Special Delivery (The Great Outdoors Book 4)

by Shayne McClendon

  Exhaling roughly, he stepped closer. “You’re an incredible woman.”

  “Thank you.” Smiling slowly, she added, “Since we’re here, we should get ice cream.”

  Unbelievable relief flowed through him. “How quickly you adapt to the unknown.”

  She shrugged. “Total selfishness on my part. This little chat just gave me a great idea for a painting.”

  They left the bodega a few minutes later. Spencer held a bag in one hand and the love of his life in the other.

  * * *

  Since she was a little girl, Shania wondered about love. Wondered if it was real, if it was attainable.

  Her mother told her stories of meeting a young logger when she first became a nurse. He sliced open his forearm when a loading mechanism snapped.

  The doctor on call stitched him up and left Arabella in charge of instructions and discharging him.

  Trevor Murphy stole her heart in under an hour and they’d spent every day together until he was crushed beneath an avalanche of falling logs.

  Shania was ten months old at the time. She had no memory of her father or of her parents together but in photos, her dad was always smiling, her mother glowing.

  As a teenager and young woman, she’d dated occasionally but no man had ever made her feel like she was glowing.

  Until she met Spencer.

  As they approached her narrow house, he tightened his hand as she ascended the porch steps. When she unlocked the door, he held it for her and nodded his head for her to go first.

  She checked on her mother and Spencer crossed his hands just inside the room.

  Already heavily medicated for the night, Arabella stared at him and whispered, “You look like a beautiful angel.”

  Walking closer, he gently brushed the back of his knuckles along her temple and replied, “If I were an angel, I came to just the right house. The goodness and beauty here would draw an angel, don’t you think?”

  “Pretty words from a pretty man. Talk with me a moment, Spencer. Before I fall asleep.”

  To Shania, he said, “Go ahead and take your shower. Set the burn and I’ll keep your mother company until you’re done.”

  She bent to kiss her fragile cheek. “Goodnight, Mama.”

  “Hmm. My first angel. Goodnight, honey.”

  Leaving the room, she waited just outside the door. “She got a little sunburned today. It will fade in a day or two. I thought we could take you for a walk to the little park on the next block. Beth can come with us. I’ll get all of us a cocoa from the vendor on the corner.”

  “It’s hard to take Arabella out without help on the steps. It’s just too dangerous with Shania and me alone.”

  “I understand. I’m happy to supply some muscle for the honor of escorting three lovely women for a cocoa.”

  Tears coursed down her cheeks as Shania listened to a man she never expected to arrive in her life treat her dying mother with Old World charm and propriety.

  In no hurry, he told her about their day and how pretty Shania was while she sketched in the dappled shade.

  “She’s always been pretty. I don’t think she ever believed me when I told her.” Arabella inhaled carefully. “Maybe she’ll believe you.”

  “I’ll make it my mission to convince her.”

  “Tell me about your life as a child, Spencer. Where did you learn such manners?”

  “Ah. Let me pull up a chair and tell you about my grandparents. I think you’ll like the story.”

  Racing quietly up the stairs, Shania showered and changed. As warm water washed over her, she thought about her muse. Spencer was the most perfect physical specimen she’d ever seen. It was her artist’s eye that assured her of it.

  His outer appearance – while inspiring – was nothing in comparison to the beauty of his heart.

  For the first time, she fully embraced the desire for him to be hers and owned the love she felt for him.

  It was something she’d carefully avoided since the moment he stepped off the elevator of her office.

  Chapter Twelve

  November 2009

  Spencer spent every possible moment with Shania and struggled to balance the two very different lives he led.

  Without speaking of it, they ate their meals together every evening and spent their weekends together. They included her mother and Beth when Arabella was up to it.

  The Bishop holdings required much of his time. There were constant demands for his attention and opinions but Shania remained the most dialed and most received number in his phone. He gave up sleep to answer inquiries and finalize contracts presented to him by his assistant.

  Gerald worried about his health. Hudson finally cornered him during one of their many meetings and extracted the story from him.

  “Shania Murphy? The graphic artist?”

  “You know her?” Spencer held his breath. Hudson was a good man but brutally honest.

  He crossed his hands at his back and walked to the window of Spencer’s office. “A couple of years ago, one of my many researchers brought me a letter from a young woman who’d recently graduated school. Her mother was diagnosed with cancer and she needed to speed up her plans to grow her business to help with her medical care.”

  Joining him at the window, Spencer stared up at the man who never failed to surprise him. “You helped her.”

  “Ah. She doesn’t know that. I don’t like my name connected to such things. Lola intervened.”

  A slow smile spread over his face. “Her office is in one of your buildings. I never questioned it.”

  Hudson shrugged. “We were renovating. I was in a position to make her a lucrative rental agreement.”

  “Was it an agreement you extended to others?”

  “A small handful. She was the one who held the most promise. Since she became a tenant, she’s impressed many of our associates with her talent.”

  The silence drew out between them and finally, Spencer extended his hand. “Thank you, Hudson.”

