His erection was hard and thick, fluid beading the tip. He’d been in control long enough. She pushed up and licked across the tip, humming with the taste of him. Grasping him with one hand, she licked around the head and down the shaft, tracing a vein with her tongue.
Like he’d watched her, she watched him. When she took the end fully into her mouth, his head fell back, his hand weaving into her hair. She continued to suck him, taking him a little deeper with every pass.
A growly curse erupted a split second before he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. He grabbed the drop cloth from the couch and tossed it on the floor. Her breasts painted his chest, the rainbow of colors swirling with the black ink of his tattoo.
His eyes crinkled like he was smiling even as the rest of him was tensed and expectant. She pushed him to the floor and straddled him. He reached for his shorts and pulled out a square, handing it to her.
She ripped the condom open with her teeth and covered him. Fitting him at her entrance, she lowered herself slowly, her hands braced on his slippery chest. His hands stayed loose at her hips, letting her dictate the rhythm. She dug her fingers into taut skin, the pleasure-pain of him overwhelming as she lifted nearly off him and back down.
“You drive me crazy, baby.” His voice was gruff, his face drawn and tight. He skimmed his hands up her waist to cup her breasts, his thumbs brushing her nipples. “Can you come with me?”
“I don’t know.” Her thin, reedy voice was nearly unrecognizable.
“You do know. Touch yourself.”
She did. And, with him pinching her nipples, she climaxed again, losing all rhythm, her eyes closing involuntarily even though she wanted to watch him reach the same bliss. He groaned and bucked into her, each movement becoming smaller, until he lay still under her, his hands falling to the floor. She opened her eyes and fell over him, kissing his jaw. His smile eased the intensity of the moment.
“That was the best painting ever. Way better than the one I did of you,” she said.
His laugh vibrated through her, sending a different kind of tingle all the way to her toes. “I’m glad you liked it, but it won’t last as long as the picture you did of me.”
She rolled to his side. Their bodies were a matching rainbow of colors. He helped her off the floor and stretched his hands to the ceiling, unconcerned about his state of nakedness.
The man could have modeled for Michelangelo. His body was a piece of living art. It took an incredible amount of self-control not to grab her T-shirt and cover her not-exactly-flat stomach and too-big breasts.
“Guess we’d better rinse off,” he said.
“I’ll go first.” Grateful for the escape, she took a deep breath and ran-walked to her room.
With her hair still pulled up, she stepped under the water, lifting her face toward the warm spray. The shower door opened, letting in a burst of cool air. She wiped the water from her eyes. Six foot, four inches of muscular, tattooed man had joined her.
“I left your brushes in water. That okay?” He lathered his hands with soap and ran them over her torso, from shoulders to waist, paying special attention to her breasts, the site of her new tattoo, and between her legs. Multihued water swirled at their feet.
After snapping out of a hypnotic trance induced by the black inky swirls on his chest, she followed his lead, soaping her hands and rubbing over his body. The care he took rocked something deep inside of her, beyond the physical, beyond the intellectual, beyond anything she’d ever experienced. The sensation muted her.
He turned the water off and gave her bottom a nudge to get her moving toward the towels. While she wrapped a towel around her like a burrito, he brushed his teeth in the nude, drip-drying on her fuzzy rug.
He walked out, presumably to put on clothes, while she was left to finish getting ready for bed. Staring at herself in the steamed-up mirror, toothpaste foam coming out of her mouth, she wondered what to do. If she didn’t confess her feelings now, they would burst out of her at some inopportune time.
Maybe having the words out in the open would scare him off like the crack of a rifle. She rinsed her mouth, flipped the light off, and went to her dresser. She hesitated. Glancing over her shoulder, she could make out his body, propped up on an elbow, naked to the waist, watching her.
She tugged the tucked end of the towel, and the heavy, damp terry cloth fell around her feet. She pulled a T-shirt over her head and slipped under the covers, but didn’t snuggle close to him. The weight of what she had to say trembled her body. Even her hair felt like it was dancing. She was either fearless or not, and she wanted to start being fearless.
