Draw Me In

by Megan Squires

  “She works as a book keeper for the business.”

  That made sense. So she was an employee. I could deal with that. I was one, too. We were all friendly colleagues here.

  “Who broke it off?”

  “I did.”

  I didn’t know if it would have been better to think she had, because then that kiss wouldn’t have felt significant at all. But something in knowing it was Leo to end things made me see that greeting in a whole different light.

  “Do you always kiss each other like that? ‘Cause if that’s the case, then I need to downgrade last night’s kiss from earth-shattering to just earth-quaking.”

  I was grateful to see the smile on Leo’s face. “Honestly, it was the first time I’ve seen her since we ended things. So no, I don’t always kiss her like that. And in all fairness, she was the one to kiss me. Not that it makes it okay at all. I just don’t want you to unnecessarily worry when there isn’t anything to worry about.”

  I had been doing okay up until that point, but telling me not to worry was like asking a vegetarian to cut back on the vegetables. Not gonna happen. Not only was I eating those vegetables, but I’d just planted an entire community garden and it was harvest time and I had a mean stir-fry simmering in my wok on the stove. Basically, I was going into full-fledged worry mode.

  “How did she feel about the break up?” I said, and I might as well have been gnawing on a carrot.

  “She wasn’t thrilled. But it was time.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  I twisted my fingers together, knotting them in a web, my eyes trained on the ground. Leo pulled my hands apart and slid his own fingers into the spaces between mine, some sort of reassurance with just his touch, but it made me feel tangled more than anything.

  “Listen. I don’t want you to think that me saying it was time for Sofia and I to end things means I think there’s some expiration date on relationships.” Had I mentioned yet how beautiful he was? Because those piercing baby blues alone were enough to keep me inspired for months. He looked deeply into my eyes as he said, “That’s not the case. But things got really complicated and I’m a firm believer that marriage doesn’t solve those problems, it just makes them permanent. It wouldn’t have been a good thing for Sofia and me to be permanent.”

  “I get that.” I did, and honestly, it was one of the wisest things I’ve ever heard a twenty-something guy say. Most men blessed with faces that looked the way Leo’s did were also cursed with nothing but a hollow pit inside that same skull. Not so with Leo. He not only had the complete package when it came to his phenomenal exterior, but had the brains to match. “So she just works for your family now? Nothing else?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing else.”

  “And that kiss? That was just a greeting?” No matter how hard I tried to convince myself, it felt unnatural to yield to the notion that the kiss they shared meant absolutely nothing. Handshakes were harmless. Hugs were totally innocent. I’d even go as far to say that a wink, though a little flirty in nature, was pretty damn tame. But kissing? There was something intimate in that. At least for me. Even more intimate than actually doing other, more physical, things. A kiss wasn’t just a kiss. A kiss was using your mouth to communicate something your words failed to articulate. It transcended the realm of speaking with your voice, and entered into a whole different space where you used your body to utter the things your soul craved. So to me, kissing was kind of powerful.

  “To be honest, I don’t know what happened there.” Leo leaned forward, his eyes reflecting the memory of that brief encounter as I could see him replay it in his mind. “I don’t really have an answer for how, or why, that happened.”

  That made me feel bad. I was digging where it wasn’t my place to dig. Sofia was in Leo’s past, though some part of that had resurfaced, at least for her. Even still, I decided it was time to quit the interrogation and put away my shovel. “You don’t have to give me an answer, Leo. It’s honestly none of my business.”

  “I should hope you think it’s your business.” His biceps pulsed under the black cotton of his shirtsleeves, round and firm muscle etched with veins. His jaw did the same thing, clenching in unison like all of his muscles were working together to emphasize his words. “If you’re going to be my girlfriend, matters relating to who I am kissing are most certainly your business.”

  “Is that what we are?” It seemed unexpectedly sudden to fit whatever this was with a label. Don’t get me wrong, it was a label I was completely comfortable with and would wear happily, but the unreal way things came about made it very hard to believe that we were even at this point.

