Painting Rainbows

by Kiera Jayne

  “I should be good, thanks.”

  “Cool. ‘Night.”

  “Goodnight, gorgeous.”

  Layla hugged herself as the sexiest man in the village pushed the bedroom door shut on her.

  Over in her bed, Layla stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep a wink. Usually, sleeping in this bed was heaven. The mattress was the softest mattress she'd ever slept on and the blankets were cosy. Layla usually fell asleep within moments of climbing into it. She loved this bed so much, she wished she could take it back to Australia with her in a few months.

  But tonight, no matter what she tried, Layla could not get to sleep. Not with him sleeping right across the hall. Grady Bradbury was a guest in her house. A guest this time, not a trespasser, and she was as giddy as a teenaged girl.

  Deciding all this tossing and turning wouldn't do, Layla got out of bed and stepped out of her bedroom. She needed a book to read and her aunt’s shelf contained a lot of good ones.

  As she fought to adjust her vision in the dark, she crashed into a hard body and cried out in surprise. Two strong hands caught her by the shoulders.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I'm sorry,” Layla mumbled.

  “It's late, what are you doing up?” Grady asked as he squinted down at her.

  “I was going to get a book,” Layla replied.

  “Shouldn't you be sleeping?” Grady asked.

  Layla narrowed her eyes. “Back at you.”

  “Nature called.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  Layla fell silent. He was still holding her shoulders in his grip and was staring down at her like he didn't want to let her go. Like he wanted to hold her here in the middle of the upstairs hallway against his mostly-naked, muscular body for good.

  Layla slowly peeled herself away. “Book time.”

  “Are you having trouble sleeping?” Grady asked.

  Layla nodded, then realised he probably couldn't see that well in the dark. “Yeah.”

  “I can help you.”

  “You what?” Layla queried.

  “I can help you sleep,” Grady clarified.

  She wondered how he could do that apart from the obvious. She mentally chided herself for going there. She couldn't have those thoughts for a guy, especially one who was attached! Still, she couldn't help her curiosity. “You can?”

  Grady chuckled. “Don't sound so suspicious.”

  “I'm not,” Layla snapped.

  “You're so defensive.”

  Layla crossed her arms over her chest. “I am not!”

  Grady shook his head. “Whatever. Get into bed.”

  Layla walked across her room and noticed Grady following her. “You're coming into my bedroom?”

  “You want me to help you sleep, don't you?”

  Layla sat on the bed and nodded.

  “Lay back,” Grady ordered.

  Layla rested against the pillow, pulling the covers with her. Grady lifted her arm and turned it so her hand was facing palm up. She watched him press the tips of his fingers into a couple of spots on her wrists and began to massage them gently.

  “What are you doing?” Layla asked.

  “It's called Neiguan. It's something I learned while I was travelling in Asia. I used to suffer from insomnia before I was taught this.”

  “Whereabouts in Asia did you go?” Layla asked.

  “China, Vietnam, Thailand. A few other places,” Grady replied.

  “Thailand’s pretty,” Layla said with a smile.

  “You've been?”

  “To Phuket.” Layla's expression darkened as she recalled the trip. It had been incredible at the time, but was bittersweet now.

  Grady’s dark eyes connected with her soft green ones. “You're too tense. No wonder you can't sleep. Relax, Layla.” He took in her worried expression. “Relax.”

  Layla blew out a breath and let her shoulders sag.

  Grady nodded his approval. “That's more like it.”

  Layla's eyes travelled over his body as Grady continued his work. “Does this really work?”

  “It does if you stop talking and relax.” He flashed her a smile that seemed to have such an effect on her. His voice turned husky. “Close your eyes and steady your breathing.”

  Layla closed her eyes and focused on what Grady’s skilful fingers were doing. Whatever they were doing was magic. She was asleep in just a few minutes.

  The community hall was as pretty as the rest of Upper Telwick with its thick stone walls that had stood in the same place since the seventeenth century.

  Layla had woken up to an empty house with Grady nowhere to be found. The last thing she remembered was thinking about the hot, half-naked man on her bed. After that, nothing. That shit with her wrist had worked a treat.