  “I did little more than open the door. Miss Murphy was driven enough to walk through it and slam it behind her.” The big man stared at him intently. “Your ruse cannot continue, Spencer. Tell her the truth.”

  He nodded. “I worry.”

  “You’re one of the smartest men I know. Your worry is baseless. Clear the way for both of you.”

  Another issue holding him back from telling Shania the truth was his love-hate relationship with the media. He’d been adept at avoiding them since he was a teenager and when his grandparents were alive, the media mostly left him alone unless he appeared at a function.

  Now that Spencer and Genevieve were gone, the only heir to the Bishop fortune was news. They wanted gossip about where – and with whom – he spent his time.

  He had no intention of letting them sabotage his budding relationship with Shania but the questions were growing louder and more insistent.

  Where is Spencer Bishop III hiding?

  They floated rumors that he was fighting a drug addiction, engaged in a secret homosexual affair, or possibly making plans to take all the Bishop money and run.

  Then there was the fact that he was achingly hard night and day. Spending every moment he wasn’t working or sleeping with the love of his life meant he masturbated more than he was comfortable with. Such a thing hadn’t been necessary since he was going through puberty.

  He knew Shania was attracted to more than his symmetry. When he stood beside her, it affected her breathing and heart rate. She was often flushed and speechless and he exploited those moments when he could.

  Without crossing a line.

  Spencer refused to rush what they had between them. He fully intended to be with Shania for the rest of his life. He could afford to give her time. He could afford to be patient.

  Even if it often felt like his need for her might kill him.

  * * *

  Shania was ready to crawl out of her own skin. For three months, Spencer was in her every waking and sleeping th
ought.

  Their relationship started under odd circumstances and she was uncertain how to move things to the next level.

  If he even wanted such a thing.

  On a Saturday morning in early November, she was up before the sun, pacing her space on the third floor.

  Unable to stop herself, she sent him a text. “I need you.”

  Shockingly, he responded in less than a minute. “I’m on my way.”

  Fifteen minutes later, he tapped softly on the front door and she opened it to a man who was as beautiful as he was sleep-tousled.

  “Spencer.” Standing on the stoop, he was eye to eye. She reached out to trace a raven-winged brow. “Every time I look at you, it’s as if I see you for the very first time.”

  “I wonder if you’ll tire of looking at me, Shania. If one day, the fever goes away and I run out of excuses to see you.”

  Their eyes locked and she slowly shook her head. “I doubt I’ll ever be normal when you’re around.”

  “I wouldn’t change anything about you…even if I could.”

  Leaning forward, he punctuated his words with a quick kiss on her lips. There and gone in an instant. She wondered if she’d imagined it.

  His voice still rough from sleep, he said quietly, “Just testing the water.”

  “How…is it? The water?”

  “Warm and inviting.”

  “Come upstairs. I want to show you something.”

  He followed her in silence and when he saw the canvas she’d left in the center of the room, he stilled. She watched him gasp and hold his breath.

  Every night, after Spencer left her to go home, she painted. In the months he’d been sitting for her, she’d finished several smaller paintings.

  The one he stared at now wasn’t small.

  Clearing her throat, she explained, “I’m shy about sharing my work. Even with the person in them. I wanted you to see what our time together has inspired.”

  He walked across the room and planted his feet in front of it.

  The canvas was filled with darkness relieved by splashes of light and color. His face stared back at him from another world.

  His body was suspended, textured leather pants hung low on his hips but he was bare from the waist up. He wore a wide black leather belt with a design on the buckle that matched his necklace. Huge black wings extended behind him.

  He was bound to an ancient tree by his wrists and iron shackles kept his legs in a wide stance. A stormy sky loomed above, lightning slashing across it.

  Keeping her voice low, she asked, “Do you like it?”

  “I’m blown away.”

  “I have others. This one is the largest.” Blushing brightly, she walked to the long brick wall and turned several canvases so he could see them.

  He went from one to another with an expression of awe on his face. One was in profile sitting on the Belvedere castle wall, again with black wings, this time folded against his back as he watched people recline on the Great Lawn below.

  Another was in her studio, his hands between his knees. The wings were gone but his cross glowed. Raw need vibrated from his eyes and she thought about how much she’d wanted him to touch her while she drew it.

  She pulled a sheet away from a pair of narrow canvases.

  In the first, Spencer stood on one side of a huge antique mirror, in the world of darkness and lightning. On the other side of the mirror was Shania.

  Her hair was loose down her back, a breeze lifted strands of it across her face and body. She wore a pale green diaphanous gown that flowed around her feet as she stood in a meadow. Specks of pollen floated in the sunlight as she stared into the dark world.

  The canvas beside it changed the perspective. Shania was in the dark world with wings flaring out behind her. She wore a leather vest and pants. Spencer stood on the other side in the ancient forest wearing riding boots, calfskin breeches, and a fine linen shirt.

  He stood in front of them for a long time without saying anything and she started to get nervous.

  Turning, he stared down at her. One hand lifted to cup her jaw. “In the time we’ve known each other, you’ve sketched me a thousand times.”

