So when he’d finally pried himself away from her and made his way over to the small cabin, she’d locked herself in her studio. Full of inspiration and more than ready to seize the day.
Decadent lovemaking with Mason must’ve been the kick start her creative process needed. She’d started a new painting of the bay at sunset. A moment she’d caught sight of last week as she’d walked by. She’d stopped, mesmerized by the beauty before her and she knew she had to try and capture that moment so she’d snapped a quick pic with her phone. The colors had been dazzling, a mix of pinks, oranges and blues. She could only hope she’d do the actual moment justice.
After painting for a while and pleased with her progress, she decided to stretch and take a break. Mason wasn’t in the house and she’d snooped around a little bit, but found nothing unusual. Noted that he hadn’t moved any of his belongings from the cabin into her bedroom, not that she had the room for any of his stuff.
It was going to work out just fine, what they shared between them. She had to believe that.
Dread suddenly filled her at the thought of them leaving the island. Would everything return to normal when they went back to DC? Would he once again be Agent Russell and she Ms. Hewitt?
God, she hoped not. Despite what he’d said before they’d started this little affair, she wanted this to be more than just sex. The sex, granted, was amazing, but there was so much more. They talked, they teased, they laughed, they had the same taste in movies.
He cooked for her and she thought it was the sexiest thing imaginable. Watching macho, stoic Mason move with ease around the kitchen while he chopped vegetables and knew how to use a wok. He’d made stir fry with the most delicious marinated chicken she’d ever tasted. And he’d done it shirtless, wearing only a pair of jeans.
Of course, the hot oil had popped from the intense heat of the pan, landing on his bare chest and he’d yowled in pain. She’d laughed but when she saw the look in his eyes, she promised to kiss it better.
Which she then proceeded to do, and nearly caused him to burn the pan up with all that oil cooking inside after he became distracted by her kissing him—all over his body.
She shivered at the memory, shook herself from her reverie and tried to focus on the painting before her. It was turning out better than she thought, and she was working faster than normal too.
Must be her extra good mood, she mused, leaning away from the canvas so she could study it. She clutched the palette in her left hand, the paintbrush in her right, and she nibbled on the wooden tip of it, a habit when she was thinking.
She wanted to concentrate on what to do next with the painting, but her thoughts, of course, turned to Mason. What was he doing right now, at this very moment? She knew he was in the cabin, of course, but what was he doing?
Thinking of her maybe? She knew she thought of him. Always. His handsome face, his fleeting, rare smile, the way he moved, the way he said her name, the way he touched her, gentle yet fierce.
Hmm. Her skin warmed and her belly fluttered. She really should go and find out his exact location.
A knock sounded at the door. “Just a minute,” she called, grabbing a rag so she could wipe her hands before she answered the door. But the knob turned, the door opened and there stood Mason in the doorway. Looking delicious as always, wearing jeans and a navy blue crewneck sweater. Even in her distracted and slightly worried state, she gobbled up his handsomeness with her gaze, enjoying the casual, windblown look of him. A look she still wasn’t used to, considering she’d seen him in nothing but impeccable suits for the last three months.
When she noticed his curious gaze trained just behind her, she gave a little yelp and stood in front of the canvas, angling her body so he couldn’t make out what she hid. Why hadn’t she locked the door?
“What are you doing?” He nodded toward her, though his eyes were busy scanning the room.
A room she never really allowed him in. He’d glanced inside the first day they’d arrived, when he searched the entire house. She’d told him it was her arts and crafts room. Where she liked to make things, make a mess. A private area, she explained, a place where she could find solace and peace and just create.
He’d left it alone because he knew she wished him to. At least he respected her boundaries and besides, there was nothing unusual lurking in this room. Unless he counted turpentine as a dangerous substance, which it actually was.
Her biggest worry? She didn’t want him poking around, like the very thorough agent that he was. Then he’d figure out her secret.
“Nothing.” She smiled, drawing her hands behind her. The canvas was so wide, no way could she completely hide it.
Slowly he walked into the studio, his gaze searching the walls, the low cabinets she kept filled with supplies. His footsteps rang loud against the hardwood floor, echoing throughout the sparsely filled room and the sound made her nervous.
His being in the room made her nervous too. His larger than life presence seemed to eat up all the air in the room and finally, after a thorough sweep, his gaze landed on her, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.
“What exactly do you do all day in here, Blake?”
She shrugged, trying for nonchalant. “I fool around. Make messes.”
“Uh, huh.” Now he stood right next to her, was actually staring at the canvas and she wanted to die of mortification. Wanted to cover it up with her body and reassure him there was nothing to see.
No one, no one had ever seen her work before. It had been for her eyes only and she liked it that way. It was easier. Then she wouldn’t have to hear the criticizing or the disappointment. Hear her father ask why she wasted her time doing this or hear her mother say she wasn’t that talented.
Because they both would say something like that. Her parents had always been brutally honest and sometimes she appreciated it, but most of the time it just hurt.
And the both of them were extremely good at hurting her.