  Layla adjusted the bag on her shoulder and swapped the wooden art box she was carrying from her left to her right hand as she pushed the heavy timber door open.

  The strong smell of paint and turpentine met her nose as she stepped inside the hall, underneath the ancient timber beams was a row of stools, easels, and blank canvases. People—mainly women—milled around the room, setting their things aside and finding a spot.

  A woman approached her with a smile. “Layla, right?”

  “That’s me,” Layla replied.

  “Hi, I’m Sue. Welcome.”

  “Hi, Sue. This looks great.” Layla indicated the set-up.

  “Thank you. Hopefully it’s a success. We’re going to be doing some pretty fun stuff. Why don’t you find a spot while I set up?”

  “Sure,” Layla replied.

  Layla set her bag down at the side of the room and made her way to a spare easel. Opening her art box, Layla pulled out a variety of paint brushes.

  “Wow, you mean business,” Mrs. Pearce, a retired widow who lived in the last house on the northern end of town, said as she sat down beside her.

  Layla smiled. “It looks like I do, doesn’t it?”

  “Isn’t this going to be interesting?” Mrs. Pearce chuckled as she set a pair of spectacles onto the bridge of her nose. “I wonder what we’re in for.”

  “Welcome, everyone,” Sue said, addressing the class. “I’m glad you could all make it. For those of you who don’t know, I’m Sue. I’ve been an artist my entire life. I studied art at the Edinburgh college of art, graduating with honours in painting and fine art. I worked in the Scottish National Gallery for four years, the Louvre for seven years afterwards before settling back here in Upper Telwick, where I was raised, when I started a family. This has allowed me to focus more on my own work and as most of you know, my home doubles as my own personal gallery, where I sell my paintings to locals and visitors. All I hope to accomplish with this class is to teach you some techniques I’ve learned over the years, create some beautiful paintings, but most of all, have some fun. At the end of the six weeks, I’m planning a small art show and I hope to include artwork from each and every one of you, if you’ll permit me?”

  A low hum of excitement rolled through the room.

  “I like the sound of that!” a man on the other side of the room piped up.

  “Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Sue took a deep breath. “I’m sure you already know each other, Eric, Taleesha, Mrs. Pearce, Rosie. Upper Telwick isn’t the biggest of places, so we don’t need to do the usual introductory rounds. Shall we get started, then?”

  “We don’t know her.” Eric piped up again. He waved the handle of his paint brush in the direction of Layla.

  “He’s right.”

  The class turned to a woman dressed in active wear. Layla did a double take. Why did she wear activewear to an art class?

  “I’ve seen you around the last couple of weeks, but we don’t really know you, except for your name, obviously. Your first name,” the lady continued. “I’m Taleesha, by the way.”

  “Layla O’Connell. I’m visiting from Australia. Hey, everyone.” Layla waved to the class at large.

  “What brings you to Upper Telwick,
Layla?” Mrs. Pearce asked, her kindly voice instantly made Layla feel comfortable.

  “I needed to get away from Canberra for a while. I've left my job and Aunty Flo’s cottage was the perfect place to come and clear my head and figure out my next move,” Layla explained.

  “Welcome to Upper Telwick and to the class,” Sue said.

  Layla smiled. “Thanks.”

  “Right. Now, this class is to learn how to paint portraits. I've managed to rope in a willing subject. Come on in, Grady!”

  Layla's jaw practically hit the floor as the man she had allowed to sleep over stepped out of the cloak room dressed only in a plush white dressing gown. Grady glanced at Sue, and Layla could've sworn he appeared to be nervous.

  “Are you ready, Grady?” Sue asked.

  Grady gulped. “I think so.”

  “Now then, who's ready to paint a nude model?” Sue glanced at the older members of the class.

  “A nude model?” Layla repeated, surprised.

  “That's right,” Sue responded.

  Layla snapped her gaze to Sue. “Are you sure we’re ready for that?”

  Sue cocked her head at Layla. “Why wouldn't you be?”

  “Well, I can't even paint a person's face, let alone their whole . . . body.” Layla suddenly felt uncomfortable.