“Life’s a funny thing. Sometimes, I wonder at the twists and turns, and how we get back to where we started.” She wasn’t making any sense, but her tongue kept drawing circles. “Do you think God is up there somewhere rubbing his hands together and laughing?”
“Do I want to know what you’re talking about?” He loomed over her, propped against the headboard.
“Probably not.” Her tongue felt like it had been shot with Novocain. “I love you, Alec.”
What did a firing-squad victim feel once the shot was fired? Relief it was done, or dread for the impact?
He touched her hair so softly she could barely feel it, yet she flinched.
“You love me.” His tone wasn’t wondering or suspicious, but strangely emotionless.
“That’s what I said. I love you.” A longer silence this time, but his hand still played in her hair. Tears burned their way up her throat. “You don’t have to … if there’s not a chance you’ll ever feel the same, don’t drag things out thinking it’ll be easier later. It won’t. But if you think maybe you could grow to … care about me, then I hope you’ll hang around to see where this goes.”
“Why do you assume I don’t already love you?”
“Because…” What could she say that didn’t make her sound insecure and self-conscious? She settled on a shrug that she wasn’t even sure he could see.
He moved over her, his chest pressing against hers, expelling air in a long, slow sigh. His fingers had worked their way into her hair to her scalp, his nose brushing her, his lips achingly close. “How did you know?”
“How did I know what?”
“That I love you but was terrified to tell you.”
She jerked up, popping her forehead against his. He flopped to his back, groaning and rubbing his head. She reversed their position, laying half on top of him and cupping his face. “Say that again.”
“Which part?” The muscles of his cheeks shifted into a smile under her hands.
“Stop teasing me.”
“I love you, Lilliana.”
“Why?”
“Why? Why do you love me?”
“Nope. I asked first.”
He huffed out what might have been an irritated sigh or a slight laugh. “I love the way you laugh. The way you make me laugh.” His voice was rough and quiet as if the words were rubbing across sandpaper on their way out.
“You could watch Comedy Central if all you wanted was to laugh, Alec.”
He spread her hair around her shoulders. “This is hard. Why do you love me?”
She could hear the insecurity behind the question because it mimicked her own. She’d thrown herself into the fray once already with positive results. “I love you because you believe in my painting. I love you for coming to church with me, for installing the surge protector, for bringing the food. I love you because you care about what happens to a seventeen-year-old kid and because you’re trying to forgive your parents. I love you because you make me feel beautiful. I love you because you’re a good person with a big heart.”
“Wow.” His voice cracked with the word.
Silence. She poked him in the ribs. “Now would be a good time to say something.”
“I-I love how you take care of everyone around you not because of what they can do for you, but just because. I love how you’ve helped me shed my past and accept my tattoos.” H
is shoulders moved, and his voice dropped into a husky whisper. “You make me happy.”
She kissed him. A sweet, gentle kiss with only her lips. A kiss that spoke of love and laughter and things she wasn’t quite fearless enough to bring up like commitment and the future.
He maneuvered them into a spoon position, her butt nestled into his pelvis. One of his hands cupped her breast and she curled her hand around his. She yawned, long and loud. His chest rumbled against her back.
“I forgot to mention a couple of other things I really love,” he whispered.
She lilted a questioning hum.
“These.” He gently squeezed her breasts.
She laughed first, and he joined her. He didn’t love just her boobs. She believed that. Believed in him. With those thoughts running through her head, she fell asleep wrapped in his arms.
Chapter 22
Falcon’s playoff game loomed large in the town. Excitement crackled down Main Street. Blue-and-white bunting decorated every place of business. Earlier in the week at her aunt’s request, she’d painted football caricatures on the front window of the library.
