Chapter Thirteen
“Definitely more red.”
Emily let Adam’s voice wash over her and relished the feelings left in its wake. Anticipation, passion, and sexual tension were all there, held at bay but chomping at the bit. Who knew that after three years of no physical contact, a few kisses would leave her like a puppy straining at its leash.
But it was more than the physical. Their kiss last night exposed something, possibly to both of them. She’d already accepted that emotions were involved, at least on her side, but the yearning she’d seen in his expression was a heady revelation. One she had no desire to run screaming from. She was embracing it and the possibilities it held in regards to her lost dreams and her past.
So tonight was about exploring those possibilities, whatever they ended up being. Her time with Adam might be limited, but she planned on embracing the few months left.
She placed one final stroke on the canvas and wiped her brush on the towel at her waist. “I’ll take your red suggestion in to consideration.” Emily turned and smiled, nothing false or brittle about it. Adam returned the gesture, although hesitancy underscored his. It seemed she wasn’t the only one traveling down the revelation road and unsure where it would lead.
“What are you working on?” Adam stepped beside her, his arm heating up her right side.
“It’s nothing. Just a personal piece.” Emily moved away from the canvas. She dipped her brushes into Mason jars sitting on the counter and swished them back and forth, the colors dissolving in swirls. Standing beside Adam when she’d been painting his hands gripping the hips of a faceless woman proved awkward. Especially since she knew whose face it was and she knew how those hands felt. Hopefully by the time the piece was done, anyone viewing it that had ever experienced intense passion would feel the same way.
She looked over her shoulder to see Adam still in the grips of her work. Would he recognize it? She didn’t expect him to. Nothing should give her away and yet something in the tense stand of his body, the way his fingers clenched the white plastic bags in his hand, led her to believe he knew.
“Anything exciting happen at Sky Lake today?”
That broke the spell. He turned and placed the bags on one of the supply counters, sliding a few jars out of the way. “There’s always something exciting happening on a ranch. Births, deaths and that’s just with the livestock.”
She smiled. “I hope in this case it was the former.”
Adam nodded but didn’t respond further. After a few moments of them staring at one another, he took off his hat and ducked his head. “I brought dinner. We didn’t get around to discussing details so I took a chance. I hope you like Chinese.”
“I do, as a matter of fact.”
“Good.” He relaxed a little. “I’m surprised there was some in Fly Creek. We certainly didn’t need chopsticks where I grew up. Not something cowboys probably get a hankering for.” He winked. “Seemed like a good meal for friends to share.”
Emily slid her arms around his neck and pulled his lips toward hers. A brief brush was all she gave him. “I like being friends with you.” Stepping away, she fought the laugh bubbling up at Adam’s dropped jaw.
“Why don’t you head up and get things together on the table, and I’ll be there as soon as I clean these brushes.”
Confusion spilled across his face. “Are you sure?”
“Yep. See ya in a few.” She turned back around, giving her attention to the jars and paints in front of her. It was a few moments before he walked toward the back of the gallery.
For three years, her personal space had served as a place to lay her head. To surround herself with her grief and memories of Drew and what might have been. But she hoped to change that starting with tonight. Tonight, maybe the space would have memories of more than good food.
…
Adam crested the last step and allowed himself to take stock of Emily’s private space. The painting he helped carry up was still against the wall, the angry colors still sucking him into a moment he knew was real. Dragging his gaze away and ignoring the churning of his gut, he walked into the little alcove that held her kitchen. He placed the two bags on the table and set about finding utensils and plates. Once everything was out, he wandered to the far wall he’d inspected the last time.
Drew’s painting was gone.
The feelings inside him alternated between hope that it was sign she really was moving forward and anger at her for forgetting someone she loved. He couldn’t have it both ways and neither could Emily apparently—and the fact was he couldn’t ask her about it. God, the tightrope he had to walk to get her to open grew narrower with every step, and suddenly it was as if he’d lost the balance pole, the breeze of his deception threatening to send him toppling sideways.