  “That's why we’re here to learn. We have six weeks to get better at this.” Sue turned her attention to the others. “Is that alright? I don't wish to offend anybody.”

  “I'm old, not dead. I've seen many human bodies in various states of undress, so I'm not shy,” the oldest of them spoke up.

  “Mrs. Pearce?” Layla queried.

  “I was a nurse, my love, for fifty-seven years. I started straight out of school.”

  “I assure you, you won't have trouble with Grady, then,” Sue said.

  Layla’s pulse quickened as Grady's fingers worked the knot at his stomach free. He slowly opened the front of the gown, revealing a delicious six pack of abs and it slid down his long arms. He handed it off to Sue, who set it aside.

  He was exquisite. His entire body, completely flawless. Layla's throat went dry as her green-eyed gaze travelled down Grady’s bare chest, over his well-defined abs to his cock. She tried to stop her mind from going to that place. That place where she wondered what it would feel like to have his cock inside her. To have Grady’s hard body pressed against her while he fucked her senseless. Would he be rough and relentless, or slow and sensual?

  When Layla finally managed to lift her eyes back up to a respectable level, she was captured by Grady’s dark intensity. Everything in the room dissipated as the pair stared at each other across the small space. Layla's nipples tightened, and she suddenly felt the sensitive rub of her lace bra across them, sending shots of desire to the centre of her body.

  He didn't even look away from her when he sunk into the deep, cushioned chair that was there for him. He draped himself over the piece of furniture, one arm dangling across the back and his legs hanging open, as if to tempt her.

  “Are you comfortable, Grady?” Sue broke in.

  That smirk of his made an appearance and Layla nearly lost it. “Perfectly.”

  “Alright, class. I want you all to paint your best representation of Mr. Bradbury. Whether you would like to paint a portrait or something more abstract, it's up to you. It's your work.”

  “Just don't make me into a fugly troll or something,” Grady requested.

  Soft laughter filtered through the room as everyone took up their brushes. Layla felt like her cheeks were on fire and she tried to focus on the feeling of her brush’s bristles against the canvas to distract herself.

  “You’re Flo’s niece?” another woman with a bob of blonde hair to Layla’s right whispered as they got to work.

  Layla was beyond pleased for the conversation. “I am.”

  “Oh, that’s lovely. I’m Rosie; I went to school with Flo way back in the sixties.”

  Layla gasped. “Oh, it's so nice to meet you.”

  “You too! It's a pleasure, in fact.”

  Layla painted a stroke of purple onto her canvas. “Were you close?”

  “We were best friends for many years. I was completely bummed out when Aaron stole her away to Australia.”

  Layla paused, unsure of how to respond.

  Rosie laughed. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m okay now. I got over myself. I totally understood it when I fell in love.”

  Layla laughed and swirled her glass in the water jar provided. The tinkle of the light wooden handle against the edges of the glass reached her ears.

  “Before we came back and bought the Red Bear, Hector and I worked in London for a while in some the big hotels down there. That’s where we met, you see. I was in housekeeping and he was the concierge at the Dorchester. We moved back here after we married and started a family together.”

  “That’s lovely, Rosie. How long have you been together?” Layla asked.

  “Forty-six years this year. Forty years running the Red Bear, three children and ten grandchildren later, and we’re still going strong.”

  Layla could sense the pride in Rosie’s voice. What a charmed life the lady must have, and what a warm person she seemed to be. Layla felt an instant rapport with her.

  “I haven’t seen Flo for a couple of years, now. She used to come home to visit her mother, but since she passed . . . well, I guess she has no need to come here, anymore. How is she, by the way? What’s she up to these days?”

  Layla added a dash of blue to the canvas. “She lives on Sydney’s Northern Beaches with Uncle Aaron, two blocks away from the beach and she has a great job at Mona Vale Hospital as a nurse, but she’s about to retire soon—so is Uncle Aaron. They have plans to come back here in a year. This is where they’re going to retire, since Reid and their grandkids are over here.”

  “That’s the best news! I’ll have to ring her tonight and catch up on all of her gossip.”

  Layla smiled. “I bet she’d like that.”