She was nervous about what people would think, but the window became so popular, it caused traffic problems on Main Street. Several businesses asked her to do theirs as well, and she agreed. Seeing people stop with their kids to admire her work filled her with an incredible satisfaction, and her confidence blossomed under the stream of compliments.
As she was putting the finishing touches on the window of Wilson’s antique store, Henry and Jeremy came out to look. Henry’s bushy white beard twitched with his grin. “Damn, girl, that fancy art school up north was worth it. You have talent.”
“Thanks, Henry. You’re sweet.” She leaned over to give him a kiss on a bristly cheek, the smell of nicotine strong. “Hey, I thought you were trying to quit the cancer sticks.”
He shrugged, his smile still in place but his eyes now drawn into worried creases. “Best be getting back inside. You sure I can’t give you something for your work?”
“Nope. I consider it my civic duty.”
The old man turned toward the door, and a knot of words tightened her chest. “Actually, Henry, there is something you can give me.”
“What’s that?”
“A little bit of your time. I’d like to do a portrait of you. If you don’t mind.”
Henry ran a hand over his beard. “Me? I’m old and grizzled.”
“I’m not looking for a male model, I want interesting. You have character to your face.”
Jeremy, who had been hanging back, piped up with a husky laugh. “You can’t deny you’re a character, Henry.”
Henry side-eyed Jeremy before turning back to her. “What on earth would you do with a picture of me?”
She pulled in a big breath, gathering courage to put her idea into words for the first time. “I’d like to assemble portraits of Falcon residents and host a showing. In Falcon first, then maybe somewhere bigger.”
Henry blinked as her request set in, but a smile stole slowly across his face, making his eyes twinkle. “I would be honored, Lilliana. Truly.”
She rubbed her hands together. “Wonderful. I can come here while you’re working, if I won’t be too much of a distraction.”
“You’ll be famous, old man.” Jeremy took two steps forward and clapped Henry on the shoulder.
Lilliana narrowed her gaze on Jeremy. He was young, yet wasn’t. Not inside. If she could capture that on paper … “Actually, Jeremy, I would love to draw you as well.”
Henry guffawed at the floored expression on Jeremy’s face. “You’d better come down soon if you want to sketch Jeremy. He’s moving on. Unless I can talk him out of it.”
“Naw. It’s time for me to leave Falcon.” Jeremy stared at the window, but she wasn’t sure if he was looking at her work or his wavy reflection.
“Where are you headed?” she asked.
“Louisiana. My cousin already has a job lined up for me.”
Lilliana knew his history dogged him, nipped at his heels, and wouldn’t let him alone. “A fresh start is sometimes exactly what you need. Moving to New York was the best thing I ever did.”
Jeremy’s attention swung to her, his blue eyes probing. “But you ended up right back where you started.”
She had. In more ways than one, yet everything was also vastly different. “By choice though. It makes a difference. You mind if I come down next week? I want to capture you on paper before you go. Something for us to remember you by.”
“Not sure anyone in this town will miss me, but sure.” Jeremy’s enthusiasm sat on the negative end of the number line.
“I’ll miss you, son.” Henry tossed an arm around the young man’s shoulders and squeezed. Surprisingly, Jeremy didn’t duck out, his lips curling into a small smile. “You come on down anytime, Lilliana, and we’ll both model for you.”
Her fingers itched to sketch them right now—the old and the young, symbolic of the father and the son. They retreated into the store, and she gathered her things, her mind pinpointing other Falcon residents she could draw. Definitely all three elderly librarians. Preacher Higgs during a sermon? Her cousin Carl at work—minus the plumber’s crack.
A local show at the Falcon Civic Center would be a good start. Depending on how things went, she could look into galleries in Birmingham or Atlanta. Baby steps toward her goal of headlining a show. While she worked on her portraits and her bravery, she would pursue the sports paintings. Jessica could help her set up a business plan and a website.
Everything in her life was falling into place.