In place of Drew was a painting of a dog. It swirled in and out of focus as if the dog was in motion, and Adam let his breath out on a whoosh. He knew this dog. Hell, this dog was probably sniffing some baggage at that exact moment. He took off his hat and batted it against his thigh. God, he was in so deep now. His breathing grew labored and every muscle in his body seemed too heavy to carry. He should leave. He was the last person to be able to help Emily. He was too close. Knew too much.
Felt too much. Like he had something to lose now, too. His future. He couldn’t stay in Fly Creek, but the more time he spent with Emily the more he considered it. His feelings for her on top of confusing words from Levi and hopeful words from Shelby had his internal compass spinning round and round. His head was telling him escape was his only choice but his heart was telling him that Shelby was right. Leaving would be a big risk. For both him and Emily.
Had he done enough? Could he leave now, knowing she was good? He could break his contract and take off with Levi. After all, Emily had made strides. She’d agreed to work with Peyton and the Girl Scouts. She’d eaten breakfast at the Wagon Train. Hell, she’d kissed him on the porch in front of half of Sky Lake. It was obvious her walls had crumbled.
Coward. The word rattled around his brain and tasted bitter. A vision of Emily learning about Mel on the water rose up. Triggers still existed and always would, but he had knowledge that could help. Leaving would be the coward’s way out. The selfish way. She deserved better even if it cost him.
But God, he possessed so much capacity to hurt her it was ridiculous. When she found out the truth, would there be a way back? He didn’t know. And if he was being honest, he wasn’t sure he could handle the look of betrayal she would rightfully send in his direction.
“Everything ready?”
Adam swallowed hard and turned, smile in place. “Yep, all set.”
Emily stood at the top of the stairs, her hand resting on the half wall. She was so damn beautiful. With the skylight and the last rays of sunlight slanting on her brown hair and filtering through her loosely flowing shirt, she looked ethereal. Spritely. A goddess full of everything a mortal would kill for. And she was different.
Every step she took became a moment of strength for her. Something to build upon. Gone was the fragile woman he watched for weeks before meeting her. In her place was a woman intent and determined. She’d done that herself. Even after the setback with Peyton and Mel, she’d still faced forward and took another step. How could he even consider crushing that?
She smiled. “Then let’s eat, rain check man.”
They each dished a few things on the plates and set about eating. Adam scooped a wonton in his mouth, and Emily smiled.
“I hear your brother’s in town?”
The noodle stuck to his mouth like wet cement as he tried to swallow. Damn the gossipy grapevine. Chasing it with a quick drink, he nodded. “Levi arrived two days ago.”
“I bet it’s good to see him. Family’s so important.” She looked at the table. “I wish I would have remembered that sooner.”
Not all family. That familiar tightness slammed into his chest whenever any hint of his upbringing came around. “Levi’s all I have left. I’m glad he’s here.” He met Emily’s eyes, and the blast of blatant interest in them dismissed the feeling as fast as it came. She wanted to know about him, all of him, and he wanted to tell her. More than she already knew.
“How long’s he visiting?”
That depends on me. And you.
“Not sure. Shelby already has him working hard, so I imagine it’ll be a struggle to disentangle him from Sky Lake anytime soon.”
Emily laughed and that mixture of happiness and guilt washed over him, warming and freezing him at the same time.
“Shelby does seem like a drill sergeant disguised as a sweet grandmother.”
“Pretty accurate description.” He took another drink.
She scooped up a few more noodles, her hands working the chopsticks in expert fashion. She chewed, her gaze unfocused, and he continued eating, wary of what was coming next.
Finally she looked at him and tilted her head. “So how did you both find yourselves back where you started?”
It was the one question he couldn’t or didn’t want to answer tonight. But he owed her something. “Levi’s done with the Marines and looking for a new path.”
