Chapter 13
Morning didn’t even cry. She just burrowed deep into the caring arms and let Geir hold her. She’d been independent, standing on her own two feet for a long time now. At least she thought she had been, but she’d been hiding behind the safety of her house, getting through life relatively easily with an income from property she only half owned while she dabbled but didn’t really focus on her art.
Now everything was changing. It wasn’t that she was scared of change, but it was unnerving to say the least. And this nightmare was incredibly disturbing. She wasn’t even sure she could sleep tonight.
Or sleep ever again, considering somebody had been in the bedrooms messing them up. And for what? For a lark, just to terrorize her? She didn’t understand, neither did she understand the mind-set of anybody who would do that.
Finally she let out a heavy sigh and tried to step away. But he wouldn’t let her. Instead his arms tugged her back, up against him, and he held her close. With his head resting on top of hers, they just stood together like that.
“I can stand on my own, you know,” she muttered.
“Maybe I can’t,” he said quietly. “You have to understand I never would have put you in danger if I had known.”
“I don’t think you did it on purpose,” she exclaimed, pulling her head back so she could look up at him. “That’s not what this is about. It’s just scary to see the safety of my world fracture. It wasn’t even a real world. I was like someone living in one of those snow globes, content to live inside and just touch the world through my guests, and I didn’t have to have a real job. I didn’t have to focus on my art. I had this wonderful gift of a place to stay. Instead of being grateful for it, I let the opportunity slide away.”
She could see confusion in his gaze. She quickly explained the situation with her father. “I spoke with him today,” she admitted. “And told him that I was finally able to see how unfair I’d been.”
Geir nodded and smiled. “I’m sure he was happy to hear that.”
“If he had lots of money, it wouldn’t be an issue, but it’s not fair that, when he doesn’t have the money, I’m sitting on his full asset base. Worse, I use the money from the guests to pay my mortgage and to live.”
This time, when she pulled back, he let her go. She was almost sorry to leave his arms because it had been very reassuring and comforting being held by him. She collapsed into her chair and stared up at him. “It’s just everything was happening at once. It started with my artwork, I think. I don’t know. It feels like my world’s splitting wide open.”
“Maybe instead of thinking of this as tearing apart your world, you should consider it as being a cocoon whose time has come to open.”
She stared at him for a long moment, then gave him a wry smile. “I thought I was supposed to be the happy, upbeat person.”
He grinned. “You are. But everybody comes under some stress, and when Mother Nature or the universe or God, whatever you want to call it, throws your life into a tailspin like this, the stress is amplified. You’ve got not only your foundation—which is your home and money, your income—at stake, but, all of a sudden, you also have that core of who you really want to be, your artistic talent, coming under stress.”
“Now my own personal safety,” she muttered. She turned and looked around the office, seeing the years she’d sat here working away and yet not understanding or seeing or acknowledging there had to be an end. It wasn’t like she had won a lottery and could afford to pay her father back nor was it like she had the money to pay out half a million dollars for his share. Property prices being what they were, she knew it would be at least that much.
A second heavy sigh eased up from her deep inner valley through her chest and out her lips. She collapsed back in her chair and said, “I’m not normally somebody who is afraid, but this is definitely an experience I’m not all that comfortable with.”
“If you did sell the house, what would you do?”
She shook her head. “I have no idea. Because, if I sell, it’s also my job, my income.”
He nodded. “You could always buy another bed-and-breakfast, though it wouldn’t be here. It would have to be someplace outside of San Diego, where the prices are a whole lot less.” He chuckled. “If your place is worth a million dollars, no way I can afford to move here.”
She nodded. “Right. But it’s the location. It’s the size. The fact that it’s already an operating business.” She raised both hands in mock surrender. “I guess I’m selling the business too. Even the name of the business?” She shook her head. “I don’t even know how to answer the question of where I would move and what I would do. This is all new to me. I just don’t know.”
He nodded. “So maybe today isn’t the day to worry about it. You’ve started the process. Let your body and your mind and your world come to terms with it, and see what pops up in the morning.” He leaned forward. “Did you paint again today?”