  “Are you the kind that doesn’t like to label things?” he asked.

  “No, I’m all for labels.” Hell, I even named my favorite set of pencils. And an eraser. I named an eraser once. (I called him Dammit). “I just know what you said about making things permanent. Labeling this kinda makes it feel permanent-ish.”

  “Fair enough.” Who was this guy that he not only listened to everything I said, but completely took it all into consideration? I should warn him that some thoughts I uttered shouldn’t even be entertained because I was a “what comes up comes out” kind of girl. Taking what I said with a grain of salt might even be too much sometimes. More like take it with the salty residue left on your fingers after consuming a handful of potato chips. Most of what I said was only salt-residue worthy.

  Leo and I had been face to face this entire time, standing in the center of the vast room engulfing us. He pressed his weight forward, shifting onto his toe and angling down toward me so his mouth hovered just over mine. That shallow dip in his lower lip begged to be licked, but I waited on him to make any moves. I’d said enough. He knew where I stood, and at the moment, I was enjoying where he was standing, too.

  “Just so you know, Julie. I’m okay with permanent-ish with you.” His full lips edged closer to my own. I could feel the heated moisture that slipped between the small parting of his mouth feather across my cheek, and it sent chills skittering out from my chest. He made me ache in the best ways possible. “The fact that you’ve been in my thoughts permanently since you served me that first cup of coffee over a year ago sort of solidifies that for me.”

  I breathed. Or at least tried to. “The fact that you say things like that sort of solidifies it for me, too.”

  Being bolder than I probably should, I trailed my nail along his forearm up to his shoulder, and curled my hand around his neck, pulling him to me until our foreheads met. Looking at him through lowered lashes, I pushed down my nerves in one shaky swallow and surrendered my mouth to his, slowly, hesitantly, as though maybe he would reject this sudden show of confidence. I could hear my own heart pulsing in my ears, ticking out a potent rhythm of expectant want and need. I slipped up on toe, and I pushed my mouth firmly to his.

  There was no rejection upon his lips, only eager agreement as he plunged forward and crushed my mouth with unrelenting force. I yelped a little at the way he took control by sliding my lips apart to allow for his tongue to ease through, but he swallowed that slight moan up and deepened the kiss. His hand slid to cup my jaw and I leaned into him, my body craving the close proximity our mouths shared. We kissed until the tingling in my lips went away and they were completely numb, totally under his control as he guided them open and apart gently with his tongue. It was bliss and ecstasy and intimacy all combined.

  If I never kissed anyone again for the rest of my life and only got to experience this with Leo from now on, it would be the best trade off I could ever conjure up. He did things with French kissing that would make the French blush and demand that he create another term for it, because this wasn’t at all what they had originally envisioned. This was altogether indescribable.

  Drawing back, I whispered, “Just so you know, you kiss so much better than Sofia.” Someone should honestly just hand me a machete because I was a certified mood killer.

  A laugh caught in the back of Leo’s throat. He gave me on
e, two and then three more slow kisses before pulling just his mouth from mine, leaving our foreheads touching and our eyes connected in a gaze. “Well, just so you know, so do you.” One more lingering kiss before he added, “I can’t wait to find out all of the other things you’re better at, too.”

  My heart raced at an unhealthy speed, ricocheting so violently inside my chest there had to be some internal bruising going on in there.

  Tuscany with Leo was very likely going to be the death of me.

  And truth be told, I couldn’t at all think of a better way to die.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I woke up screaming, not dying, but sometimes it felt like the same thing.

  If you’ve ever woken up in the middle of the night screaming, you knew it was an awful thing for all parties involved. It was awful for the screamer because let’s face it, screaming was only useful when being chased by big scary animals, necessary when showing emphatic, unrealistic displays of affection for rock stars within touching distance like Adam Levine at the last Maroon 5 concert I attended (before I was kicked out for showing my boobs. Apparently that sort of thing is frowned upon when the camera happens to simultaneously flash your image across the jumbo screen), and when watching a horror movie and the power goes out. Creeeeepy!

