My stomach began to tighten, my impending climax ripping through my spine. I wanted to let go, needed to, but I refused to make the leap without Lucian. Sensing my hesitation, Lucian leaned forward, wrapping my entire body with his and whispered in my ear, “Come for me, Rochelle. Let me see the music.”
I bit down hard on his smooth, strong shoulder as I lost all control. The force of my climax halted my movements. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. All I could do was feel. Feel him twitching inside me. Feel his body encasing mine. His breath as haggard and forced as my own. It was overwhelming and frightening, yet never had I felt more alive. I kissed his sweet lips, feeling such passion for this man and I suddenly dreaded the moment I had to let him go.
“Lucian …” my voice was muffled.
His blue eyes lifted to meet my gaze. “I don’t want to let go, either.”
“Then don’t.” The words escaped my lips so easily that I knew it had to be my heart talking. “Stay with me.”
A soft purr escaped his lips. He shifted us to our sides, laying us down on the sofa. I curled into him, pulling my painters tarp from the floor and wrapping it around us. My eyes drooped closed, exhausted. The sensation of him smoothing my hair comforted me. What just happened between us had been in the making since we first met. The perfect combination of music and art.
I drifted off to sleep not knowing what the future held for us, but knowing that no matter what, this beautiful man was mine.
My eyes fluttered opened and I stretched, every muscle tense from sleeping on the sofa. Lucian’s grip tightened around me. I smiled, lifting my eyes to see his peaceful face. The urge to paint him, just like this, overtook me. I shimmied from his sleeping grasp, slipped his t-shirt over my head, and maneuvered to my easel.
The early morning light filtered into the room, creating the most beautiful glow. With my brush in my hand, I allowed my mind to relax and began to place paint to canvas. Much like the night I first met Lucian, it was as if I was consumed. My inspiration held no boundaries.
Only the sound of my cell phone stopped me. I reached over to the table and turned my back to Lucian and my canvas, answering the intruding device.
“Ms … Shadow,” came a voice I was startled to hear on the end of the line.
“Speaking.”
“I’m sorry for calling so early in the morning. I hope I didn’t wake you. Your agent provided me with this number.”
“It’s fine. I was merely working.”
“Ah, well, I’ll be brief, then. This is Steve Solomon.”
I rubbed my hands on a towel, propping the phone between my ear and shoulder. “Yes, sir.”
“I’m leaving for Paris in the morning and I would like to extend an offer for you to join me.”
I nearly dropped the phone. “Me?”
“Yes. We would be gone for a few weeks, but I want your expert eye on a some pieces I’m considering for purchase.”
“I’m not an art buyer. I’m a painter.”
“Which is exactly what I want. I have a buyer. All she cares about is value. I want someone who understands the depth of a work. I wish to glean knowledge. This would also work to your benefit as an artist, for there are many dealers in Paris looking for a fresh style like yours.”
This was an opportunity of a lifetime. I pivoted around to find Lucian standing behind me. His arms were crossed over his bare chest and the expression in his eyes almost broke my heart.
“May I have some time to think it over?” I asked, locked in Lucian’s gaze.
Steve huffed in frustration. “You have ’til noon.”
“Thank you,” I uttered.
We disconnected the call and Lucian’s shoulders slumped. “You’re leaving me, aren’t you?”
I licked my lips, taking a step toward him. “Steve Solomon wants to take me to Paris with him. He thinks he can get me in front of some major dealers.”
Lucian rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze dropping to his feet. “That’s fantastic, Rochelle.”
A sadness overcame my senses at the manner in which he said my name. “Nobody calls me Rochelle anymore. Not even my own mother.”
He shrugged a shoulder, still not meeting my gaze. “Well, I do.”
No argument there. I actually liked the way my legal name sounded coming from his lips. I moved a step closer to him. “If you want, I’ll tell him no.”