  Layla sat back to scrutinise her painting. It wasn't looking like much yet, but she was sure it would soon. Besides, she had six weeks to perfect it. Layla glanced at Grady in all of his naked splendour again and chatted with Rosie the entire time they worked.

  “Honey, I'm home!” Grady shouted as he stepped into the old farm house his family lived in on Monday afternoon.

  After a weekend of having to stay in town, Grady hadn't seen his family since Friday. He hoped they were doing alright.

  “Hey, smart arse, get in here,” Myra called from the kitchen.

  Definitely doing alright.

  Grady wandered from the entrance hall into the tiny kitchen, made toasty by the ancient range set into the wall by the backdoor, his nose following the sweet scent of freshly baked Earl Grey shortbread biscuits. He tried not to cringe at the garish, peach-coloured walls of the kitchen. Every time he set foot in this room, he wondered whatever possessed Myra to choose this colour, and why the hell Will and let her graffiti the walls with it. His eyes lit up at the sweet snacks cooling on the kitchen bench and he snaffled one up.

  “Oi! Those are for the café!” Myra snapped, swatting Grady with her oven mitt.

  “Sorry. I've got the Munchies.”

  Myra scoffed and Grady sniggered around his mouthful.

  “When are you going to stop with those lame jokes?” Myra demanded.

  Grady shrugged. “Probably never.”

  “Out of my way,” Myra ordered.

  She pushed Grady aside so she could reach the oven. She opened the door and pulled out a cake.

  “No way! That's not your lava chocolate mud cake, is it?” Grady exclaimed, immediately ditching the biscuits.

  Myra set the tin down and then smacked Grady’s hand. Hard!

  “Ouch!”

  Myra jabbed her finger into his chest. “Do. Not. Touch.”

  “Bloody bully,” Grady grumbled.

  “But you love me,” Myra replied, fluttering her eyelashes at him. �
�So, how’d you get through? Isn’t the water still up?”

  “Not as bad as it was yesterday,” Grady replied around his mouthful of biscuit.

  “Tell me you didn’t,” Myra huffed.

  “Tell you I didn’t what?”

  “You didn’t ride through the flood waters, did you?”

  “Only a little bit,” Grady admitted with a shrug.

  “Grady! Why do you have to be so bloody careless? I already have to worry about Will not coming home safely, let alone you acting like an overgrown kid and putting yourself in needless danger,” Myra scolded him.

  Grady took in Myra’s distraught expression. She always tried to appear strong, to carry on as normal, but her husband being away with the army was difficult on her. It was why Grady had decided to move in and help her out. Grady pulled her into a hug. “Hey, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine. Just please, don’t do it again.”

  “I promise, okay? You know me. I’ve pleased myself for so long, I’m just not used to having other people to worry about. It won’t happen again, I can guarantee it.”

  “Right, whatever. Until you do something stupid again the next time around.” Myra rolled her eyes, but at least she managed a small smile.

  It was time for a subject change. “Where's the boy?”

  “Doing his homework. Leave him be, please!”

  Blimey, Myra was extra bossy today. But they both knew if Grady interrupted Ed, the kid would never get anything finished. Ed pretty much worshipped the ground his uncle walked on. Best to stay out of the way for a while.

  “Right, sis, I'll just go and watch the replay, then.”

  Grady moved into the living room, but not before he heard Myra mutter, “Bloody football."

  He sank down into the lounge with the coloured texter marks Myra had never been able to get out after her son had gotten a little too artistic, and flipped to Sky Sports. Football was his favourite. He'd played all his life right up into college. Nothing serious, just a weekly game with some mates. But he couldn't get enough of the televised games. The sports channel on pay TV was Grady Bradbury’s wet dream. He watched it as often as he could, especially whenever Leeds United was on.

  Tonight, though, all he could think about was her. The way her soft skin had felt under his fingertips. How her dark hair had spread across the pillow as she lay down, and the fact that she had checked him out more than a couple of times. She tried to hide it, but she was useless at disguising her emotions. Layla was an exciting new addition to a dull old village in the middle of nowhere. She truly was something if the thought of her could distract him from a football game.