She nodded. “But it’s different.” She wrinkled up her nose. “It’s really different.”
He held out his hand to her. “Show me,” he said in a commanding tone.
“Well, since you’ve already seen the others …”
She put her hand in his, letting him tug her against his side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. The two walked up the stairs, comfortable, no pressure, just a strong sense of friendship. No, not friendship. Her mind rejected that. There was so much more here than friendship. “Are you married?”
He glanced down at her, a silvery light in his gaze. “No, I’m not.”
“How come?”
“Because I saw so many rough marriages when I was in the navy that I swore I’d never do that to another woman.”
“Another woman?”
“Some of my best friends broke up with their wives. The problem was, I knew several of the wives. I was good friends with them. And I saw how much the navy lifestyle tortured them. Not everybody is happy to see their man go off to war or out to sea, never knowing if they will be coming back.”
She nodded. “Same for all military wives. I imagine anybody in the service goes through the same thing.”
“And divorce rates are very high,” he added.
“To be expected.” Upstairs on the landing, she walked forward and unlocked her studio.
He stood at the doorway. “Do I have to close my eyes again?” he joked.
She smiled and nodded. “You so do.” She grabbed his hand. “Close them now, and I’ll put you in position.”
Obediently he snapped them closed, and she walked him to where he would be standing in front of the easel.
“Now you can look.”
He opened his eyes. A surprised look came across his face. “Wow. That’s really different.”
She wasn’t sure what the word different meant this time coming from him. It was the word she’d used, but that didn’t mean she understood how he had applied it in this circumstance.
“But it’s good.” His words came slowly. “It’s more than good.” He shook his head. “You’ve painted four very different paintings. The scope of how you’re utilizing this light is fantastic.”
“Well, tomorrow is Friday, so we’ll see what the gallery owner thinks about it.”
Again that silvery gaze slanted her way. “Are you nervous about it?”
“What time is your appointment?”
“Ten in the morning. I’d normally make it midafternoon, but as Nancy is around to help out most of the time if I have to leave, I was good with it.” She absentmindedly studied the painting. “After all, I wasn’t about to say no. Although I’m so nervous I’m not sure if I will last that long.”
He chuckled. “I’ll make sure you get there on time.”
“By then I’ll be a basket of nerves,” she complained good-naturedly.
He glanced around the room. “This is a nice space for you.”
She nodded. “Technically it was another bedroom. But I needed a studio so …” Morning studied her room in the half-light. “I need a couple more hours to finish the black painting.” She sat her fisted hands on her hips and tapped her toe on the floor as she considered the lighting issue. “Because it’s a night scene, I wonder if I could get away with working on it in this light.”
“We can pull in a couple extra lamps if you need them,” Geir said.
She looked at him in surprise, happy to see he understood her artistic point of view. “Thank you.”
He disappeared around the corner and brought back two pole lamps, the ones she kept by her couch in her bedroom.
She stared at them. “How did you know they were in there?”
“I didn’t.” He grinned. “I just went in to see what you did have and thought these would do it.”
He set them up on either side of the canvas, tilted the heads of the lamps and turned them on. Light filled the room. It wasn’t the same as the preferred natural sunlight, but it wasn’t half bad. In fact, it made some of her mistakes a little more glaringly obvious.
She shook her head. “I should have thought of that. I definitely see some areas I have to work on.”
“Good. I’ll go grab my laptop.”
She shifted to stare at him. “Why?”
“Because I’ll sit in that chair over there and work while you paint.”
Her stomach got queasy. She dropped her gaze to the floor. “I haven’t ever painted while somebody watched before.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” he said gently. “Besides, it’s not like I’ll be watching you. I’ll be working on the laptop.”
She thought about it, then took a deep breath. “Fine. But if you stop me from being able to paint as I need to, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
“If that’s the case, I’ll sit out in the hall.”
She glanced down the hallway to see the corner of a chair between all the bedrooms. “That would work.”