Lucian sat down on the sofa and patted the seat beside him. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
I slid down next to him, taking his hand. “You’re not asking, though. I’m offering.”
He linked his fingers with mine. “Not much difference to me.” Lucian wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me into his lap, nuzzling his nose to my neck. “How long will you be gone?”
“A few weeks.”
Lucian placed a gentle kiss where his shirt met my neck. “You should go.”
I pulled away, holding his face in my hands. “What about last night? What about us? This is all new, but there’s something here. I feel it. Don’t you?”
Lucian placed a sweet kiss to my lips. “I do. And it’ll still be here when you get back.”
“It feels wrong to leave,” I whimpered.
“It won’t when you get there. I promise.”
I thrust my hand out toward the canvas I’d been working on. “What about our painting?”
His hands slid around the base of my shoulders, drawing me to him. “Everything will be here when you get back.”
I wanted to plead with him. To beg him not to let me go, even though I wanted to. Chances like this don’t come up that often, and it was a great opportunity to get my name out there. But what I felt with Lucian, it was all consuming. It sang to me. It inspired me. I even suggested Lucian join me, but he couldn’t because of his own job, though I sensed he felt relieved when I asked.
The next morning I found myself on a private plane, sitting across from Steve Solomon, with a heavy heart and a beautiful memory of a sweet goodbye kiss from the man who’d stolen my heart.
Three weeks turned into a month, and I was antsy to get back to Lucian and my painting. Steve hadn’t been exaggerating when he said I would make some serious contacts. Paris was crawling with art dealers itching to find the next big thing. Everywhere we went, Steve talked up my work. So much I’d started painting right there in Paris.
But my heart felt as if a piece of it was missing. In the beginning, Lucian and I talked and texted all day long. Then work took over and I was constantly busy. Our conversations went from several times a day to once daily then every other day. And my mood began to sink with the lack of communication.
Today it was worse than it ever had been. Steve told me we were staying another month. I couldn’t deny it was a great opportunity for my career, but I could only imagine how Lucian would take it. I cried for hours before calling him, but I knew what needed to be done. There was no easy way to handle it. I simply had to rip off the band-aid.
With a heavy heart, I dialed his number. He answered after only one ring.
“Hey, Lucian,” I answered, trying to sound upbeat, knowing I failed miserably.
“What’s wrong?” he responded.
I rubbed the back of my neck and started pacing the floor. “You know how I told you I should be coming home on Sunday?”
“Uh-huh.”
“It looks like I’m going to be here another month.”
“What?” His usually calm voice raised several octaves.
“I’m sorry. There’s an art show coming up in a couple of weeks and Steve wants to display some of my pieces.”
“Steve. Right.” His tone was clipped, aggravated. Not that I could blame him.
I lowered to a squat, balancing on the balls of my feet. My whole body ached, as if I’d been standing in the middle of traffic and a semi ran over me. “It’s just a few more weeks.”
“And then it’ll be a few more. Then a few more,” he snapped.
My stomach churned. �
�Lucian, please understand.”
“Oh, I do. But I have to know,” he paused a moment, “are you sleeping with him?”
I jolted upward, my stomach rolling. “What?”
“Steve. Are you sleeping with him?”
I swallowed back the bile threatening to come up. “What on earth would make you ask a question like that?”
“Well,” Lucian growled, “he’s keeping you away for another month. You’re always together.”
“We work together!”
“In your hotel room? Don’t think I don’t hear when he comes by. I’m not an idiot, Shadow.”
My heart sank. He hadn’t called me Shadow since the day he learned my real name. Tears pricked my eyes. How dare he assume such a thing about me.
“Well?”
I gritted my teeth. “For your information, no. I’m not. I happen to be in love with you, but obviously that doesn’t matter, does it?”
The phone went silent. For a moment I thought he might’ve hung up on me. “Lucian?”
Nothing. Utter silence.
“Lucian, did you hear what I said? I love you.”
“I’ve got to go.” And the line went dead.
