The Art of Love (The Windswept Saga)

by Tommie Conrad

  She snuggled further under the blanket. The couch felt huge, but then she realized it had to be in order to accommodate the six-and-a-half-foot man dozing in front of her. His tanned face, coated lightly with golden stubble, carried a placid expression. She found herself wondering what he dreamed, and whether she played a part in his private bliss. He looked glorious in the bright of day, the hard lines of his chest visible in the shadows. She wanted to reach out and run her hands over him again, watch herself explore his torso. She’d made do last night, imagining it in her mind while her body yielded to his. Heat stirred within her, enough to make her rethink her plan to be quiet.

  “Chandler?” His head was burrowed into the pillow, so deep that she saw one blue eye pop open, and his mouth draw into a slaked half-smile.

  “I was afraid I was having the world’s best dream,” he muttered from the corner of his grin. “Thank God you’re still here.” He lifted his head until both eyes stared at her tenderly, then pulled her against him, plunging inside without preamble. She arched her body into him, close enough to his hips to be another layer of skin. He felt her tremble, was startled at her movements. “Did I hurt you?”

  “Never,” she replied honestly. She placed her lips to his chin. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you last night.”

  He chuckled in agreement. “Same here. I guess it’s a cliché but we wore each other out.”

  Taylor placed her lips to the corner of his mouth. “Only one way to rectify the situation.”

  His lips nudged hers apart. “You read my mind, sweetheart.”

  His hips rocked into hers, pushing against her body, pulling her closer to him, feeling the heat when she met him thrust for thrust. She grasped his shoulders, then his back, her soft moans ending as torrid breaths against his face. He forced his eyes open, watching her as she accepted all of him, her face forming a mask of desire. He lost the ability to reason, to think clearly, and his eyes shut tightly as he spilled into her. She wracked against him as a broken gasp escaped his mouth, the world turning in slow motion with each climactic aftershock. He held her close to him, letting the final ounces of pleasure fall to earth like stardust. He struggled to breathe, kissed both of her eyes to make sure they were still alive. A slick of sweat ran down his chest, creating a strange sensation amidst the heat. His eyes found hers, and she made no move to pull away from him.

  She stroked the sides of his face, let her hands drop to his collarbone and chest. She grazed his nipples slightly, enough commotion to send a bolt of lightning straight between his hips. The edge of her thumb finally lingered against the interior of his arm. “You still have this birthmark.”

  He laughed, glancing toward the wisp of a spot on his left bicep. “I’m still me, honey. Did you think I wasn’t?”

  Her eyes teased him. “It’s good to remember, to know I’m not wrong about you.” His body was harder and leaner with the passage of time, and still felt great atop hers—that definitely hadn’t changed.

  Chandler let out a sharp breath from the corner of his mouth. “Sorry I ripped that shirt off you last night…or this morning. I must’ve appeared overeager.”

  She maneuvered enough to view the faint red lines on his shoulder blades. “Sorry about what I did to your back,” she countered.

  “Battle scars,” he joked. “I enjoyed every last second of it.” Their lips met softly. “And I ruined my own shirt in the deal. It was worth it to be with you again.”

  Her fingers trailed through the fine hair at the base of his stomach. “So…”

  “So…” he repeated warmly. “You’ve got me prone and vulnerable. Ask me anything.”

  Her green eyes studied his face, looking for the edges of reluctance or hesitancy and not finding them anywhere. “Are we…together?”

  He kissed her on the tip of her nose. “Call me old-fashioned but I don’t want just casual encounters with you. We made love and I’d like you to commit to us.” He groaned. “That came out all wrong, T.” He cleared his throat but felt it go raw again immediately. “I love you,” he said hoarsely.

  “I love you, too.” She nestled against his chest. “And after only one date.” His ribs vibrated with laughter.

  “Two dates, counting last night,” he contended, “and a lot of history.”

  “Good and bad?”

  “Uh-huh. Same as any other couple.”