  But other than that, screaming was terrifying. It was like a spontaneous combustion of vocal chords, which should scare the living daylights out of any sane person. Body parts shouldn’t combust.

  Yelling was different. That was controlled. People usually yelled words and could at least regulate the volume and tone of the yell. But screaming? That was a whole different animal. Screaming happened when you lost all control of your senses and your inner cavewoman took over. It reduced you to a Neanderthal of a person that no longer used words to express their fear, but relied just on blasts of meaningless noise to garner attention.

  And unfortunately, my scream garnered a lot of attention.

  Mere moments after bolting upright in my bed, that beautifully carved bedroom door flung open, the handle crashing into the wall and leaving a fresh divot in its place.

  “Julie?” Leo yelled (not screamed). “Are you alright?”

  I couldn’t tell if I was. I thought for a moment the scream might’ve been caused from waking up in a strange place. Those few seconds of hesitation when it takes a while for reality to snap back into view. Or it could have been the sparkly half-man that stood at the foot of the bed. He was starting to give me the heebie-jeebies.

  But I think what it had more to do with than anything was the fact that my bed was swallowing me whole. Seriously, the mattress and down comforter had to have been made from an entire flock of ducks, there were so many feathers in all that puffy Egyptian cotton.

  “Julie?”

  I felt the mattress dip even more as Leo knelt into it, searching me out in the dark.

  “Yeah. Sorry. You heard me, huh?” Wishing the bed could actually suck me entirely into its downy folds, I slid back onto the sheets and threw my hands to my head. “I think I had a dream I was drowning. Or being pecked to death by Donald Duck. Or was on the latest episode of Duck Dynasty. Not sure.”

  “That’s terrifying. Any scenario.” He flicked on the bedside lamp and I squinted my eyes against the sudden glare. “Sorry. Kinda bright.” Leo dropped another knee onto the bed so he was now fully on it and something about it made me feel like we were being those sneaky teens at summer camp that stole away into each other’s cabins to make out against counselors orders. Rebellion never looked so good. “I was worried that maybe it was your... you know.”

  Hmm. I didn’t know. There could actually be quite a lot for Leo to be worried about when it came to me.

  “Your ovaries?”

  How could he look so damn good when he said that word? I swear my ovaries just arm wrestled over who got to be the one to offer up her monthly services to try to create adorable little future-Italian-wine-heir babies with him. Seriously, I think he just made me ovulate on command. The talent of this man knew no end!

  “My ovaries are fine.”

  “Good to know.”

  “What time is it anyway?” I’d lost track of the day and the hour long ago. But now I was wide-awake, staring at a shirtless Leo on my bed. How hadn’t I noticed that he was just wearing a pair of low-slung pajama pants? And crap. Had he figured out I was still sporting my travel clothes from the day before? Hopefully not. Hopefully the excessive piles of comforter and sheets masked my haggardness a little. Or maybe that sudden blast of light from the lamp temporarily blinded him. Somehow, I prayed that he couldn’t see how bad I truly looked because this was the sort of thing you saved for a few months into the relationship. I wanted to still be able to play up the whole Sleeping Beauty façade for a bit longer.

  “It’s three in the morning.”

  Oh jetlag, you were a naughty boy, waking me up in the wee hours of the night like this and delivering a half-naked man to my room. Honestly, what was I expected to do with this?

  “And I’ve been sleeping since?”

  “Four in the afternoon. You’re probably ready for dinner now, huh?”

  “I missed dinner?” What kind of houseguest sleeps through dinner the first night she’s in town? Oh, the awkward ones that also kiss your ex-fiancées and suffocate in their own bedding. Those ones. “I’m actually pretty embarrassed that I’ve been sleeping this whole time.”

  “Don’t be. It always takes me a good day or two to adjust to Italian time. We didn’t have like a big sit down thing anyway. That’s for tomorrow night. Or tonight or whatever day it actually is.”