My world fell apart. The man I loved was gone. He didn’t believe me. He didn’t trust me. And why should he? I slept with him and left, then admitted my feelings for him over the phone. Hell, I’d dump me, too.
The next morning, I sat alone in my room, lost in my own heartache. My body ached from all my sobs. Needing something, anything to make me feel Lucian’s presence, I slipped my earbuds in my ears and listened to the song he’d recorded for me. The melody was melancholy, filled with longing, despair, heartache─everything I’d felt while without him over the past few weeks. Everything felt within this moment. My heart was missing. It was back home with him.
Then it hit me. I didn’t have to stay.
Lucian and I could work this out. All I needed to do was get back stateside.
I whipped my luggage out and began tossing my belongings inside. There was no way I was letting things end like this between us. I’d get home, find Lucian, and make him see how much I loved him. How much I needed him. My work suffered without him. The light I felt inside was gone and it was because I missed my muse.
In mad haste, I raked my toiletries into my bag, not caring how they might affect my belongings. I could always get new stuff. I couldn’t get a new Lucian. He was one of a kind.
A knock came at the door, stopping me mid-pack. Dammit. That had to be Steve. Well, I’d have to tell him sooner or later of my plans. Now was as good of a time as any. I moseyed to the door and opened it.
My heart leapt from my chest at the sight of him. Lucian, his hand curling through his hair, stared back at me with those soulful blue eyes. There was no hi, how are you. No, I missed you. There was simply him, rushing into my arms and kissing me as if our lives depended upon it. His mouth moved against mine with promises of the future. All of the pain, the sorrow, the missing part of myself was made whole with the touch of his lips.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered against my lips. “I didn’t mean it.” His kiss trailed down my jaw to my ear. “My behavior was foolish. I felt like an idiot for even suggesting such a thing.” The warmth of his mouth, so sweet and passionate, pebbled the skin of my neck. “And when you said you love me─”
I held his face in my hands, pulling him so I could peer into those beautiful eyes. “But I do love you.”
“And I love you, too, but I wasn’t about to say that over the phone. I knew, right then, I had to get to you no matter what.”
“You flew all this way to tell me you love me?”
That piercing smile of his donned his lips. “And to be with you. I couldn’t stand another day without you. And if it means being here, I’ll be here.”
My hands moved to his hair, a part of me still believed he wasn’t really here. “What about your job? Your music?”
“I called in some vacation time and my music,” he placed his hand over my heart, “is right here. Where I belong.”
Three years later, I sat outside, sipping my tea at our favorite café in the heart of Paris, waiting for Lucian. The warm rose colored light peeked over the buildings, so beautiful and serene. I never ceased to wonder why the Expatriates of the Lost Generation chose France as their muse. Beauty filled the air.
So much had changed in my life after that fateful day. It was for that reason Lucian and I returned to Paris each year for our anniversary. This was where we made love like it was our first time. This was where we finally admitted our love for one another. We spent a week here after he arrived and every night was more magical than the previous. By returning yearly, we reconnected to that moment, to that love, and always left refreshed, renewed, and inspired.
Lucian thrived in his music, acquiring a coveted position with an orchestra in Hollywood. Stacy wasn’t too happy about us leaving her behind, but she ended up meeting the perfect girl, falling in love, and getting married. As for me, my art career flourished after leaving Paris. I had more work than I knew what to do with. Steve was a great boost to my career, but even he had to admit that Lucian was the muse my heart had always been seeking.
Over the horizon, I caught sight of a tall shadow moving toward me. I placed my hand over my eyes to get a clear view of the man. My Lucian. My husband, was carrying our little girl in his arms. Her big blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight. My heart swelled with love and joy for my little family. I rubbed my swollen belly and grinned, knowing that soon three would become four. Where once I was a starving artist, now I was the richest woman on the planet. I couldn’t imagine my life being any better.