He disappeared.
She threw on her smock and grabbed one of her paintbrushes, walked back to the painting and studied it. She could see a couple places that needed work, but what else was she planning on doing to this painting? Always before, she’d painted and then suddenly knew when it was done. “I guess I have to trust it to be the same this time.”
She walked back to her pots of paints, grabbed her palette and picked up the colors, mixing them as she needed. Stepping back toward the canvas, she let her brush drift gently across the sky. And with that first stroke, she was transported once again into the world of her own creation as she gently smudged and smoothed, stroked and highlighted the canvas in front of her. She stepped back at one point, frowned, reached for a different color and resumed her work.
When she did that again, she wasn’t sure. She looked at it for the longest time. In her mind, she asked the question, Am I done? Is there anything else I need to do for this one?
No came the answer within her mind.
She smiled. “I think that’s it.”
Geir stood.
She glanced at him and frowned. “I forgot you were here. I hope you weren’t watching me.”
“Self-conscious, are you?” But he walked toward her with a smile on his face. “Don’t worry about it. I was working on my laptop.”
She sighed with relief. “That’s good because, for all I know, I might do something weird while I’m painting. Like hold my tongue sideways or something.”
He chuckled. “From the few glances I caught when I looked up, you looked perfectly normal.”
She grinned and stepped back. He walked around farther back from the painting than she was, so he could get a full view. She heard a soft, gentle sigh escape his lips.
He whispered, “Perfect.”
And her heart swelled. She turned and grinned up at him. “Really?”
He nodded. “Really. You’re incredibly talented.”
Self-consciousness hitting her again, she walked to the sink and washed her brushes, palette and then her hands. She gently removed the smock from her clothing. As she turned to face Geir, he reached around her and grabbed a piece of paper towel off the roll.
“Hold still.” He brushed paint off her cheek.
When he held out the paper towel, she could see a bit of gentle blue. She chuckled. “Of course. No way would I get away from that scot-free, would I?”
He tossed the paper towel on the counter. “What do you need for this to be ready to go?”
She looked at it, sniffed the air, walked to the French doors and opened them. “It needs air in here. The painting needs to dry, and the best way is if there is circulating air. Plus the room stinks of paint.”
He stood at her side as they stared out into the evening air. “I just don’t like to leave the doors open.” His voice held his concern.
She slid her gaze at him sideways. “I often do.”
He drew his brows together and glared at her. “Remember how we’re back to the fact you need to change the way you do things?”
“How else am I supposed to get my paintings to dry?”
He turned to study each of the paintings. “I’m not sure what is the best thing. I’ll have to research that to find out, but leaving your doors open, particularly after several break-ins, is not ideal.”
She nodded. “I get that. But tomorrow is very important to me.”
He nodded. “In that case, I’ll stay here in the studio. You’re right beside me in the bedroom there, so I can keep an eye on your place too.”
She stared at him in surprise. “Why would you do that?”
“To make sure nobody comes in the studio and accidentally, or on purpose, damages your paintings.”
She stared at him in horror. “They wouldn’t …” Her frown deepened. “Would they?”
He nodded. “I can’t say for sure they would,” he cautioned, “but it’s hard to say what’s on somebody’s mind. Look at the bedrooms that have been tossed. How easy would it be to splash paint on these so they’re ruined forever?”
She wrapped her arms around her stomach. “Okay, that’s almost enough to make me physically ill.” She stared at the paintings. “Where can I keep them so they’ll be safe?”
He walked toward several older paintings stacked on the wall, crouching in front of them. “Your paintings, can they be moved?”
She nodded. “I would wrap them in cotton before I took them down, but, for the moment, they just need to be someplace safe.”
“Do you have a closet big enough?”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t.”
“Well, that goes back to me staying here in this room then because now it’s not just you but also your work that needs to be protected.”
She wasn’t sure what to think of him. She’d never had anybody make an offer like that before. “Why would you do that?”
One eyebrow rose. “Because I’m a nice guy?”