Blake closed her eyes and silently counted to ten, waiting for the negativity that was sure to come from Mason. His tone would be skeptical, his eyes doubtful and she didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to hear it.
“Did you paint this?” He sounded incredulous and she turned away, unable to bear his reaction.
“I did. I painted it,” she admitted, nerves making her ears ring, her stomach cramp. God, she didn’t know what to do, how to explain it. “It’s terrible, I’m sure. Isn’t it? I just like to...I like to paint. It’s a stress reliever for me. Just something I dabble in. Something to keep me busy when I’m bored.”
And speaking of dabbling, well, she was babbling. Sounded like a fool, too.
“It’s not terrible,” he said slowly and she turned her head, staring at him in disbelief as he continued to study her half-finished painting. “It’s the pier down by the bay, isn’t it?”
Blake nodded, surprised he recognized it. Maybe she was on the right track after all. “It is.”
He stared, quiet, and all of that quiet was making her antsy. And queasy. What did he think? Did he hate it, did he like it? Did he believe she was a no-talent hack wasting her time?
“It’s...amazing.” His gaze met hers, the sincerity there unmistakable.
“Amazingly bad?” She joked, anything to keep the moment light, to delay finding out what he really thought.
She so wanted to know. And she so didn’t want to know ever.
“No.” He shook his head, his expression incredulous. “Amazingly good. You’re talented, Blake.”
She stiffened, feeling defensive. “You sound surprised.”
“I am surprised, only because you’ve kept this hidden. How long have you been painting?”
“I don’t know. A couple of years?” She shrugged, trying for casual.
No way could she show how much his words meant to her. Not yet. And she knew exactly how long she’d been painting seriously.
Since college, when she snuck art classes in unbeknownst to her parents. She’d work
on her political studies and all that other crap her father forced her to take, but the art classes had been just for her. Art history, art theory, a ceramics class, all of it had been wonderful. Life-changing.
And so, here she was. The closet artist.
“It’s beautiful and the colors are so life-like.” He nodded toward the painting. “I don’t know much about art or composition or all the stuff that goes with it, but I know when I like something. I like this.”
Her heart sang at his compliment and the smile that broke out was so big it felt as if it were stretching her cheeks. “Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
She tackled him, the loud ‘oomph’ that he gave showing his surprise and she wrapped her arms around him, raining little kisses all over his jaw and chin.
“What’s that for?” He held her away from him, his hands curling around her shoulders, gently stroking and she beamed up at him.
Blake laughed, feeling foolish and she pulled away from him, did a silly little dance. “No one has ever said that about my art before.”
His lips parted. “You’re kidding me.”
“Well, I’ve never actually showed any of it before. To anyone.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.” She glanced away, a little uncomfortable. “I was afraid of what they might say.”
He actually snorted. “Well, that’s ridiculous. They’d say you’re very talented. Because you are.”
He said it so matter of fact, as if she had no reason to doubt herself. “It’s not that easy, Mason. The people in my life, they wouldn’t approve.”
“Why not? Blake, if you worked hard enough you could probably show your paintings in an art gallery. I think you’re that good.”
She laughed again, both nervous and excited. The idea of showing her art to various strangers mingling in a gallery was so surreal she couldn’t wrap her head around it. “I don’t think so. I’m not that good. And besides, my father wouldn’t approve.”
“Why wouldn’t he? You have talent and you should do something with it. I think he’d want that for you, especially if it makes you happy.”
She studied him, realization dawning with every word he just spoke. “You see things very black and white don’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s either this. Or that. No shades of gray, no in between for you.”
He thought about it for a moment, and then shrugged. “I guess you’re right.”
“I don’t see anything that way.” She smiled but it felt weak, and suddenly she was so weary. “There are always shades of gray in my life, because I can’t take anyone for their word. If my father saw my paintings, I know he wouldn’t approve. He doesn’t approve of anything I do. That’s why I keep this part of me a secret. If he found out about my art and disapproved, that would cut me to the quick.”
She backed away from him, her shoulders hunched and suddenly she felt very, very small. “It would mean he doesn’t approve of me. The real me. And that hurts.”
Mason didn’t say a word. He just stared at her, reminding her of how they used to be, their previous and strange relationship. She’d complain about her family or her life to him for hours and he’d just listen, not saying a thing.
She’d always liked it then. Her big, quiet Secret Service agent confidant. A man she could spill all her secret complaints to and he would never say a thing in return. Never reveal any of it to anyone. Just their little secret.
Now, though, she wanted a reaction.
“And my mother,” she continued, more than ready to go on a roll. “She’d tell me it was pretty, but use that condescending tone she always has when she only talks to me. She’s never believed in me my entire life, so why should I expect anything more?”
“Do you really believe your parents wouldn’t want you to be happy?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” The words burst from her and she breathed deep, almost relieved to get this all off her chest. “My father wanted a boy but he got me. He even named me after my grandfather, for God’s sake. Wishful thinking I guess.
