Work of Art ~ Book 3 The Masterpiece

by Ruth Clampett

  I feel an overwhelming desire as he quickly takes off his shirt. It could be the wine or the hot Parisian accent everyone has. But I’ve no doubt it’s because my man is following me to New York to be by my side, and I’ll do anything to show him how happy that makes me. His decision has set my heart free.

  I slide off my panties, but the bra and garter remain. My legs are luminescent from the sheer silk stockings. “I’m going to make you so glad you’re coming to New York with me,” I say, as I fall back on the bed, my hair fanning across the silk pillows.

  His eyes widen.

  “How many days has it been?”

  He sighs. “Since I’ve had you in my bed? An eternity.”

  “Have you missed me?”

  “In every way. Let’s make up for lost time.”

  I run my impatient hands between my thighs and over my breasts as he removes the last of his clothing. He intently watches every move I make.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “You, always you.”

  “Oh, baby,” he says in a low, thick voice. “I need you…I need to be inside of you.”

  I reach for him as he settles over me and takes me into his arms.

  Everything is different now that our future is certain. This is new, a beginning I once feared could be an end.

  “I need you too,” I whisper, as I wrap my legs around him and he eases inside of me. We start slow, whispers and lingering kisses, skin to skin, heart to heart, as he fills me again and again. But, like everything between us, the intensity builds and builds until it can’t be contained. The resulting passion is poetry, a cadence full of raw emotion as we tumble and shimmer over the sheets.

  I kiss him with my whole heart as my approaching climax takes control. Words and sensations of every shape and color flutter around me.

  He’s making love to me with everything he has. “So close,” he whispers.

  “Oh, God, please,” I moan, as he pushes deeper, intently watching me with fire around his edges.

  “Ava…”

  I breathe him in. “Always love me like this.”

  He pulls me closer. “Always.”

  I’m unfolding—the most intricate origami coming undone.

  In my bliss, his heart beats furiously just for me. His thrusts get harder, and I cry out for him. Just before I close my eyes with pleasure, I see an overwhelming love in his eyes. We finish passionately, a mix of tears, smiles, and lusty moans as we float away on our cloud of flawed perfection. Beautiful.

  In the soft light, we slowly uncurl across the bed. As he holds me in his arms, I slowly turn my promise ring around my finger and admire it. I smile and glance up. Max studies me intently, his eyes wide and his expression soft.

  He takes my hand and runs his finger over the ring nestled on my finger. His smile melts me. “You’re really mine, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  As I watch him, I reflect on the reality of our future. We’re both flawed and most likely always will be. He’s my possessive moody boy, and I’m his obsessive insecure girl. Knowing that, we must accept there will be some hard moments stirred into our beautiful life, but I’m no longer afraid. We have a big love that will get us through. This level of intensity and passion may not be for everyone, but it’s who we are and it’s worth fighting for.

  As we gently kiss, I already feel married, bound to him in a way that transcends a legal document or big wedding ceremony. Whether in New York or Malibu, Paris or a small town, as long as we’re together, we’ll make it work. We may wait a year to make it official, but we have promised each other our futures, and that future starts right now.

  We have embraced our undeniable destiny. Here in Paris, with the world at our feet, we are steady and sure. It’s me and my Max…forever.

  Epilogue

  ~ Seven Years Later~

  What would it be like if you lived each day, each breath as a work of art in progress? Imagine that you are a Masterpiece unfolding, every second of every day, a work of art taking form with every breath.

  ~ Thomas Crum

  Even though I hear the waves crashing and feel the sun warm on my skin, it still takes a moment to realize where I am. The sounds draw me further out of my nap, the gentle breeze gliding over me, the softest sable brush painting me across the sand.

  His voice, the one that makes my heart beat faster, sparks my attention.

  “Elizabeth! Stop right there, what did I tell you about going up to dogs you don’t know?”

  I open my eyes in time to see her head of auburn curls turn back toward him, her wide blue eyes guilty. The frisky terrier takes off to chase a bird near the water.