“Because you’d feel guilty if anything happened to them,” she corrected.
He chuckled. “True. But that still doesn’t change the fact you need these paintings in this wonderful condition so you can take them to the gallery in the morning, correct?”
She nodded and sighed. “Correct.”
“In that case, you head off to bed, and I’ll do my first shift sitting here. When Jager and I switch, I’ll make sure he knows the scoop and comes up here.”
She smiled. “Are you going back to your bed to sleep? I don’t want to think of you sitting up here half the night.”
“Jager and I are doing four-hour shifts. He’s sleeping right now.”
She glanced at the door. “I never even thought about where he was.” She shook her head. “But it seems like, when I’m painting lately, I completely lose myself in it.”
“Is that not the way it’s always been?” He was curious.
“No, not at all. It’s nothing I’ve experienced before. Not until I did these new paintings.”
He nodded. “Interesting.”
“I don’t know about interesting, but weird will do.” She walked to the door, cast a saucy glance back at him and said, “Good night, dear knight.”
At that, his eyebrows shot upward, and she chuckled.
“Obviously you’re a knight in shining armor if you’re standing guard over me and my paintings for the evening.”
He grinned. “In that case, do I get a kiss as a thank-you?”
“In that case, you get it in the morning,” she said, waving at him as she walked out of the room.
His laughter followed her. She walked into her bedroom and realized she didn’t have the two lamps by the couch, but they weren’t required for tonight. It was already quite late. She glanced at the clock. It was past eleven.
She walked into the bathroom, took a quick shower because she generally had paint in her hair by the time she was done with a late session. When she was done, she dried off and stepped out of the bathroom. She threw on a camisole and boy shorts in soft cotton and went to her bed.
With her hair twisted up in a bun, she lay down and almost immediately fell asleep.
She swore it was only a few minutes later when she woke up. She thought she heard somebody outside her room. She smiled, realizing it would be Geir. She wanted to call out to him but figured that would just be an invitation, and he’d take it a different way than she meant it.
The trouble was, as she lay here thinking about the way he would take it, she realized just how interested she was. And, if he was leaving the next day, she didn’t have much time in order to show him that kind of interest.
She lay here wondering what she would do.
Then her gaze caught the clock, and she saw it was nearly three o’clock in the morning. It was probably the changing of the guard, and Jager would come to her studio. She flopped onto her back, considering the two men who would do such a thing. Sure, they were worried about somebody coming back into the house, but they also knew how important those paintings were to her.
She flipped over again and groaned. “No way I’ll sleep now,” she grumbled. She heard footsteps again. She froze. Had he heard her?
“Are you okay?” Geir asked in a low whisper from the hallway.
She hopped out of bed, ran to the door and opened it a crack. “I’m fine. How come you’re still walking around? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
His eyes gleamed with silvery light as he stared at her body. And she realized how little she wore. She closed the door slightly. But he slowly raised that gaze to lock onto hers.
“I was just heading to bed.” His voice was husky, deep. But he didn’t move.
And neither did she. Her breath caught in the back of her throat as she warred with herself about what she wanted. She knew exactly what Nancy would say. Seize the moment and charge full speed ahead.
“Are you going to let me in?” His voice had deepened to a grittiness level. He knew he sounded hoarse. The heat rolling through him threatened to take over. The sight of her in that skimpy top, her breasts plump, filling out that top, her nipples reaching for him, and the shadow showing through the bottoms, … it was too much.
He closed his eyes and stood there, fisting his hands. “Sorry,” he said as he struggled for control. “But you are something else.”
He felt rather than heard her reaction. He opened his eyes to see her standing there, curious, interested, hesitant. But he didn’t want her questioning the way she felt. He wanted her to throw herself in his arms and to feel exactly the same way he did. Because, right now, all he wanted to do was throw her to the floor and ravage her. But in a good way.