  “How long do you think we can lie here like this?”

  “With all of the wine we had last night?” he said roughly. “I’d imagine not much longer.”

  She frowned in acknowledgement. “I’ve gotta head home eventually. Mom will be missing me.”

  “Did you call her last night?”

  “I did, but still…”

  “I understand. Believe me, I do.” He kissed her ardently, then slid off the couch and into his jeans. He stretched and ambled toward the window. Peeking through the blinds, a reflection of sunlight stung his eyes. “Hell,” he said, “we got an inch or two of snow last night.” He made a quick circuit of the apartment, gazing out the front window now. “They’ve plowed the road. You should be able to get home okay.”

  Taylor wrapped the blanket around herself, feeling foolish at doing so but enjoying the warmth. “Is it okay if I take a shower?”

  He wrapped her up in those strong arms and smiled. “Sure thing.” He kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll make breakfast.”

  “Good.” She placed a kiss against his bare chest, the muscles warm and loose beneath the skin. “I’ve worked up an appetite.”

  He watched her disappear into his bedroom, did a double take, and smiled to himself. “Hot damn, cowboy—how’d you get this lucky twice in one lifetime?”

  ***

  After breakfast he finished dressing, pulled on his snow boots, and went downstairs to clean off her car. Inside the office, his back pressed to the wall, he held her loosely against his waist. He stared into her eyes, happiness washing through him. He leaned down to kiss her. One hand brushed against his bristled cheek, and the other tugged on his untucked shirt tail. He was vaguely exhausted, but more plaintive about having to let her go. And he noted that her eyes reflected his wistfulness, and he pressed his lips softly to hers once more before speaking.

  “You okay?” he asked hoarsely.

  “Yeah,” she said with a nod. “It just feels strange, you know?”

  “Unexpected.”

  “Exactly.” She exhaled against his chest. “I don’t want you to think I’m having second thoughts.”

  He massaged her back gently. “I don’t.”

  She glanced up and into those penetrating blue eyes. “I never expected to make love to another man aside from Liam. Does that make any sense?”

  He nodded swiftly in response, unsure of the appropriate reply but turning the wheels in his head in search of it. “Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans.” And then he frowned at his platitude, but Taylor simply smiled.

  “That was exactly what I needed to her,” she replied. “See you Monday?”

  He chuckled. “I’ll be here.” She flattened her hands along his chest, against the soft flannel, and pushed their lips together. “Bye,” he said, watching her go.

  Afterward he went back to his apartment, set up his easel, dug out a canvas and paints and rendered the previous evening’s sunset from memory—no studies, sketches, or outlines. It was burned onto the surface of his brain as sure as anything ever had been. He pulled out a smaller canvas and did something a little more abstract. Those things were easy. The hardest was still to come, when he realized he hadn’t showered in more than a day. He slipped into the bathroom, out of his clothes, and reluctantly washed away the scent of her, lingering like a memento on his skin.

  ***

  Taylor missed his warmth as soon as she was in her car, headed home. As much as she would’ve liked to spend the entire day in his arms, she fretted over her mother, worried about leaving her alone. Maybe it was supposed to be that way. Maybe she
was meant to care for her mother, the roles reversed now. Only that arrangement didn’t seem to fit either of them.

  “Mom?”

  Alice didn’t spare her daughter a glance, but did smile warmly as she entered the living room. “Hi, sweetie. Did you get home okay?”

  “Yes, they’d plowed the main road this morning.” She gave her mother a peck on the cheek. “And Chandler cleaned off my car.”

  “Hmm. I was actually hoping you’d spend the entire weekend there.” She glanced up at her daughter with a knowing smile. “Did you get any sleep at all?”

  Taylor feigned shock as she dropped into the chair closest to Alice. “One, I didn’t have a change of clothes, and two, aren’t you supposed to be setting a better example for me?”

  “You’re old enough,” she replied with a laugh bubbling under the surface, “to have a few drinks and spend the night with your boss.”

