by M. Leighton
I pause with my hand on the door that leads into the building when it dawns on me—really hits me dead square in the gut—that there’s a very good possibility I could lose her.
I don’t have time to examine exactly why right now, but the prospect of that scares the shit out of me.
CHAPTER 19
EVIE
LEVI CALLED ahead to say that he’d be back shortly after noon. He wanted to know if I was interested in room service. The way he said it—room service, like I am on the menu—made my stomach begin to flutter immediately. Of course, I said yes.
I showered and dressed in what I hope is a semi-sexy outfit of jeans that fit my butt just right and a thin, long-sleeved blouse that comes off one shoulder. My feet are bare, and my hair is hanging loosely down my back.
I hear the snap of the lock as it opens to an electronic key, and I’m instantly filled to the brim with anticipation. I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my lips as I stand perfectly still in the center of the room and wait for him to speak.
When he doesn’t say anything right away, I falter, calling out, “Levi?”
What if it’s the cleaning lady? Or what if it’s someone who somehow came into the wrong room? They mix up keys all the time.
When there is no answer, I take a step back toward the couch, away from the door, which I’d been facing.
That action draws the air in front of me forward, rushing toward my face and carrying with it a familiar scent. His scent.
Levi.
My smile returns, and my blood sings with delight.
His voice pierces the sound of my hammering pulse. “I honestly didn’t think you could look any better than you did last night, but…I stand corrected.”
I turn slightly, angling my hips toward the sound, and rub a palm over my butt. “You like?”
“Like? Those jeans…” he growls, his voice drawing closer. “And that ass… I don’t like. I love.”
My chest swells with pleasure and glee. “I’m told they fit me well.”
“Cherelyn?”
I nod. “Cherelyn. She seems quite adept at capitalizing on my…assets.”
“I need to send her some flowers.”
I giggle as he wraps his arms around me, clamping both hands onto my ass and squeezing.
“Reminds me of how I left you this morning,” he murmurs, his lips near my ear.
I let out a huff of air, my lungs tight with a combination of embarrassment and lava-hot desire. He’s referring to taking me from behind this morning. I still was lying face down when he left, trying to catch my breath. He bent and kissed my left butt cheek before walked out the door.
“I think I remember that,” I tease, lifting my chin so he can kiss along my jawline.
“You think?” He sinks his teeth into my bottom lip and bites gently, then sucks the offended skin into his mouth. A surge of desire floods my panties with heat and moisture.
Levi pulls my lower body toward him as he presses his hips into mine. I can feel his hardness nudging me.
I wind my arms around his neck, digging my fingers into his hair. “Maybe I just need a reminder. My memory isn’t always so good.”
“Then, by all means, let me give you something you can’t possibly forget.”
It’s an hour and a half later before we make it back out to the living area to eat some of our cold lunch.
I’m sitting, cross-legged, on the couch wearing Levi’s shirt and nothing else, nibbling on a shrimp when Levi surprises me with some less than desirable news.
“I really hate to do this, but there’s been a change of plans. We’ll need to head back to Shreveport today. I need to be back in the city tonight.”
I do my best to hide my disappointment. I don’t know if it works or not, but I hope he can’t see how crushed I am. I’m not ready for this to be over yet. This trip or this relationship. And somehow, that’s what this feels like.
The end.
“Okay. Whatever you need to do.”
“I’m so sorry, Evie. I intended for us to stay longer. I wanted to show you the NOLA I know.”
I shrug, trying to act casual. “It’s fine. This place isn’t going anywhere. At least I hope not.” I laugh, trying to sound breezy.
“I hope you’ll let me bring you back,” he says quietly, something oddly hopeless yet hopeful in his voice.
“I’d love that.”
And I would.
More than I care to admit.
“I’d like to get back early enough to come in to your place. There’s something I’d like to do when we get back if you don’t mind.”
I feel my lips curve, happiness and hope returning. Part of me wondered if he’d drop me off and I’d never hear from him again. Sadly, that’s happened to me before. But this doesn’t sound like he intends to do anything like that. Maybe, just maybe this is different. Maybe, just maybe Levi is different.
Really different.
“I’d love that,” I say again.
We finish our meal in silence and, shortly after, Levi excuses himself to pack. I head to my room to do the same, pausing only long enough to call Cherelyn.
She answers the phone in a most unorthodox, yet totally Cherelyn way. “Why the hell are you calling me when you’re supposed to be getting wined, dined, and hopefully sixty-nined in the country’s most romantic city?”
I laugh.
“Because I wanted to let you know I’ll be coming home tonight in case you are getting wined, dined, and sixty-nined in our apartment. I’d hate to interrupt in a very…untimely fashion.”
“Pffft, that thing with Reed is over. He’s a douche. Don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner.”
“Oh, no. I’m so sorry, Cher.”
“Don’t be. Better to see it now rather than later. Besides, I met a cute guy at the event I planned last night. Maybe that’ll end up being something.”
“You’re never lonely for long, are you?” I ask with a shake of my head and a wry laugh.
