Love Happens

by Claudia Burgoa

  “If you don’t start painting immediately, what is it you do?” My eyes fluttered as I attempted to push aside the image of Blue-Eyes with the striking blonde walking out into the cold night.

  “Well, I talk to them,” I stated. “I learn their mannerisms, their deepest, darkest wants, desires, and secrets. It’s amazing what people will tell you when you’re willing to listen.”

  A winning smile spread across Steve’s face. “I bet you have one large psychiatric bill after listening to all that.”

  By this point, a crowd had begun to gather around us, hanging on my every word. It felt strange to have so many eyes interested in me rather than my work.

  “Surprisingly, no, I don’t,” I admitted. “Everything they tell me leaves me the moment I put a brush to canvas. What you see on the wall is my therapy. All of their emotions, feelings, and dreams go directly into the painting.”

  “Intriguing. Do you follow this same procedure for commissioned work?”

  I bobbed my head from side to side. “I try to, but with a commissioned work you’re under a time crunch. When I’m painting a muse, time loses all value.”

  Steve rubbed his jaw, seemingly impressed, which was a good sign. With all hope, that would lead to a hefty check to the bank.

  The rest of the event went off without a hitch. I sold more paintings than I could’ve imagined and was commissioned for two original pieces. It was like my birthday, Halloween, and Christmas all rolled into one.

  After the show, I returned home high on adrenaline. I needed to burn off some steam. There was no way I could sleep in the state I was in. So, I changed into my favorite jeans and vintage rock tee, and made my way into my studio. Painting was a natural balm to my nerves.

  The moon shone high in the sky through my pane glass window. From where I stood, I could see the heavy wind blowing through the trees. Nature scenes weren’t really my thing, but the image before me was beautiful and serene. I felt the need to capture it on canvas.

  My brush flew over the white fabric surface. Inspiration pulsed through me with each stroke of paint. After what felt like minutes, but was probably more like hours, I stepped back to examine my handiwork. At the sight before me, I dropped my paintbrush to the ground and clapped my hands over my mouth. Instead of painting a full moon hanging high in the winter sky, I stared into the most magnificent blue eyes I’d ever seen. My heart pounded against the cage of my chest, as I moved in closer to the canvas. It was as if I’d been bewitched.

  The painting was amazing. Hard lines and smooth edges, drawing in the essence of each oceanic pool. I shook my head hard, my eyes throbbing with unshed tears brought on by the magnitude of those eyes.

  Without even thinking, I grabbed my coat and stepped out into the night. I had to get away from that painting. Its presence frightened me.

  I had no idea where I was going. The night held a magical quality that affected me in ways only described in Greek tragedies, which didn’t bode well for me. I wasn’t about to let that stop me, though. At least my feet knew where they wanted to go, and my mind would simply have to keep up.

  The streets were busy, full of Saturday night activity. I walked down Main Street, enjoying the buzz in the atmosphere. People seemed unfazed by the high winds and low temperature. They stood on the corner of the street drinking, dancing, and making out.

  Street musicians played, ignoring the cold for a few bucks. Stiff hands and calloused fingers moved over strings and chords with ease. The music was beautiful, though I was more interested in the people gathered around them. Part of me wished I’d brought my sketchbook with me.

  When the bitter wind became too much for me to handle, I made my way down the block to my favorite diner. It was open all night and had some of the best coffee in the city. I stepped into the warmth of the throwback establishment and inhaled the luscious scent of grease and fresh coffee.

  “Hey, Shadow.” Dovey waved at me. “Sit anywhere you want.”

  Okay, it was safe to say I was a regular.

  “Thanks, Dovey,” I called back and moved to a booth near the radiator.

  The older woman wearing a grease-stained apron and a hairnet meandered over to my table, placing a beige coffee mug and a carafe of fresh coffee on the table. I smiled up at her, only for her to wrinkle her brow in response. “What on earth did you do to your hair?”