  “But, Daddy, he’s such a nice doggy.”

  He scoops her up in his arms and carries her back to where our towels are spread on the sand.

  “He may be a very nice dog, baby girl, but he doesn’t know you, so he could bite you just because he’s scared or nervous. You have to promise me not to go up to doggies you don’t know.”

  She leans her cheek against his. “Okay, Daddy. I promise.”

  The love radiating off the two of them is brilliantly blinding. He plants a kiss on her forehead, turns toward me, and notices I’m awake. His smile is warmer than the sun.

  “Look, Lizzie, Mommy’s awake.”

  She comes over to me and pats my head with her sticky little hand. Her tender touch makes my heart flutter.

  “Hi, Mommy. Did you have a good nap?”

  I yawn and stretch. “Sure did, Sweet pea. What have you been up to?” I reach out and pull her closer, her legs and arms folding until she settles into my arms.

  “Daddy took me in the water, and guess what? Daddy promised he would take me surfing soon. I’m going to ride on his surfboard with him like in Lilo and Stitch!”

  I give him a look, raising my eyebrows.

  He gives me a big smile back and shrugs his shoulders.

  “Anything for my girl.”

  She gazes at him with adoration, because he may be her daddy, but he is Max. After eight years of watching what just his presence does to females, I should know.

  “Well, we’ll see about that,” I kick back, knowing he likes it when I keep him in line. I’ll try to act like the adult in this equation, but the two of them can wind around my heart and easily throw me off course.

  Back at the house, brushed off and washed up, Lizzie swings her legs while she pulls lettuce out of the salad spinner. She carefully picks up one piece at a time and drops it in the bowl. I know I shouldn’t let her sit on the counter, but she likes to be up high where she can help and watch us cook.

  “Are you making chickypikadah, Mommy?”

  “No, Sweet pea, not chicken piccata. Just some simple pasta with our salad.”

  Whatever happened to kids eating chicken nuggets and Kraft Mac n’ Cheese?

  I swear, Max has done a number on our girl. She’ll be a culinary social outcast in kindergarten. He packed a bento box of sushi for the pre-school picnic, and she heard about it for days.

  “Don’t worry about following the crowds, Lizzie,” he told her. ”You’ll set the trends, and before you know it, they’ll all want sushi for lunch.”

  Of course, Dad was proud the teacher couldn’t get over our four year-old’s dexterity with chopsticks. Just another one of Max’s traits she’s inherited.

  I smile when I think about what a great dad Max has turned out to be. I have to admit, I was nervous at first, knowing what a dramatic change our life would take being parents, and Max never handled change well. He needs lots of quiet time and attention from me. How would he handle the unpredictable noise and demands of a baby and my focus being devoted to another?

  But from the moment in the delivery room when he tearfully cradled her in his arms, I knew my fears were for naught. If anything, I’d have flashes of jealousy at sharing him sometimes, to see him gaze at her with his all-consuming love and devotion. Still, the mothering side of me would always win to know our
baby had a daddy who loved her more than life itself.

  “Hey, girls, how’s lunch coming?” he asks, as he bounds into the kitchen, freshly showered and wonderfully distracting.

  “Almost ready. Will you cut the tomatoes for our helper?”

  He cuts the wedges and hands them one at a time to her, and she carefully drops them into the bowl. “You’re such a good salad maker, Lizzie.” He winks at her, and then turns to me.

  “I got another call from Sondra at the Guggenheim. They’re still looking at summer next year for the show.”

  “That’s great! So it’s really going to happen?”

  “It sure looks like it. It’s lucky they’ve set it for July…so it won’t conflict with Lizzie starting Kindergarten.”

  “Kindie garden!” Lizzie squeals, clapping her hands. She’s excited to move to her new school.

  “My baby girl is growing up, Mommy,” Max says. “She’s going to be hanging with the big kids in the big K.”

  Lizzie glows.

  “She is! And now she can start with everyone else,” I reply, relieved. “You know, as great as all the traveling has been, once school starts we’re going to have to settle down.”