  She smiled. “Probably. I’ve filled half a dozen books.”

  “Was it like this with Quincy?”

  Thinking, she shook her head. “I painted her for six years. I filled two books and painted two portraits for her mother. One of the first time I sketched her and one of the last.”

  “May I see the them?”

  Walking to a big closet beside the bathroom, she removed a box and lifted away the lid. Tapping the edge, she said, “This is everything I have from that time and my books since.”

  “May I?” She nodded.

  Spencer sat at the farmers table and leafed through her sketches. “You’ve done more of me in three months than you did of Quincy in six years.”

  “I didn’t notice the difference but you’re right.” She hopped up on the table to look at them with him. “You’re more of a muse, I guess. I became Quincy’s babysitter to pay for my art supplies and to have more time to sketch her. They lived two blocks from our house in Georgia. One of her portraits earned my scholarship to NYU.”

  “I can see why.”

  “You’re biased,” she told him with a smile. “We still talk. She’s growing into a wonderful young woman. After meeting her, I knew I had to be an artist.”

  “I’m damn glad for that.”

  She traced a fairy picture she’d done of Quincy at perhaps eight. “My mother made her Halloween costume that year. We looked nothing alike but everyone thought she was my little sister because we were together all the time.”

  “I wonder what people think of us.”

  The statement made her see a world of possibility. Suddenly, she knew everything in her life brought her to this moment.

  She wanted Spencer. She needed him. Maybe if she nudged him, he’d show her if he felt the same.

  “Spencer. I have a request. You can say no and I won’t be offended.” She cleared her throat and ignored the maddening blush she couldn’t control. “I…”

  * * *

  Shania’s courage failed her and Spencer smiled. “You want to sketch me nude.”

  Her lips parted with a sharp intake of breath. He would have given anything to know her thoughts at that moment.

  Several seconds passed. “Yes.” Her eyes drifted away from him and her blush intensified. “I haven’t had a nude model since college.” With each word her voice gained confidence. “I want to sketch all of you.”

  Spencer fought to hide his reaction to her flush, rapid breathing, and pounding pulse at the thought of him naked in front of her. Her fingers twitched madly.

  The woman was an open book.

  He stood and shrugged his flannel from his shoulders. As he placed it on the back of the chair, he asked, “Where do you want me, Shania?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  He’s really going to do it.

  Shania used every ounce of willpower to school her features. Her hands itched to do more than draw him. When he touched the hem of his undershirt, she didn’t blink.

  “Shall I get your book?”

  She didn’t comprehend the question but he didn’t wait for an answer. He walked to her desk and brought back her sketchpad and pencils. Returning to his previous place near the table, he waited for her to flip to a new page.

  Her lower lip clutched between her teeth, she watched as he stripped the t-shirt over his head. Removing his shoes and his socks, he took everything from his pockets.

  His fingers settled over the buckle of his belt, going still when he saw Shania sketching the position of his hands rapidly.

  Their gazes locked. “Thank you.”

  “I know you like to catch the little moments.”

  He removed his belt before unbuttoning his jeans and lowering the zipper. When his thumbs hooked the waist, her pencil stilled over the paper.

  Pushing them down and away
, she held her breath until he straightened. Snug boxer briefs were all that remained.

  Hands on his hips, he asked quietly, “Hit or hold?”

  Shania said breathlessly, “I have a lot to work with right now. I need to give my brain time to catch up.” She gestured to the other side of the room. “I’m stringing you back up.”

  “I had a feeling you might.”

  Leading him over to the straps hanging from the ceiling, she tied each wrist to separate lines. She wanted his arms spread wide.

  Moments later, the pulleys drew him to the balls of his feet and she felt lightheaded at the image he depicted.

  She turned on a CD of bass-pounding instrumentals and backed around her drafting table. It was a relief to find her chair without hitting the floor.

  Inhaling deeply, she picked up her pencils and took a fresh sheet of heavy paper from the drawer.

  It was almost impossible to concentrate.

  Ten minutes passed and she lifted her eyes to stare into his. The brilliant blue of Spencer’s was darker. For the first time, he gave her a glimpse of the sexual being behind his beautiful face and it stole her breath.

  There was no denying the desire written clearly in his features. No question that he wanted her.

  His cock was hard; throbbing behind the thin fabric of his form-fitting briefs.

  In the same instant she pressed her thighs together to control her reaction, Spencer licked his lips and she knew another day couldn’t go by without having her questions answered.

  His voice was low and gravelly as he said, “I would give everything I own to know what you’re thinking right now.”

  A few seconds of silence drew out between them before her pencil clattered against the wood of the table. Pushing her pad to one side, she stood up.

  I can’t take anymore.

  Shania walked around the desk and stood as close as she could to him without touching. Close enough to feel the radiant warmth of his skin.

  In all her life, a man had never looked at her in such a way.

  Her voice held a husky quality she didn’t recognize. “I sculpt. Did I ever tell you that?” He shook his head slowly. “I love the tactile sensation of it.”