  I felt the top of my head and laughed. Per my agent’s request, I had my hair styled for the evening. Me being me, I couldn’t do anything simple. Nope. I went all Audrey Hepburn Breakfast at Tiffany’s chic.

  “You should’ve seen my dress,” I teased.

  Dovey chuckled and shook her head. “Tonight the big gig, I take it?”

  I nodded, pouring myself a cup of joe. “Yepper. And I scored big.”

  “That’s fantastic, Shadow. Does this mean you’ll be a big spender tonight?”

  I tapped my fingernails against the Formica table top. “You betcha. Double cheeseburger and onion rings.”

  Dovey jotted down my order. “Wow. You really are splurging. Onion rings, too.” She poked her pen against the paper. “I’ll get Freddy right on it.”

  “Thanks.” I picked up my coffee cup and brought it to my mouth. The steam from the mug felt so good against my face. I closed my eyes and took a sip from the warm brew.

  Out of nowhere, someone rammed into my elbow, causing half the mug to spill down my chest. I yelped at the impact and immediately attempted to pull my shirt away from my body. “What the fuck, asshole?” I screamed, grabbing napkins by the handful from the canister on my table.

  “Shit!” a deep, masculine voice pierced my ears. “I’m so sorry about this.” He grabbed napkins from the dispenser. “Please, let me help you.”

  His large, slender fingers twisted into the fabric of my tee, pulling the material away from my stomach as his other hand briskly ran the napkin down my chest. My whole body tingled at this man’s touch. There was something naughty and exciting about his hands moving over me in such a familiar manner. I knew I should push him away. He had no right touching my breasts, even in a chivalrous manner, yet I couldn’t ignore how hard my nipples pebbled as his fingers brushed over them.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. My eyes darted up and my heart stopped beating at the sight of those blue eyes staring down at me. It was him. Blue-Eyes from the gallery.

  “I … ah … um … yeah,” I stumbled over each syllable. “I’m fine.”

  I couldn’t help but take him in now that he was so close to me. His messy hair was the most amazing color I’d ever seen. A mixture of browns with facets of gold and red. My fingers itched to mix paints to recreate such hues. His jawline was strong and masculine and his body firm and sculpted to perfection. That sexy crooked grin from the show returned. My mind reeled with poses to place him in, while fighting the ache in my chest that his eyes brought.

  As if he realized where he was touching me, he stepped back. A pit in my stomach developed for not having shoved him away but also for not grabbing hold of him and keeping him close. “Let me pay for your meal. It’s the least I can do.”

  I smiled, peering up at him through my eyelashes. “Only if you’ll join me.”

  He pursed his lips, tilting his head. “Are you sure? I figured you’d want me long gone after my display of bumbling buffoonery.”

  I templed my fingers beneath my chin and grinned. “Maybe a moment ago, yes, but there’s no way you’re getting away now. I have to know more about a man who can use the term bumbling buffoonery in a sentence.”

  Laughter rumbled deep from his chest. “When you put it that way.” He slid into the booth opposite of me, extending his hand to me. I stared at his long fingers, caught up in his grace. His movements were flowing and languid, a composure unusual to men. Refined. “I’m Lucian, by the way. Lucian Britton”

  Our palms met. The feel of his skin against mine, the strength of his hand, the gleam in his eyes, changed me. Air smelled fresher. Lights shone brighter. Sounds were
clearer. It was as if I’d been walking through life asleep, and for the first time in my life I was awake.

  “Hi,” I whispered, breathless.

  I met his gaze to find his blue eyes widened and his brow pinched together. “I’m Sha─”

  “I know,” he interrupted. “Shadow Kingsley. Your work is amazing.”

  “Thank you.”

  Dovey approached the table and took Lucian’s order. From there, we spent the remainder of the evening and into the early morning hours chatting. The longer we talked, the more captivated I became by him. We had so much in common. Both artists, although he was a pianist, he understood the pull of a muse when it appeared. When he talked about music, he came to life. His passion for his work mirrored my own.

  It wasn’t until I caught sight of the sun starting to rise over the buildings that I noticed how much time had passed. We’d spent the entire night talking and it felt as though we’d merely scratched the surface of getting to know one another.