“What’s the point? It’s date or buy stock in batteries. But enough about me. Why are you coming home? What happened? Did he flake out? Did he hurt your feelings? I can drive down and get you if I need to. I’ll just need his address so I can go collect that dangly thing between his legs to mount on the wall.”
“No, no to all of that. And also, ewwww! No, Levi is bringing me home because something happened, business-wise, and he needs to get back to Shreveport sooner than expected.”
“So, it’s been a good trip?”
I’m helpless to keep the swoon from my voice. “Very.”
She squeals and, as usual, the pitch is so high I have to hold the phone away from my ear. I’m still not convinced that Cherelyn’s family didn’t come by all their money from selling her scream to a dog whistle company.
“Are you there?” I hear her say.
Hesitantly, I put the phone back to my ear. “Yes, with only minimal damage to my eardrum.”
She giggles. “Sorry. I got excited. I’m just so happy for you, Evie! God, you so deserve a great guy like this.”
I don’t tell her that we still haven’t crossed the four date mark. His greatness has yet to be confirmed. I’ll just let her be happy for me. She worries about me enough as it is.
“Okay, well, I just didn’t want to walk in on some sort of weird sexual freak show. That’s all I called to tell you.”
“Not happening tonight regardless. I’m driving to Plano to meet with a prospective client. Big oil family. The wife throws lots of parties. Spoils her daughters, that sort of thing.”
“Then how were you going to come pick me up if I’d said yes?”
“I’d reschedule. No deal comes before my best friend. Hos before doughs.”
She snorts, which makes me snort, but my heart warms. She really is a wonderful friend, and I doubt she knows how lost I’d be without her. It’s a miracle someone hasn’t nabbed her up yet and stolen her from me. We’re both in our early thirties, and I know she won’t b
e on the market for much longer, especially once she finds a man who will help her get over her last bad relationship. I’d be happy for her, of course, but I don’t like to think about losing her. Gives me hives.
“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
“I’ll be home late, probably. Gonna drive on in to Dallas to catch up with a friend of mine who just got back from Paris. You remember me telling you about Lorelei, don’t you?”
A pang of envy slices through me. I do remember her telling me about Lorelei, Cherelyn’s childhood friend who also wanted to be a photographer.
“Yeah, I remember. She went to Paris, right?”
I’m sure Cherelyn can hear the envy, the hint of bitterness in my tone. “Yeah, she did. Sorry, boo.”
I shake my head, physically shaking off my ugly thoughts. “Don’t be. I wouldn’t begrudge someone else living their dream just because I didn’t get to live mine.”
“But look at you now. You’re on your way to being a rich, famous painter.”
“That remains to be seen.”
“Trust me. That’s gonna happen. I can feel it in my bones.”
“Maybe that’s just early onset arthritis.”
“In this body? I think not. I’m like a well-oiled machine, just prowling the waters until the right fish comes along to keep me barefoot, pregnant, and frumpy. Arthritis comes afterward.”
We both laugh at that. “Before I forget, you had a delivery today. From one of the buyers, I think. Probably a thank you card and some expensive bauble. Want me to open it or leave it in the kitchen?”
I wonder what it could be. I’m curious, but not that curious. I’ll be home soon enough.
“Meh, just leave it. It can wait. Be careful on the way to Plano, ’k? And text me when you get there.”
I have an app on my phone that reads texts aloud to me.
“Will do. Have a lot of sex before you come back.”
My cheeks heat. “I’ll try.”
“Do more than try, woman. Get in there and make it happen.”
“Okay, boss.”
“That’s more like it,” she replies with satisfaction. “See you tomorrow.” I hear a smooching sound, and then she’s gone. I hang up the phone, still shaking my head over my crazy friend as I start to replace my personal things into my suitcase.
********
The trip home is quiet. Much more so than the trip down to New Orleans was. Music plays softly in the background, and Levi toys with my fingers the entire way. Melancholy fills the car, and I can’t decide if it’s because he doesn’t want the trip to be over yet either, or if there’s something else. Something he’s not telling me.
I hate to be so paranoid, but I have nothing but bad experiences to reinforce my suspicions. No, what’s happened to me over the last thirteen years doesn’t mean that all men are that way—the leaving kind, the ones who don’t think I’m worth the trouble—but it certainly doesn’t give me great hope that I’ll find the ones who aren’t.
It’s dark by the time Levi pulls through the gate and up to my building. Since he’s staying rather than just dropping me off, he can’t stay parked on the street. There’s a fifteen minute limit, so I know he’s at least staying that long.
He helps me out and then grabs my bag from the trunk before we head, hand in hand, toward my door. I feel for my keys, for the one with the thick plastic coating and the number 1 carved into it, and I let us in.
Wordlessly, Levi pulls my luggage through the door and closes it behind us. I’m nervous and my fingers cling to his when he takes my hand.
“I had a great time.”
I swallow. That sounds like the beginning of every bad breakup line in the history of the world.
“I did, too,” I agree with a smile. “Thank you for taking me.”
“I wish we could’ve stayed longer.”
Does he really? Or is that just the polite thing to say?
Right before you sweep someone’s legs out from under them.
“Me, too.”