  “I’ve already told Dylan,” he agrees. “Like the amazing month-long tour of shows and events in Asia last fall. We can’t do stuff like that unless it’s during her summer break.”

  I look over at Lizzie, who’s re-focused on her salad, now dropping in the toasted pine nuts as she sings to herself.

  After lunch, we have a little chat as I tuck her in for her nap.

  “Mommy, are Leo and Pablo still coming over tomorrow?” She makes a face like she just bit into something sour.

  “Yes, why Sweet pea? Is there a problem?”

  “I’m really mad at Leo.”

  “Really? I thought he was your best friend? Did you have a fight?”

  “He said his momma was a better artist than Daddy.”

  I laugh to myself. That’s Jess’s boy all right.

  “Well, what Leo will learn is that there is no such thing as better in art. Just like no one color is better than another.”

  “But I like yellow best, Mommy. It’s better than the others.”

  “That means it’s your favorite, baby, that doesn’t make it better than the other colors. I love purple best. It just means yellow is your favorite and purple is mine.”

  “And what’s Daddy’s favorite?”

  “You’ll have to ask him, but my guess is that it changes with his mood.” I laugh to myself. Oh, if she only knew.

  “Butterfly kiss, Mommy,” Lizzie reminds me before I get up to leave. When I was young, my mom used to give me butterfly kisses by fluttering her eyelashes against my cheek. Lizzie giggles as I do the same for her before I pull the blanket up around her. I stand in the doorway, watching her close her eyes and relax.

  When I head back downstairs, I find Max on the couch debating with someone on the phone. I only have to listen for a bit to realize that he’s talking to Dylan. I can feel Max’s tension rise the longer they talk. I step behind him and start rubbing his shoulders and running my hands through his hair. Almost immediately, I can feel his mood shift. When they sign off, he pats the cushion next to him. I curl up by his side.

  “What’s up?” I stroke his thigh as he sighs, letting his head fall back.

  “I’m just feeling so much pressure. I’m glad that Dylan has made all this headway into the Chinese market and finding serious new collectors, but I’m starting to feel like I can’t keep up. Plus, there’s so much I need to do with the foundation.”

  “Is it me, or has he gotten even more ambitious since he and Riley had the twins?”

  “It’s not just you. He was telling me right after he got Riley home with the babies that the weight of providing for his kids’ future really hit him.”

  “Well, is there anything I can do to lower your stress? Maybe there are other things I can take off your plate so you can focus solely on painting? I can help with the foundation stuff too.”

  “You’re a love to ask, but aren’t you going to be going into pre-production meetings soon to develop the new season? You’re going to be as busy as I am. We’ll need Delia here with Lizzie full time.”

  “Well, I wanted to talk to you about that. You know my contract is up for renewal. What do you think about me talking to Jackson about taking some time off? I could work on the new book from home, and then have a lot more time for Lizzie and to support you with what you need.”

  “Are you sure you’d want to do that? You wouldn’t miss the TV stuff?”

  “I’m tired, and Sweet pea is growing up so fast. I’d love to have more time with her. And you’ve always supported me with my work. I’d like to do more to help you. Besides, Jackson said I can do a few specials to keep my foot in the door. Last season was particularly rough, so he said they’re half-expecting me to take a break.”

  “Well, Lizzie and I would love to have you around more. I think it’s a great idea, but only if it’s really what you want to do.”

  “I’m sure. Okay then, I’ll call him this afternoon.”

  He turns toward me and frames my face with his hands. His gaze is intense, as if he’s looking right into my soul.

  “I love you, woman…so damn much.”

  “I love you too.” When our lips meet, it’s like warm honey on my lips. All the love radiates through me until even my little toe is ready to play footsy with his.

  He pulls me closer and touches me just so, and before you know it, I’m straddling him as he kisses me, his hands weaving through my long hair.

  “What do you think?” His eyes twinkle as his hands graze my breasts. He starts to slowly pull my shirt open.

  “She’s a really good napper.”