  As we got up from the table, I somehow found the nerve within me to ask Lucian if I could paint him. Even though I’d been gazing into those eyes all night, when they met mine, my brain melted into mush. “Lucian,” I started, clearing my throat. “I was wondering …”

  “Yes?”

  I tugged at my ear and shifted from side to side. I’ve asked hundreds of people to paint them. Why would this make me so nervous?

  “I was wondering if you might sit for me some time?”

  “As in you painting my portrait?” he clarified.

  I nodded.

  “But why? I’m not a model.”

  I felt the blush creep up my neck and looked out the window to keep from giving myself away. Even after all the hours of talking to this man, butterflies still fluttered around in my stomach.

  “I seldom use professional models. I like bringing the beauty out of real people.”

  “Is that so?” Lucian gave me his sexy tilted smile. His hand curled at his forehead, leading his fingers through his hair. I’d watched him do this many times through the evening and was fascinated by the way he bent his long fingers every time he ran his hand through his hair. Most people simply slid their hand across their head, but not Lucian. Rather than weaving his fingers through his hair, he would bow his hand in such a way that his fingertips would drag along his scalp.

  “I know it’s a lot to ask. It’ll be long hours, some late nights, but I pay well.”

  Lucian blinked those big blue eyes of his, capturing me once again in their snare. “You had me at long hours and late nights,” he teased, placing his hand on my shoulder. A wave of warmth and excitement shot down my spine. I swallowed hard, forcing my thoughts away from his touch.

  I wiggled free from his hand, not wishing him to see how my body pebbled from head to toe. I grabbed a napkin and scrawled my name, phone number, and address across it with Dovey’s pen.

  Afterward, he bid me goodbye and I left the diner, flying higher than when I came in.

  Fatigue finally hit me when I arrived home. The instant my head hit the pillow I was gone. Several hours later, I awoke disoriented, with my heart pounding, sweat coating my skin, and panting to catch my breath. My dream had been so vivid, so erotic that my skin tingled from the remnants of its delight.

  I closed my eyes and allowed the images of my dream to replay through my mind. Perfect pink colored lips smiling at me. A brush of heated fingertips on my skin. An angular jaw tight and gritting. And a pair of blue eyes, his blue eyes, piercing straight into my soul. It felt raw and feral, skin against skin, heat, passion, a fire igniting inside me, and a desire that wouldn’t be squelched.

  “Lucian.” His name poured from my lips. The dream felt so real that losing it caused my chest to ache.

  I covered my face with my hands, pushing away the emotions welling up inside me. This was silly. He was just a man. Nothing more. I was better than this.

  At least that’s what I thought until I reached over and grabbed my cell phone. A huge smile burst across my cheeks. Lucian had texted me, wishing me a good morning. I replied and practically squealed when those three little dots began to bounce, indicating he was responding. His next message inquired if I might be interested in sitting in on his rehearsal. Well, that was a no brainer. Of course I would. Without a second thought, I responded with a resounding yes. This was the perfect opportunity for me to witness him in his natural element.

  I rushed to my bathroom to take a shower, grousing the entire time I pulled the bobby pins from my hair, letting it tumble down my shoulders. Once I was clean, dressed, and ready to impress, I grabbed my bag and hauled ass out the door. The next train to that side of town was scheduled to leave in twenty minutes. If I ran, I might be able to squeak in.

  Sadly, I didn’t make it in time, which delayed my arrival to the performance center by nearly an hour. When I arrived, rehearsal had already started. I seated myself in the balcony so I might see the entire stage. Sounds of the orchestra filled the air, causing my chest to rumble. Each instrument melded with the other, creating the perfect harmony. I watched Lucian close, his fingers flying over the ivories with care and precision. He stroked each key like one would tantalize a lover. Expertly bringing each note to life as it filled the auditorium. I was amazed at his demeanor as he played.