He ordered his body to move, to walk down the hall, to go past her room. But his body refused to listen. It had a mind of its own, and already his groin was seriously tight. He again closed his eyes, adding in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, then repeating it again. Just when he thought he would be okay, that he could get past this without an incredibly humiliating moment he hadn’t had since he was fourteen, he felt her hand on his chest. His breath sucked in, and he opened his eyes to stare at her.
“Don’t tease,” he said, his voice hard. “I’m too close to the edge.”
“I can see that,” she whispered. “And there’s something so fascinating about thinking you’re feeling that way about me.”
He shook his head. “Surely you know how incredibly sexy you are.”
She smiled mistily up at him. “No, I’m not so sure I do.” Her other hand slid over his belly, up his chest, until both were around his neck. She lifted herself on her tiptoes, her lips almost level with his.
His heart raced. He gripped the doorknob with his iron fist, desperate to hold back. He wasn’t sure where she was going with this, but he hoped, dear God, he hoped.
She slid her fingers through his hair and whispered, “Why don’t you show me?”
And that was all it took. He wrapped her tight in his arms, crushing her against him, his lips hard on hers. He heard the startled squeak from behind her lips, but he didn’t dare let her go. He deepened the kiss, showing her exactly how he felt about her. His arm stroked the full length of her body, reaching down to cup her cheeks. He hitched her higher, wrapping her legs around his waist until he carried her. His leg was sore as hell from all his earlier activities today, but he wouldn’t acknowledge it. It had been a problem for two years. He wasn’t about to start coddling it now.
He gently closed the door, one arm under her ass, holding her tight, and carried her to the bed.
She looked at him, her eyes deeper than midnight as she watched in wonder. “I’ve never been carried before.”
He brushed a kiss against her lips, then gently lowered her to the blankets, following her down.
He led her into the riotous desire ripping through him. He had her stripped of her camisole in seconds. He was feasting on her nipples that had teased and tortured him since he’d first caught sight of them, loose and shimmying against the camisole material.
She moaned and twisted gently in his arms. Her fingers stroked his hair, holding him close against her. “Oh, my God,” she whispered, “that feels so wonderful.”
He sucked harder and deeper, her back arching, a moan escaping. He slipped fingers into her panties, pulling them off, tossing them to the floor. He stroked the fleshy lips, feeling the moisture already at the heart of her. Dipping his fingers inside, he stroked, caressed, her body writhing beneath him, and still he wouldn’t let up.
She cried out, “Geir, I want you now.”
But he wouldn’t stop. He shifted his attention to her other breast, caressing the nipple with as much love and care as he had the first one, before taking it into his mouth and sucking it in a deep pulsing rhythm. At the same time, he slid his fingers deeper inside her and stroked over and over.
Her body wept with joy; she arched as her climax ripped through her until she lay shuddering on the bed.
Just as she was about to speak, he crushed her lips, his tongue sliding inside, dueling with hers, not giving her a respite or time to relax and enjoy. Instead, he spread her legs as wide as he could. Just for the moment, resting at the heart of her, he lifted his head up and looked down at her.
She smiled, wrapped her arms trustingly around his neck and whispered, “Yes.”
And he plunged deep. She cried out, her body arching at the forceful possession. But it was how he felt. She was his. She always would be.
A primitive need drove him as he pounded into her. She was small, not delicate, but not a huge bold woman either, and he needed to be careful, but it was so damn hard. He didn’t want to hurt her, but, at the same time, his body had taken over, and his passion ripped through him as he drove her closer and closer to the edge again.
When she gave a muffled scream and flew off the edge, he followed her with a deep guttural groan and slid down beside her. She lay quivering in his arms, the aftershocks still moving through her body. He smiled, but it was all he could do. He was exhausted, his body expending so much energy to hold back that passion. When finally he’d unleashed it, his own climax had been earth-shattering. He tried to catch his breath as he lay here.
Finally she rolled over and looked at him. “Oh, my God.”
He stared at her lazily, reached over and kissed her gently. “What does that mean?”
She gave him the sweetest smile. “It means, I’m so grateful I opened my bedroom door tonight.”