  “Just like her mommy.” His hands cup my breasts, his thumbs teasing my nipples.

  “And she’s up there, and we’re down here.” I kiss his neck and nip his ear lobe with my teeth.

  “We could be quiet.”

  “And fast.” I shut my eyes and smile as he kisses the swell at the top of my breasts.

  “Not too fast,” he groans, as I rock my hips provocatively. I lift up so that I can slip my hand between us and grasp him through his jeans.

  “You feel so good,” I sigh, as I palm him while he undoes his buckle.

  He lets out a loud moan.

  Her little voice is stern. “Mommy, why are you hurting Daddy?”

  Damn! Before we turn to look at our girl, with her Shirley Temple pout and hands on her hips, we share a horrified wide-eyed look.

  I lift up enough so Max can buckle his belt without her seeing. At the same time, I pull my shirt closed.

  “Sweet pea, Mommy wasn’t hurting Daddy.”

  “Daddy sounds like he’s hurt. Are you okay, Daddy?”

  He coughs, looking horrified. “Yeah, baby girl, Mommy was just giving me a massage and I moaned because it was helping me feel better.”

  She raises her eyebrows, clearly not buying it. We concluded a while ago that Lizzie is much smarter than either one of us.

  “I didn’t hear a thing—she’s never that quiet,” I whisper with frustration as I shift off his lap.

  “Yeah, suddenly she’s stealthy,” he agrees quietly, as he pulls a throw pillow across his lap. “I have a new nickname for her—mini-Ninja.”

  “Don’t give her any ideas,” I say, before turning back toward our little one who is still in a stand-off, her tiny arms now folded across her chest.

  “What are you doing out of bed anyway, Elizabeth? You’re supposed to be napping.”

  “I needed to ask Daddy what his best, favorite color was.”

  “And that couldn’t wait until after your nap?” I ask, exasperated.

  She shrugs her shoulders.

  “Come on, Lizzie,” I say, as I get off the couch and take her hand. “You know this is nap time, and if you don’t nap, you aren’t going to have art time with Daddy.”

  �
��Okay,” she says, understanding what’s at stake. She smiles at Daddy and waves. Her studio visits with him are her favorite time and, I suspect, his too.

  We’re a few steps up the stairs when we hear Max call out.

  “Blue.”

  We both turn back to see him smiling.

  “Your favorite color is blue?” I ask, curious.

  “Why blue, Daddy?” Lizzie says.

  “’cause it’s the color of my baby girl’s eyes.”

  “Is it time yet, Mommy?” She rubs the last bit of nap from her sleepy expression.

  I smile as I watch her drink her juice and nibble on her crackers.

  “Five more minutes, Sweet pea. Let’s finish this book first.”

  As soon as Lizzie was old enough to walk and express herself with words, she made it clear she wanted to spend every possible moment in the studio with Max while he painted. At first, he was so proud and delighted, but he quickly realized that it made it almost impossible to get work done. So we created a compromise where she had a date with him for thirty minutes any day that he was working. There were times their dates would last an hour, or once only five minutes when Lizzie started to have a meltdown because she wanted to paint on one of his finished canvases. But, for the most part, we tried to keep to a strict schedule because it made all of our lives easier to navigate. There is Daddy-time in the studio and Lizzie/Daddy time in the studio.

  I notice he’s rotated his work on the walls when we step inside. There’s a mix of color studies and a few pieces from previous series that he didn’t want to give up. I asked him once why he kept Rock, Paper, Scissors up in the studio, a painting that was part of a series inspired by children’s games. He painted it when Lizzie was about two. It was one of his only groups of work that had harsh reviews, even though he really loved it. He explained to me that it continues to hang over his desk both to humble and inspire him. He stays true to his art, insisting he’ll never paint for the critics, and I admire him for that.

  The little artist’s ridiculously fancy easel is next to his. I made a fuss when he bought it, but she’s very proud of her easel, and she loves to paint next to him. The sounds of the Benny Goodman Orchestra float through the air as Sweet pea bounces with excitement.