.”

“I already showed you my thing, several times. And from multiple angles.” I smirked, stroking her back lightly with my fingertips.

She playfully slapped my stomach and the sound echoed through the studio. From somewhere downstairs, Dammit barked in reply.

“I’m being serious, smartass.” Her fingers trailed over the tattoos on my arm, tracing the words and images that intermingled and overlapped each other. Lyrics, song titles, and the TotC logo, just to name a few. In between, there were small nods to my other love, painting. Brushes and watercolor canvases hidden alongside drumsticks and cymbals. She seemed fascinated with it all, so I let her investigate.

“Wait, I thought we’d decided I was a god? What happened to that?”

“You got demoted when you made a joke about your thing, Mister Maturity.”

I had to laugh. “Hey, I never said I was mature. You’ve met my friends.”

“Either way, smartass, are you going to show me whatever it was you were talking about earlier?”

I drew in a breath, a sarcastic comment on the tip of my tongue.

She slapped my stomach again. “And be serious or I won’t let you show me the other thing anymore tonight.”

“Buzzkill.” I kissed the top of her head and grudgingly crawled out of bed, offering her one of my button-down painting shirts to cover up with before slipping my boxer briefs back on.

She left the shirt unbuttoned, and I struggled to concentrate due to the incredible view in the open gap.

“You’re staring,” she said, giving me an exasperated look.

“You’re stunning.”

Her smile was instantaneous, as was the blush that crept up her slender neck. “Flatterer.”

“Nope. I pride myself on my honesty, remember? I don’t say a damn thing I don’t mean.” I stepped closer and trailed my knuckle from the exposed skin between her breasts to the top of her mound. “Stunning,” I breathed against her lips.

She leaned into my mouth, and I gave her the briefest of pecks before pulling away, switching gears so fast I was sure it left her head spinning. “So, this thing I wanted to show you—well, the other thing I wanted to show you—it’s not totally ready, but there’s very little fine-tuning to do before it is. Either way, I’m impatient and decided I had to show you today.”

I tugged the hem of her shirt and motioned for her to follow me to my workstation. Carefully, I lifted the sheet of muslin I’d draped over the canvas while she was out walking the dog, letting it fall to the floor as I flipped on the nearby work lamp.

Emily loudly sucked in a breath, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh my God! Ethan!” Tears, fat happy ones, welled in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. “It’s so…”

I moved to put my arm around her, pulling her to my side as I moved us closer so she could see better. I knew when she saw it, when it registered, because she lifted a hand and pointed at the exact spot on the canvas. “That’s the color. The one from the other paintings.”

“I call it Ryan’s red.”

She threw her arms around my neck and crushed me to her. “I love it so much, Ethan. I love knowing that this painting will be a part of both of us forever. That all the things I love about your work were used in this piece that bears my face. Most of all, I love that you made me part of your world, and not just on this canvas.” She kissed me, soft but deep, and when she pulled back there was a sadness in her expression that I didn’t understand. “Today has been the best day. And it’s all because I spent it with you.”

“The day’s not over yet, sweetheart.”

She nodded, brushing her tears away. “No, it’s not.” Her fingers threaded through mine, and she tugged me along behind her, heading back to the bed. “And I intend to enjoy every second we have left.”

Something in the way she said that—the hint of sadness lingering on her gorgeous face—made me wonder if I was missing something, but then she was kissing me again and tugging my underwear off, and the twinge of concern was chased from my mind as I swept her into my arms.

* * *

“You sleep. I’ll take him out,” I told her quietly over the sound of Dammit’s insistent whining from downstairs.

“No. It’s okay; I’ll go.” she muttered sleepily, making no move to get up.

I just chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “I’d rather be the one going out in the middle of the night. You keep my spot warm. I’ll be right back.”

“Mmm hmm…” She didn’t move again while I dressed, so I figured I’d probably be stuck re-warming my spot when I got back. Oh well, there were worse things. Like sleeping alone.

