I try desperately to think of a response, any response, but before I can find suitable words, he turns and leaves the room. I’m left standing inhermusic room. It’s just me with an echo of her.
Phillipe finally took the paintings to the gallery today. They were thrilled to sign him, and they wanted to display his series immediately—well, the first three, anyway. He told me that he wants me to sit for three more. He said that the gallery was going to feature him and that journalists would be coming to write pieces on him for the local newspaper and for a national magazine.
This was it. I knew it as soon as he told me. This was the moment when his life would change.
I left him in the studio to come down here to type. I asked him to set my typewriter outside in the arbor. It’s so peaceful here at night. There’s no noise, except for the sounds of the windas it whistles through the branches. I needed to think about some things.
He asked me if I would go with him to his opening night at the gallery. I was reluctant. I knew it was silly of me, because I should be proud of what he and I did, but there’s something sointimateabout those paintings.
Each one of them means so much more than just a naked pose. They’re a part of him and a part of me, and I don’t know if I want to stand there and listen to them being analyzed.
However, I feel like a hypocrite because I told him to get out there to let the world see his vision—but this is his dream, not mine.
I’m happy in the shadows this time. I’m content to stand behind the man I love and watch him rise to the greatness I know he has in him.
I just hope he understands my decision and doesn’t end up resenting me.
Shutting the journal, I stand and make my way out of the music room. Heading up the stairs, I can’t help but think,Why didn’t Phillipe just show people her journal? Or at least parts of it?It would be more than obvious that she was the one who didn’t want to be on display. He really had nothing to do with her decision to remain unknown. As it stands, though, Chantel, he, and I are the only ones who know that.
I reach the top of the stairs and turn to make my way down the hall. That’s when I spot him in his bedroom, the one he was in that morning several weeks ago. This time, he’s sitting on the bed with his legs spread apart, his elbows resting on his knees.His shoulders are slumped forward, and his head is resting in his hands. He is painfully gripping his hair.
Stopping at the entrance with the journal in my hand, I clear my throat and watch as his tortured eyes come up to meet mine. Without saying a word, I make my way into his room.
I’m aware that this is not the roomtheyslept in. I wonder if the mattress is the same one he so eagerly pulled up to his studio a lifetime ago.
Placing the journal on a chest of drawers against the wall, I’m aware of his eyes tracking my every move. I know he’s raw right now, thinking of her and the way people turned their relationship into something ugly. I find myself wanting to give him something back. I want to giveherback to him.
Moving forward, I take a deep breath and stop when I’m standing before him. He releases his hair and drops his hands as he looks up at me. I reach out to replace his hands with mine, running them through the strands. I tip his head back gently and can see he’s about to talk.
“Shh,” I tell him. This time, I’m determined to be the one in control. “Let me?”
His eyes darken as he nods. Taking that as his consent, I release his hair and take a step back. I undo my pants and push them, along with my panties, off my hips. Kicking them to the side, I move to undo my shirt. I feel the heat of his eyes on me as I hear the snick and clink of metal when he releases his belt buckle.
When I’m completely nude and standing before him, his mouth opens, and he licks his bottom lip. His eyes don’t stray when he stands slowly to push his pants down his hips. He removes his sweater, and I can’t get enough of him as he bares his body to me. Our eyes collide. Staring deeply, I witness the moment when his shattered soul comes into focus.
As he drops his final piece of clothing on the floor, he sits back on the edge of the mattress. Feeling my heart fluttering in my chest like a trapped butterfly, I step closer to him—the man I have now become one hundred percent consumed by. He’s stolen a part of me, and I don’t even know which part it is. My sanity? My passion? Or maybe my heart?All I know is that I want him like I need my next breath.
I climb on his lap, straddling his waist, then wrap my arms around his neck and press my lips gently against his. “Let me see you.” Pushing his shoulders gently, I whisper, “Lie back and let me see you the wayshedid.”
His eyes cloud over at the mention of Chantel. I reach out and trace his cheekbone.
“Let me give her back to you.”
Heavy, lust-filled eyes blink at me as he slowly lies back, his mouthwatering abs rippling with the move. He places his hands up behind his head while his sinful mouth parts. I feel myself getting wet.
From his full, thick chestnut hair to his sexy eyes filled with desire and passion, he truly is a work of art. His sculpted jaw clenches tightly as I touch stubble that feels prickly against my fingertips.
How long has it been since someone touched him gently?I wonder, running my fingers down his jaw to the dip in his chin. I lean down over him and touch his bottom lip with mine in a gentle kiss.
“What are you doing, Gemma?”
I look into his eyes and ask him a question I’m not sure he’ll answer. “Will you tell me how she was when she was with you like this?”
His mouth tips up in a sad smile as he lowers his arms from behind his head. He cups my naked waist, pulling me to him.
“She was sensual,” he replies, his voice strained.
I sit on his thighs, reaching down between us to grip his throbbing cock in my palm. I can’t believe some of the thoughts that are coming into my mind—and eventually making their way past my lips. “Did she like to touch you?” I ask.