  I grabbed my sketchbook from my bag, and started drawing him in this manner. He was relaxed, calm, comfortable, and completely in his element. Having these sketches would help me paint him later, and I found myself getting more and more excited about this project.

  After a while I placed my sketchpad to the side and closed my eyes, allowing the music to consume me. It was perfect, flowing, commanding, yet all the while, soft, smooth, and seductive. Rehearsal lasted nearly three hours, but once again I felt no shift in time. It held still whenever I was in Lucian’s presence.

  He raised his eyes to the balcony upon the last note and wiggled his fingers in my direction. My heart fluttered and a smile pulled at my lips. I made my way down into the auditorium, heading toward the stage.

  “I’m so glad you came,” he called out, bouncing off the stage in a single bound. “When we started and you weren’t here, I feared you weren’t coming.”

  “I was late getting to the station.”

  We met in the center of the aisle, eyes locked. Pulling me to him, he wrapped his arms around me and once again I had the feeling of being whole. I buried my face in his chest, breathing him in deep.

  “I worried you might’ve fallen back to sleep.”

  I lifted my face, realizing just how close we were. His tongue peeked past his lips, leaving a light sheen on his skin. “Are you kidding me?” I breathed. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

  “Ackhem.”

  Lucian withdrew from our embrace and turned to the blonde bombshell standing behind him. My heart sank in my chest. It was the woman from last night. She was even more beautiful up close. “Who’s your friend, Lu?”

  Lucian motioned toward me. “Stacy, this is Shadow Kingsley. Shadow, this is Stacy. She plays the cello,” he added.

  Stacy crossed her arms over her chest, one brow lifted. “That’s it? That’s all I am? A cello player?”

  My stomach sank to my knees. Of course she wasn’t just a cello player. She was either his girlfriend or wife. Just my luck.

  Lucian belted out a laugh. He wrapped his arm around the woman’s shoulders and kissed her temple. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Shadow,” he popped the woman with his hip, “meet my sister.”

  “Sister?” He had to have been fucking with me. These two couldn’t be siblings. They looked nothing alike.

  “Try stepsister,” she explained.

  “Oh … oh!” My eyebrows popped up. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Lucian.” Someone called from the stage. All three of us looked up at the conductor who was frantically waving him over.

  “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, ladies.”

  “Take your time.�
�� Stacy moved in beside me to watch him walk away. I couldn’t help but notice that in those jeans, his ass looked amazing. “You should’ve seen your face just now,” Stacy teased once Lucian was out of earshot.

  I groaned, pulling my hair over my shoulder, toying with the ends. There had to be a way to get out of this awkwardness. I tugged a split end apart, struggling for words, only to be rescued by Stacy. “So, Lu tells me you’re going to paint his portrait.”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “It’s his eyes, isn’t it?”

  I pulled another split end apart, curling the free hair with my thumb nail. “I can’t deny it. His eyes draw me in.”

  “They do most women.”

  “Does he date a lot?” The question was out of my mouth before I could stop it.

  Stacy chuckled, the tone sad and a little vacant. “Some, but Lu wears his heart on his sleeve and sadly, women take advantage of that.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck, suddenly feeling a little caged in. “You don’t think I would─”

  Her forehead crinkled. “Not intentionally, no.” Stacy turned so we faced one another. “This morning, after Lucian arrived home─”

  “You live together?”

  “Yes. I know. It’s weird. Since we’re both with the same company, it helps with expenses. But that’s beside the point. When he got in this morning, he did something I haven’t heard him do in years.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck and swallowed hard. “What?”

  “He played.”

  Okay, I was confused. “Huh? I don’t get it. He was just playing.” I pointed toward the stage.

  “You’re right. You don’t get it. Lucian played his music. Not someone else’s. For the first time in two maybe three years, I heard his melody and it was more beautiful than anything I’ve ever heard come from him before.”

  I shifted my weight, realizing the magnanimity of what she was saying. “Really?”

  She let out a heavy sigh. “Yes. You inspire him just as much as he inspires you, and that scares me because I don’t want to see him hurt again.”