“Another change seeker, huh?” The look she sent him told him she hadn’t missed that he neglected to answer her questions.
All he could do was nod. What was his issue? This was what he’d been aiming for. A conversation tailor-made to get her to talk about her past, and his only thought was, it’s almost over. His time, their time, was finite, even more so when he told her everything. He needed to say more, but what? What direction did he want the conversation to go?
And as the words selfish coward blinked in his brain, he steered the conversation away from their pasts. Tonight was theirs. No promise, no grief, no secrets lingering around them. Tomorrow he would find a new way to introduce the topic, but tonight would be as if they had a chance. A chance to build upon the special connection that effortlessly linked them. It was an illusion, a lie, but he needed to be happy and have her happy, even if the happiness would evaporate on the sunrise.
Despite keeping the rest of the meal and conversation lighthearted and flirty, Adam couldn’t get the removal of Drew’s picture out of his mind. It was the elephant in the room. Maybe it was her genuine interest in his life or her opening up even more. Either way he had to know. It was killing him.
“Do you redecorate often?”
The question came from left field, but the look of befuddlement on Emily’s face warmed him. He pointed to the wall of paintings behind her. “Redecorating?”
Something close to sorrow washed over her features, and Adam went dizzy with guilt. Why did it matter? It was her choice and him bringing it up was cruel.
She rallied a bit. “Sometimes. I like to rotate the works, both for the light exposure and air, and well, sometimes to supplement my moods.” She gathered up the plates, utensils, and empty cartons. Her gaze unfocused. Her movements jerky.
Adam placed a hand over hers, and she stilled. “You okay?”
It was a stupid question. Of course she wasn’t okay.
“Yep, just getting things together. Did you want some coffee or tea?”
“Tea’s good. It’s late for coffee unless you plan on keeping me up all night.” The abrupt exchange was necessary for Adam’s sanity and hers. Luckily, Emily let her smile deepen, her eyes still wary but focused now on him.
“I could give you your first lesson.”
“Not where I was going, but I’ll take you up on the offer anyway. It could be good practice for you and the horde of Scouts you’ll be teaching Friday.”
Ten minutes later he stood in front of an easel in the corner of her loft. It brought back the moment downstairs an hour ago when, despite having no concrete evidence, he was convinced the painting Emily was working on was of them. Attraction blasted through his veins, and he gripped the paintbrush in his right hand with all his might.
Long, slender fingers covered his. “Relax. Part of painting is allowing the movement to flow through every utensil. Both the hands and the brush.”
Adam forced his fingers to unclench, but the wave of attraction reached tsunami proportions. Her body heat swirled with his. Her scent wrapped around him, and every instinct told him to turn into her and let other utensils have free reign. She stepped back, and Adam took a steadying breath.
“The first lesson is to close your eyes and picture what you want to paint. I rarely set up my workspace with a specific goal. Once I’m ready I take a few moments to allow whatever feeling, image, or emotion filter through me. Then I begin to capture that stroke by stroke.”
Adam choked. Painting lessons were one big euphemism for sex. Did she feel it? She had to. So how was she so calm? He risked a glance, and noticed her chest moving harder than normal. Her skin was slightly flushed around the collar of her shirt. Well, well.
“Are your eyes closed?”
Adam nodded.
“Good. Now what do you see? What image comes to mind? Since you’re starting out, pick the simplest part of the scene in front of you, and we can start with that.”
Adam shifted his weight. He had an image all right. But probably not what she expected him to paint.
“Okay, open your eyes. What do you want to paint?”
You.
He met her curious gaze and smiled. “Clapton Field.”
Her eyes softened, and she swallowed several times before saying, “That’s a good choice.” She looked to say more but shook her head. “The best works come when you try less for perfect detail and more for the bigger picture.”
Adam’s bigger picture was starting to include more and more than he’d ever thought, but it was the details that messed it up. Details like his connection to Drew and his inability to live in a small town.