I jumped from the third step, over the end table we’d used to block the stairs and landed on the rug as silently as a ninja. Dammit jumped around my heels, tail wagging.

“You need a bathroom break, buddy? Come on.” I picked up his leash from the coffee table and spent a minute trying to clip it on while he eagerly bounced around on the floor. “Thank goodness no one has put a bell on you. It’d never stop ringing.”

He chuffed happily and led the way to the door. Clearly, he adjusted well to new surroundings. He even seemed happy to see the security guy, who barely cracked a smile at him when he begged for attention.

Hardass.

We hardly made it to the first patch of grass before Dammit let loose with a torrent of pee that I could not believe came from such a small dog. “Poor guy. You must have been ready to pop.” He ignored me and continued flooding the insanely small patch of winter rye that was planted around a streetlamp. “Next time, I’ll make her take a break between innings, so you don’t rupture your poor doggy bladder, okay?”

Still.

Peeing.

Wow.

Thank fuck he’s house-trained, or whoever lives under me would be having a bad night.

When he finally finished, he seemed a little worn out and ready to head back, which I was immeasurably grateful for since I had a smoking-hot woman waiting in my bed.

When we arrived back at the loft, I got him settled into his travel kennel—leaving the door open since I didn’t mind if he roamed—made a huge glass of ice water and headed back to the studio.

I got to the top of the stairs and looked to the bed, finding it empty. I glanced around the darkened room, which was only lit by the moonlight filtering into the high windows, and spotted her at my workstation. She was wearing my shirt again, sitting on the paint-splattered stool I kept around mostly for use as a drink and phone holder since I stood when I worked.

Her fingers traced the air over the painting, just as she’d done the first time she saw it when it was barely more than a sketch. She went over her silhouette again and again, lingering on the red pumps each time. The look on her face…she was transfixed, lost in her own thoughts and feelings about the piece. And maybe about me as the artist.

Or as a man.

I inwardly hoped for the latter.

“Hi,” I quietly said as I made my way over to her.

She didn’t turn but I caught the distinct motion of her brushing away tears. “Hi, yourself.” She sniffed but looked at me with a smile. “Did Dammit behave himself?”

I searched her face for some clue as to what she was thinking, but whatever it was, she was doing her best to hide it. I decided to let it go, for now, and returned her smile, throwing in a chuckle I didn’t mean for good measure. “Oh, yeah. Pretty sure he killed an entire patch of grass in one fell swoop, but he’s good now. Snoozing in his carrier with the door open and some water on standby in case he’s dehydrated now.”

She tipped her head, smiling a smile as fake as mine. “Good. Thank you for doing that.”

“Not a big deal. Besides, this is a strange neighborhood for you. I’d never send you out in it alone at night.”

She stood and pecked me on the cheek, taking my hand as she led us back to the bed. “My hero.”

“You were supposed to keep the hero’s spot warm, woman. Now the whole bed is cold.”

“We can warm it, if you’d like.” She slipped the shirt off her arms and stood in front of me, naked on so many levels as she asked, “Will you make love to me, Ethan?”

Something in her expression made me want to hug her to me, to comfort her for something I wasn’t even able to pinpoint. Instead, I did as she asked. I laid her softly on the bed and spent what felt like days kissing her soft, full lips. I took my time, making sure to hold her gaze as I slid slowly inside her, moving my hips in measured, gentle thrusts that stilled the breath and stopped the heart in their intensity.

I made love to her that night, but more than that, I took the time to make her feel loved, because something was telling me that she needed that far more than a release, though I still gave her a few of those.

And the truth was, I needed it too, more than I could ever articulate.

Maybe I wasn’t comfortable with the thought of being in love with her yet, but there was a fundamental part of me—maybe the most important part—that loved her already. And from the way she looked up at me when I kissed her goodnight, starry-eyed and sated, I dared say she had love for me, too.

That night, for the first time in my life, I fell asleep satisfied and exhausted and loved.