Walking down the street with a tackle box full of her supplies, she kept her head down, her extremities numb after the long hours outside. Alabama in November could veer between frigid and balmy within a few hours. Although, the sun was bright and the sky impossibly blue, a cold northerly wind snaked down Main Street.
Someone grabbed her arm. “Hey, you.”
Alec’s voice warmed her from the inside out. She stopped and turned toward him, spotting Logan giving her a mocking salute from the other side of the street. “Hey yourself. How’s the game prep going?”
“Not bad. Buses leave in an hour.”
“You’re okay with me not coming?” Her aunt, Miss Jane, and Miss Constance were coming to the house for dinner and to watch the game on the public access station. Miss Jane didn’t even own a TV, and Hancock House would be more comfortable for them all. Anyway, she owed her aunt and Miss Jane big time for helping with her impromptu Sunday family brunch.
“Of course. If we win, Dalt’s going to call a coaches meeting no matter how late we get home. I’ll probably crash at my place. Anyway, I need to maybe bring a few more clothes over now it’s getting cold.”
“Why don’t you go on and bring everything?” Once again, her tongue outstripped her common sense.
“Are you talking about moving in together?”
“No! I mean … yes?” No way to sidestep exactly what she meant. His gaze bore into her as if trying to dig for the truth.
“Okay. If you’re sure.” The words tiptoed out of his mouth.
Was she? The frantic pounding of her heart emptied her head of blood and left her lightheaded. Her mind catalogued all the reasons this was a bad idea. Top on the list being they had admitted their feelings only a few days earlier and hadn’t discussed taking things further. But her impetuous offer had been a reflection of her heart, not her head. Did she trust her heart?
“I’m sure,” she said in a stronger voice than she thought she possessed.
“All right, I’ll text you tonight as I can and bring some stuff over tomorrow.”
She nodded and slipped her hand inside his jacket to lie over his heart. “How’s Hunter? Still no word from Will?”
“Nothing. He’s worried, but seems focused on winning. I think he finally understands how deep his brother’s shit has gotten. As long as he plays well, he’ll get a scholarship no matter if we win or lose, but
winning might get him into a Division One school. That’d be huge.”
“Don’t put so much pressure on him he’ll crack.”
He covered her hand with his, lacing their fingers. “I won’t.”
A whistle sounded on the other side of the street, and Logan shook two bags of takeout from The Diner.
“You’d better go. Get us to the championship game.”
In synchronicity, he leaned down while she rose on her tiptoes. Their mouths met in a blistering kiss. His arm came around her waist pulling her tight, her hand trapped between them. His lips deflected any worries about when and where they were.
A wolf whistle brought them back to the cold, blustery day in the middle of the sidewalk on Main Street, Falcon.
“I’m not going to hear the end of this from Logan.” Red stained Alec’s cheeks even though his smile showed no hint of regret.
“You’d best get gone. We’ll talk later and I’ll see you tomorrow?”
He chucked his chin and jogged across the street.
In a daze, she slid into her sun-warmed SUV. She and Alec Grayson were moving in together. The dismay in her laugh was outweighed by sheer happiness. She drove home with thoughts on her—their—future.
* * *
After the Falcons won their game and Lilliana had seen the three ladies into their cars and waved them down the street, she retreated to her studio to finish the stadium picture for Ms. Elizabeth, too keyed up to sleep.
Ghost reacted to the slight noise first, darting under the couch. Lilliana put her brush down and listened. The clock ticked in the hallway. The house was having its customary creaking conversation with the foundation. Nothing out of the ordinary.
A scraping noise drifted up from downstairs.
Alec. She skipped down the stairs, wiping her paint-stained fingers on her T-shirt. She pulled her ponytail holder out and shook her hair around her shoulders.
“I didn’t think—”
Words lodged in her throat, a smile stuck on her face as if someone had called “Freeze!” Will Galloway stood in the middle of her dim living room, caught mid-riffle through one of the drawers in the antique bureau.
Melting Into You Page 22