  Taylor eyed her with heavy sarcasm. “I really did have too much to drink, Mom. And I slept it off in his room while he sacked out on the couch.” Alice’s eyes remained fixed on her knitting, but she took in every word. “Nothing happened until I was sober.”

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  “What a completely inappropriate question. And the answer is yes.” She gave a faint sigh—yeah, definitely not a role reversal. She and her mother were more like roommates, even girlfriends now. “Did anything interesting happen while I was out?”

  “Penelope called.”

  “Your friend from church?”

  “One in the same. She thinks I could sell some of these scarves during our next fundraiser.”

  “I think that’s a great idea.” She rested a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “Look at the two of us—both in sales.”

  Alice laughed softly. “I have plenty to keep me occupied. Don’t worry about being home every night. Enjoy yourself. You deserve it.”

  Taylor lost herself in thought for a few minutes. “Mom?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Did you ever think about remarrying after Daddy died?”

  Alice laid down her knitting needles and gazed at Taylor, her eyes unreadable. “It may sound antiquated, but no. I would have been cheating on your father if I married another man.” The soft, wrinkled surface of her fingers brushed Taylor’s gently. “Why do you ask, sweetheart?”

  “Liam and I are divorced. The ink was dry a long time ago. But when I was with Chandler, I felt this strange sense of guilt.”

  Alice gripped her hand. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Taylor. After what you’ve been through, you have to grab happiness with both hands. And it sounds to me,” she said with a smile in her voice, “that you did just that last night.”

  She cast a wary gaze at her mother. “Don’t you feel just the slightest touch of discomfort, encouraging your daughter to fool around?”

  “Fooling around I would frown upon every time,” she replied gently. “But dating Chandler, and the accompanying fringe benefits, I would encourage in skywriting if necessary.”

  ***

  The snow melted throughout Saturday, and Chandler easily made it to the ranch the next day. He was still on an emotional high from Taylor, even if they hadn’t spoken at all after she left—no calls, no texts. He wouldn’t pressure her. Just the assurance of a committed relationship was all he needed. And he planned, in good faith, to keep it under his hat for a while. He parked outside his house and carted three cans of primer inside. He wanted to work on the living room first, its walls painted an unfortunate color of sherbet, fading now to a dull watery orange.

  “I love orange sherbet,” he joked to himself. “I just don’t wanna look at it every day.” He poured a can into his tray, completing two entire walls before the sounds of truck doors slamming interrupted the silence. Mark and CJ made their presences known a minute later, talking loudly as they entered the foyer.

  “I expected the two of you about a half-hour ago,” he said, turning to gaze at them. “Now there’s less work to go around.”

  “Sorry,” Mark said, pulling off his hat and passing it between each hand. “I woke up with a kid on top of me this morning. It’s hard to leave him sometimes.”

  CJ grinned. “I woke up with a woman on top of me. It’s hard to leave her, too.”

  Mark glanced at Chandler with guarded humor, then turned his head to the side. “Pig. That’s my sister you’re talking about.”

  “You’ve got the same number of kids as we do—you know how it works.”

  “Be that as it may,” Mark rejoined, his lips curling upward, “we dropped by to help out, not conduct Sex Ed.”

  “Baby brother could use a few tips…whoa.” Chandler’s neck reddened before he had a chance to stop it. Dammit. CJ rested his hand on Mark’s shoulder. “Look at him and tell me what you see.”

  Mark let out a low whistle. “I see a loose, relaxed man. I see the cat that just swallowed the canary. I see someone’s new boyfriend.”

  Chandler pressed his eyelids shut and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Why do I even bother with trying to keep a secret? I suck at it.”

  Sensing his brother’s discomfort, and not willing to revel in it, CJ changed course. “Mark has something to tell you, man.” Chandler looked up at him expectantly.

  Mark pushed a hand through his hair. “Remember Dave Briggs, from high school?” Chandler nodded. “He came by to look at the furnace—he’s an HVAC man now—and he said it looks good. You might have to replace it someday, but not in the next decade.”