  Man he was hot. I could feel the tips of my fingers pulsing with the need to sketch him. I’d done it once before, but that in no way came close to doing him justice. Maybe he’d let me once I got the whole wine label design out of the way. Maybe then I could convince him to actually model for me; the live, in the flesh version, not just the memory that fueled my last drawing.

  “Do you want to try to go back to sleep?”

  That depended on if it would be with him. I didn’t say that—at least I don’t think I did. But Leo continued to openly star at me, which made me second-guess myself for a moment there. “I should probably eat something.”

  “Come on. I’ve got an idea.” Taking my hand, Leo drug me out of the bed, finally noticing I was still wearing jeans and a shirt from the day before. “Wanna change into something more comfortable first?”

  This had obviously been comfortable enough for me to be dead to the world for the last ten hours, but sure, yeah, I could change. “Okay, just hold on one sec.”

  Wheeling my still-packed luggage into the adjoining bathroom, I tore through the bag, flinging clothing everywhere in a mad rush to get dressed. What on earth had Eva packed in here? This was no good. I had no clue how to match any of this. Defeated, I dug out a pair of black sweats and a t-shirt Ian got for my birthday that read: I don’t run, so if you see me running, you should too because something is probably chasing me.

  “Nice,” Leo smiled as I returned. His arms crisscrossed over one another and he dipped his head my direction, nodding toward the letters scrawled across my chest. “Not a runner, huh?”

  “Right. No. Unless I’m being chased. Which I was once by a pack of dogs that broke free from their walker in Central Park. In that case, I hightailed it out of Dodge like I was qualifying for the Boston Marathon.” That near mauling incident flashed back to my memory. For weeks I swear I could hear faint barking around every corner and in every dark alley. I couldn’t even watch 101 Dalmatians without panic taking hold. That movie contained about one hundred pups too many for me. “But running for fun? No. I personally can think of about a thousand other ways I’d rather burn calories.”

  And now I was thinking of those thousands of ways and how I could possibly incorporate Leo into each scenario.

  “We’re not gonna burn any calories with what I have in mind, but are you okay gaining some?”

  Since
I was already prepared with the elastic waistband and all, I gave Leo an emphatic, “Yes!” and followed him out of the room toward the kitchen. All of the main lights were off in the Villa, with the exception of the wall sconces that adorned the hallway, guiding us toward the east side of the property with a friendly glow. There was a funnel of light filtering from the kitchen, and I could see the back of someone perched at the island, poring over stacks of something I couldn’t quite make out.

  “Ian?”

  He swiveled around on the barstool, a 4x6 photograph in hand. There were about thirty more like it on the granite tabletop.

  “Hey guys. Can’t sleep?” He patted an open palm the stool next to him. “Want to join me? I’m just looking through some of your headshots, Leo. I could actually use your input.”

  I practically leapt over to Ian because yes, I honestly couldn’t wait to take a peek at these pictures. Leo didn’t appear as excited, and said in completely humble tone, “I’m sure you don’t need my help. You’re the artist.”

  “And without you, I wouldn’t have a subject. Come on. It’ll be painless. Promise.”

  Leo wove his way around the island and disappeared behind a wrought iron door at the far wall, flanked on either side by rows of hickory-stained cabinets. When he returned, his right hand held the necks of two unlabeled wine bottles, and his left the stems of three crystal glasses.

  “Okay,” Ian nodded in approval. “That might make it a little less painful.”

  Smiling, Leo set everything onto the counter, and pulled open a drawer to retrieve an apron. He rolled it over into a thin, three-inch strip of fabric, and walked back toward me. “I want you blindfolded.”

  “Still here, guys,” Ian shot out loudly, a blast of words. “Still here.”

  “Get your mind out of the gutter.” I sort of loved that Leo and Ian had suddenly forged a friendship as well because it made everything feel absolutely right in my world, regardless of what part of the world I was actually in. “Julie, I’m going to pour these wines and I want you to focus all of your senses on them. I think it might help in creating the label. Sort of an experiment I want to try out. A blind taste-testing.”