“Evie?” My name is little more than a whisper on his lips, a disturbance of air in the silence of the room. He reaches up and traces my bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, and I wish more than ever that I could see. That I could see what’s going on in his mind through the portal of his eyes. I feel more blind in this moment than I have in years.
“Levi?” I respond, as is our little habit.
“Will you paint me?”
I frown. Of all the things I might’ve expected, this was nowhere in even the farthest reaches of my brain.
“Paint you?”
“Yes. That’s what you were working on before we left, right? A painting of me?”
He saw it. That day he came to tease me in my studio, he saw it. And recognized it.
I nod, working hard to tamp down the surge of mortification that’s swelling in me. It’s like getting caught writing Mrs. Levi Michaelson all over my chemistry notebook. Only worse.
“Finish it. Touch me. Feel me. Do whatever you have to do to see me and finish it. Please.” The last word, a plea, is said with a note of finality.
I blink back tears. Why does this feel like goodbye? Like a goodbye that he doesn’t want to give? What the hell is going on?
“Levi, is something wrong? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“There’s a lot that I’m not telling you.”
“Then why don’t you rectify that?”
I hear as well as feel the breath he exhales. “I will. Just not tonight. Tonight, I just want you to paint me.”
It’s no skin off my nose to paint this man. I’ve been dying to finish it anyway, and with him actually in the room, with his face close enough to touch, it’ll be easier than I thought.
“But why, Levi? Why do you want this so much?”
“I want you to have what you see right now. The man you see right now. So you don’t forget it. Don’t forget what you see. What you feel.”
I swallow back a feeling of panic.
“Okay.” I nod, sadness curling its cold fingers around my heart and squeezing. Whatever is going on, it doesn’t take a genius to know that it’s not good.
“Let me change,” I say calmly, starting out of the room, comfortable enough to walk unassisted in my own space.
“Evie?” he asks before I get very far.
“Yeah?”
“Can I help you?” The timber of his voice is the same, but it lacks the playful thread that’s usually weaved through it. Now, there’s a serious quality to it that gives me the sense that I have to absorb every ounce of him that I can tonight. I think he’s telling me we may not have a tomorrow.
My mouth goes dry, and my heart aches with something profoundly poignant. I nod and hold out my hand. He doesn’t take it, but rather sweeps me into his arms, his lips finding mine in a gentle kiss that lasts as he carries me down the hall.
In my room, he sets me on my feet, and I start to peel off my clothes. Without a sound, Levi’s hands brush mine aside, disrobing me one inch, one breath, one heartbeat at a time until I’m standing naked before him.
“Wear this,” he says.
I hear the shift of material before he hands me his shirt. It’s been on his body all day, so it’s warm, and when I hold it to my nose, it smells like him.
“I’ll ruin it,” I declare, stilling the quiver of my chin, willing myself not to cry.
“You’ll only make it better.”
I can tell by the feel of the shirt that it’s expensive. It’s a button up, but I slip it on over my head. I half-expected Levi to make love to me since he wanted to help me change, and I’m more than a little disappointed that he didn’t. But that disappointment morphs slowly into excitement when he takes my hand and leads me to my studio.
I pause just inside the door, inhaling the scent of my soul. That’s what this place feels like—like the physical location where everything important in my life resides. It smells of paint and turpentine and taut new canvases. It
is the tangible equivalent to the palace in my mind where I store all the images of everything I’ve ever seen and can remember. Here, in this space, is where I bring them to life. This is where the color in my mind becomes the color all the world can see.
I walk by memory to my stool. I could make my way to it if someone spun me in circles for five minutes and turned me loose. It has a gravity all its own, like my body is drawn to it.
I reach toward the table that always sits to the left of the easel, the easel which still holds my half-finished portrait of the Levi of my mind. I set out the things that I’ll need, going through a routine that I’ve had for over a decade. I do it without thought, my entire brain focused on the quiet man standing a foot away from me.
“Why did you use your fingers on this? You said you usually paint with brushes. Why didn’t you when you started this one?”
I feel warmth creep into my cheeks. “I guess I wanted to feel every stroke, feel you come to life. Painting with my fingers is more…organic. I have a different connection to it.”
And, in this case, more emotional, more sexual, more explosive. This piece erupted from parts of me that I thought were dead. Or at least dying.
Self-consciously, I get back to my preparations, hoping he’ll let it go. I don’t want him to ask about the connection and why I felt so compelled to paint him that way.
I only know that I did feel compelled to paint him with my fingers, touching every curve and angle.
And I still do.
When everything is arranged, I brush off my hands and raise them to the canvas, trailing my fingers over the dried paint of what I’ve already completed. I feel the shape, the texture, the color of Levi. Of how I “see” him, how he makes me feel. I poured him from my soul onto this canvas, and it will forever feel like the man himself. Or my interpretation of the man himself. This is how he feels to me. There are a few areas I haven’t filled in yet, like the chin and mouth, and the eyes themselves. I know as I feel the outline that I’ll have to alter them slightly. They’re some of the most important elements of his face.
My hands fall away from the canvas, and I hear Levi move, his tread nearly silent. But not to me. I hear him. I feel him, too.