  Chandler rested his hands atop his thighs. “Sounds good. What else?”

  “You are gonna have to change the plumbing fixtures. Your pipes are solid but the faucets are prone to leaking.”

  “Nice. Thanks, man.”

  “Not a problem, bud. And now CJ will be a complete ray of sunshine, his usual bright and cheerful self, as he tells you about your roof.”

  CJ raised his eyebrows at Mark. “Really?”

  Mark nodded back at him. “Really. Just give him the bad news, cowboy.”

  Chandler’s face dropped at the prospect. CJ worked quickly to reassure him. “It’s nothing like that, bro. You’re fine except one bad patch that’s windblown all to shit. Mark and I can replace that as soon as the weather warms up. We’re not so bad at the carpentry thing.”

  He lifted to his feet and passed his brother and best friend paintbrushes. “How are you at interiors?”

  Mark shrugged. “Passable.”

  CJ smiled crookedly. “We suck.”

  Chandler laughed at the both of them. “And I can’t hide my happiness from either of you. But I will expect you to keep details about my personal life to yourself, out of respect for Taylor.”

  CJ dipped the edge of his brush into the primer and placed a few strokes against the wall. The corner of his mouth opened just wide enough to drawl out a question. “So how was it, cowboy? You get past the eight-second mark?” Mark went red-faced and stifled a laugh, and moved to the far wall in an effort to keep from snickering out loud.

  Chandler shook his head and smiled, resigned to the fact that they knew the truth, communicating an instinctual language that required no words, carrying with it a genuine respect and guarantee of privacy. He edged his brush along the top of the wainscoting, careful not to ruin it. “Twice.”

  Chapter 15

  “What’s that?”

  Taylor placed a plain brown shopping bag atop his desk and smiled. The same type of receptacle was used by any number of stores in town, but the bag was average sized and lightweight; from the way it moved, it clearly contained neither a boxed item nor a solid article. Their eyes met, and she silently prompted him to look inside. He pulled the bag into his lap, reached inside, and pulled out a pale blue chambray shirt with white snap buttons.

  “You don’t have to worry about those coming off.”

  He laughed as he ran his thumbs over the pockets, the Western stitching. “You didn’t have to do that, you know. But I love it. Thank you.”


  “You’re welcome.” He motioned her closer, tugged her gently onto his lap. His eyes studied her face affectionately. He observed the rustic-looking bag dangling from her shoulder.

  “Is that a new purse?” he asked, throwing her off-balance.

  “It is. Men usually don’t notice things like that.”

  He blinked steadily. “I notice everything about you, T.”

  “Charmer.” He smiled languidly. “Actually, it’s mine. I sewed it myself.”

  He gave her a beguiled look, before recognition slowly took over. “I’d forgotten that you were handy with a needle.” His thumb brushed her earlobe and she winked at him.

  “So had I, actually. Mom reminded me of it. It’d been a few years but I picked it right up again.”

  Chandler’s hand massaged, temptingly, along her hip and thigh. “She wasn’t too upset that I got you home late.”

  “Please.” She traced the line of his jaw with her index finger. “She wanted to pin a medal on you for making me so damned happy.”

  “I always did like that woman.”

  “Believe me, the feeling is mutual.” She gave him a quick kiss. “Anyway, I might have to sew a few more purses for the church sale. You don’t mind if I bring my work to work with me, do you?”

  He laughed, the sound vibrating through him and into her hands. “Of course not. As long as you bring yourself, nothing else matters.” The slide of her thumb along his nape sent a ripple of desire through his veins. “Anything else happen this weekend?”

  “That was pretty much it. Mom and I are a quiet pair.” She cocked her head toward him. “How about you?”

  “Oh,” he said coyly, drawing out the syllable, “I spent some time on the ranch, working on my house. CJ and Mark came over and helped, too.”

  “Uh-huh. How long did it take you to start bragging?” she teased.