And my mother, she’s never been interested in me. She’d rather redecorate the house, or go to lunch with her friends or go buy something, anything to avoid spending time with me.”
Mason took a step forward. His gaze was intent, serious and he reached for her, grabbing her hand. “Your father cares for you, Blake. He’s just watching out for your best interests. He doesn’t want you to get in any trouble.”
“It feels like he’s trying to keep me down.” She shouldn’t have mentioned her parents, her father. Now she was sad, and she didn’t like it. She didn’t want anything to bring her down during her sacred time with Mason.
Their time together was limited. She needed to savor it.
“You two are too alike.” He squeezed her hand and tugged her close, slipping his other arm around her waist. “That’s why you struggle and argue and frustrate each other. Maybe you should make a peace offering. With a painting made special for him. He could hang it in his office.”
“Oh, Mason.” Just the idea of that, presenting her father with such a personal gift, so fearful of his reaction, made her stomach flutter with nerves. “I don’t know if I could ever do that.”
“Well, think about it.” He kissed the tip of her nose, the gesture so tender, so sweet, it took her breath away. “You have a lot to be proud of, Blake. Don’t get too hung up on what everyone thinks and do what you think is right for you.”
“When I do that, I usually get in trouble.”
“That’s because you want to get in trouble. Do something that brings you joy, not something that brings someone else misery.”
When did he become so wise? Had he been wise all along and she hadn’t realized it?
“You’re so good for me,” she whispered, meaning every word. He was. He kept her grounded, and he was honest to the point that it sometimes angered her. But she needed that, needed someone who saw past her bullshit and found the real her.
She’d never been this real for anyone before. Not her parents, not her handful of supposed friends, not any of the men she’d been involved with, and there had been so few.
Blake couldn’t imagine her life without Mason now.
The flicker she saw in the depths of his vivid green eyes made her freeze, her heart crack the slightest bit. She’d said too much, gotten too serious and he was probably silently freaking out.
“Blake...”
“Don’t say it.” She cut him off, rested her fingers over his mouth, stroking his lips with a feather light touch. She loved his mouth, the things he said, the way he kissed her, touched her everywhere with those firm yet sensuous lips.
She loved everything about him. She loved him.
Panic set her heart to racing and she withdrew, turned away from him so he wouldn’t see the panic and the love and the heart-wrenching foolishness of it all written all over her face.
She studied the painting she’d started earlier. The painting that had brought her so much joy now left a bad taste in her mouth. Why did she have to go and let herself fall in love with him? He could never return the feeling, no matter how much she convinced herself he would.
God, she needed therapy. Or a drink. Maybe even a cigarette and she hadn’t smoked since college. Panic hit, full blown in its intensity, and she didn’t want to take it out on him.
What she really wanted was for this to never end and inevitably, it would. It had to. Everything good always ended for her. Why couldn’t she for once keep the good stuff going?
“What’s wrong?”
Blake turned at the sound of his deep voice to find Mason standing before her with a confused expression marring his handsome face. His dark brows furrowed, even his nose was wrinkled and all she could think was how adorable he looked.
Adorable and troubled—all because of her stupid, foolish moods.
“Nothing,” she murmured before taking a deep breath and flashing a t
oo-bright smile. “I’m tired. I think I’m going to take a nap.”
“Blake.” He stopped her from walking away, his fingers curling around her forearm, his thumb brushing against the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist. “What just happened there?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Not now. I can’t do anything about it and neither can you.” She gave a gentle tug but he wouldn’t let go. No, he held on tighter and pulled her to him, so hard she collided with his hard chest. He stared down into her face, his gaze roving over her every feature before settling on her mouth.
“Don’t shut me out,” he said, his voice low and husky, whispering along her every nerve ending. She loved his voice, couldn’t imagine what it would be like to never hear it again.
Her heart felt empty just thinking about it.
“I’m not shutting you out.” Liar. “I’m tired, Mason. I want to go lay down.”
They stared at each other for a too long, too quiet moment but she didn’t look away. Neither did he. They were both being stubborn, waiting for the other to cave and she refused to do it first.
No way could she tell him how she felt, only to have her words thrown back in her face. The humiliation, the heartbreak that was bound to come would happen soon enough. She wasn’t in the mood for a big confrontation today.
“Can I join you?” He asked the question carefully, as if he didn’t want to offend and she closed her eyes for the briefest second, wishing she was strong enough to tell him no. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts, analyze her ridiculous feelings. Figure out what she was going to do with them.
But instead she said yes, and he grinned. A dazzling, gorgeous smile that made her smile in return and when he clasped her face with his hands and drew her in for a kiss, she returned it, saying to him with her lips and tongue what she couldn’t say with words.
That she loved him.
* * * *
Blake was hurting and he didn’t know why.
Thrusting his fingers through his hair, he sat on the edge of the bed and watched her sleep. She looked like an angel. Her long blonde hair was strewn across the pillow, waving and curling about her head in haphazard waves. Her lush, pink mouth soft and vulnerable, her lips parted with her even, gentle breathing.
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