Her hand slid across his and together they laid down the first color. Something he assumed would become a tree.
“Did you feel how the paint moves across the canvas? If you force it, it fights back. Work within what you see and what you’re capable of.”
Together, with her directing and him executing, they painted a broad picture of Clapton Field. Every once in a while she would add a little detail, leaning over him and bringing her scent and heat swirling through and directing all his attention to how much he wanted to unwrap her stroke by stroke.
He’d just dipped his brush in blue when she leaned forward to add something. The result was a blue slash down her forearm.
She laughed and reached for a rag.
“Wait.”
Emily met his gaze with a question.
“You have something there.” He brushed her cheek leaving an identical blue slash to the one on her arm and reminiscent of their first meeting.
Her eyes widened but before she could retaliate, he stepped closer and slid his free hand through her long brown strands.
She came willingly to him, and the first contact of their lips exploded in a million tiny nerves all begging for more. He angled his head and swept deeper into her mouth. Then just as quickly as he initiated it, he pulled away and stepped back. Her hazel eyes fluttered, and he waited until she finally met his gaze. “Have you ever been painted?”
“No,” she confessed. “Have you?”
He shook his head. “But we can save me for another time. Tonight you’ll become my masterpiece.”
Emily moistened her lips and glanced down. His body begged him to forget the foreplay, and he ordered it to behave. Tonight would be special. For both of them.
Before he could formulate a plan, she stepped back far enough to grab the bottom of her shirt and lifted it off in one smooth move, revealing a silky purple bra.
His heart pounded through his ears as blood flowed south. If he didn’t have a plan two seconds ago, he sure as heck wasn’t coming up with one now. A sultry laugh escaped her lips, and she proceeded to remove her yoga pants revealing a matching pair of underwear.
“Your canvas awaits.”
The gift of herself shattered what little resolve he had. This may be his first and last time with her. One chance to make her smile and sigh with pleasure. One chance to feel her in his arms, her breath tickling his neck. To taste her sweet mouth. To make a memory, an emotional connection that hopefully would bring a smile to her face many years down the road.
“Are these paints safe for your skin?”
She nodded. “They’re water based.”
Adam picked a tube of green and squirted it into the little indentation of the tray. Dipping his brush, he turned her around and brushed her hair off her neck placing a kiss at the top of her spine.
“Ready to become my first masterpiece?”
He stroked the brush leisurely down the length of her spine, and Emily arched and shivered as the cool paint hit her skin.
“Ah, ah, no moving or my stroke might miss its mark.”
She turned and narrowed her gaze, but Adam pressed the brush to the base of her spine and she gave him her back once more. He let the brush trace first one globe, then the other, the bottom of a heart disappearing underneath.
His own heart swelled with each little noise she made and encouraged him to produce another and another. He returned to the paint, choosing a purple similar to the clothing that currently enticed more than it concealed. Kneeling, he let his breath fan over the back of her thighs as he ran crisscrossing circles up the length.
Breathing heavy, he leaned his forehead against a sleek thigh. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Yellow,” she sighed.
Grabbing the yellow tube, he squeezed some on the tip of his finger and rubbed it between his hands.
“Turn around.”
She complied, her eyes heavy with desire. The look left his mouth dry, his entire body taut and ready to spring. Slender, muscular, and golden. She was a gift. One he didn’t deserve but would accept anyway.
He ran his palms down her sides, the skin silky and smooth and gripped her hips, the paint leaving handprints and marking her temporarily as his. He stared at his work.
“You were painting us downstairs.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement he knew to be 100 percent true.
“Yes,” she whispered.
No explanation. No equivocation. Whatever else may or may not occur between them, Emily and he reached each other somewhere beyond the physical. The weight of the revelation settled on his chest urging him to claim this moment. Claim her and their connection and hope she arrived at the same conclusion.
“I want the painting when you’re done.” He dove in for a kiss and maneuvered them step by step toward the bed.