Jeanne McDonald enjoys writing contemporary fiction filled with spice, romance, drama, and humor. She prides herself in being a mother, a wife, a student of knowledge and of life, a coffee addict, a philosophy novice, a pop culture connoisseur, inspired by music, encouraged by words, and a believer in true love.
Jeanne is the founder of the author co-op, Enchanted Publications, and is an avid supporter of autism awareness.
When she’s not spending time with her family, she can be found reading, writing, enjoying a great film, or diligently working toward her bachelor’s degree in literature. A proud Texan, Jeanne currently resides in the Dallas/Fort Worth area with her family.
You can learn more about Jeanne and her books at www.jeannemcdonald.com
Where to find her:
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First Shot At Love by Lisa B. Kamps
A Baltimore Banners Warm-up Story
Jean-Pierre “JP” Larocque doesn’t believe in love, especially not love at first sight. As a rising star for The Baltimore Banners, the hockey player has his choice of women. Why should he settle for just one? Then he meets Emily Poole. She’s quiet, reserved, maybe a little shy—and completely unlike any woman he’s ever met. Can he convince the woman of his dreams to give him a chance?
Emily has no idea what to make of the sexy hockey player. She’s never met anyone like him before: charming, charismatic, and attentive. Is he merely flirting, or is he after something else? Should she take the chance and end up risking so much more than her heart?
Sometimes opposites really do attract. But is it enough for these two to risk everything and try for a first shot at love?
For Gerrit and Connor …
Thanks for keeping me young!
Jean-Pierre Larocque never thought he’d abuse a cucumber in such a way but desperation made a man do strange things. He grabbed the sorriest looking one from the pile then nudged his cart closer to the angel, not quite hitting her with it.
“Could you help me?” He thickened his accent, knowing how women reacted to it. Why, he had no idea, but he had no problems using it to his advantage when he wanted to.
And he very much wanted to.
The angel slid her gaze toward him ever so briefly, barely looking at him before turning back to study the bin of vegeta
bles. Then she did the unthinkable: she shifted away from him, cart and all.
No, that wouldn’t do.
JP nudged his cart even closer, leaning over it like a young child and holding the cucumber out toward the angel. Time to pull out the heavy ammunition. “Excuse me,” he said in French, the accent heavy, the words thick and rich. “Could you help?”
She looked over at him again, this time actually looking at him. She reached up with one small hand and tucked the waves of spun-gold hair behind her ear. Then the angel turned her head the other way, as if she thought he was talking to someone else.
And then she did the unthinkable again: she moved her cart and stepped away from him.
What the hell?
Time for a full-blown assault. JP grabbed another stupid cucumber from the pile and stepped around his cart, moving closer to the angel who didn’t seem to notice him. He stopped beside her, close enough to get her attention but not so close he’d scare her off.
She glanced at him again, took a step back and collided with her own cart. JP reached for her, steadying her with a gentle hold on her elbow. Then he gave her a smile—his charming lopsided grin that women found irresistible.
Her eyes widened in surprise and she looked down, first at the hand wrapped around her elbow then at the hand holding the two cucumbers. JP didn’t hesitate, just brought the cucumbers closer to her face.
“Which of these would you use?”
Someone snorted behind him, the sound loud and obnoxious. JP didn’t bother to turn around, not even to glare at his teammate, Alec Kolchak. He was too mesmerized by the faint blush coloring the angel’s cheeks, the barest hint of pink as her gaze moved from the cucumbers to him and back again.
“I—” The blush deepened and she shook her head, her full lips pursing in a delightful pout. Or maybe it was a smirk. JP couldn’t really tell and he didn’t really care, not when all he could think about was how soft those lips would feel against his skin.
He forced his gaze away from that luscious mouth, felt his chest tighten when he looked into her eyes. Deep blue, like the ocean—so deep, he could easily drown in them. Waves of desire crashed over him, startling him.
Love Happens Page 21