“You look incredible in the moonlight.” Jeb’s voice, low and silky, is a balm, soothing away the foreboding echoes of the cricket’s message.
I tuck the necklaces under my tunic’s collar, voice caught in my throat.
Branches part to reveal his face and disheveled hair. He’s wearing a sexy, sideways smile. “I know, I’m two minutes late. I deserve a spanking.”
I snort, calmed by his teasing. “You should be so lucky.” I can do this. I can tell him anything. It’s Jeb, after all.
He lets himself drop, hanging on to a branch with one hand so he can flip around, feet first. It’s a trick he used when we would play king of the mountain in our earlier summers.
In one graceful movement, he straddles me, his weight pressing me into the soft quilt. “This okay? Am I too heavy?”
I tighten my arms around him when he tries to balance on his elbows and knees. “Stay just like you are.” He settles back into place, and I twitch my muscles in contentment. Nothing feels as perfect or as safe as being breathless under him.
His hand glides along my rib cage and stops at each bone, like he’s checking to make sure I’m in one piece. “Finally, I have you all to myself,” he whispers, breath hot on my face.
I bask in the scent of his cologne. “Jeb, I need to tell you something.”
“Mmm, can’t it wait, skater girl?” His lips nuzzle my neck.
Hearing my nickname breaks me. I pull up his head to kiss him. Just once, before I completely shatter his world. My fingers wind through his hair. He rolls us so I’m on top, and we lie like that: my body imprinting on his, mouths trailing necks, ears, faces. We kiss under the stars, outside of the world’s reach, and don’t stop until we’re both breathless.
Panting, we draw back and stare at each other—overwhelmed by the drama and emotions of the past few days. And it’s about to get so much worse.
“So …” Jeb breaks the silence. “Is this your way of distracting me so you can steal my king?”
I almost smile at the memory. “Am I that transparent?”
He pulls me to lie beside him on the quilt, brushing hair from my face. “Can’t believe we wasted so many summers playing chess under this tree while your dad was at work.”
“You’re just mad because I always won,” I say.
He rests his head on his outstretched arm. “It was worth it. I got to tickle you afterward.” He traces my lips with a fingertip. “I liked having an excuse to touch you.”
I kiss his finger. “Even back then you thought about touching me?”
“Spending every day surrounded by sketches you inspired left little time to think of anything else.”
I suppress a wave of longing for the simplicity of the life we once lived. I had no idea at the time how easy it was.
How am I supposed to tell him I’m leaving? How do we say good-bye to moments like these?
I skim my fingernail along his ear, searching for the words.
He shivers and smiles. “Speaking of my artwork,” he says before I can speak, “we need to talk about Ivy. We were wrong about how much she’s willing to pay.”
I tighten my lips at hearing the heiress’s name. No wonder he was so evasive on the phone. He was counting on that money to help us get started in London.
This is the perfect opportunity. I’ll tell him it doesn’t matter. That money is the least of what’s standing in the way of our future now.
I open my mouth, but Jeb beats me to the punch again. “She’s offering ten thousand more,” he says as he sits up and brushes leaves from his T-shirt and jeans.
I scramble to sit beside him, mind spinning. My tunic slides off my shoulder, leaving it cool and exposed. “Twenty thousand bucks? For one fairy painting?”
Jeb glides a fingertip along my shoulder. “Not exactly. She wants a series … three new fairy paintings. Sexier ones.”
When Jeb paints me, he poses me, evaluates every contour of my body, studies the way the light and shadows skim my skin, which often leads to things other than work. I’ve missed those sessions. It would be so perfect to start them again. The thought makes me ache even more not to leave.
I swallow, fighting to say good-bye, wishing I didn’t have to.
Jeb leans down to kiss my bare shoulder—tender, warm, and sweet—then covers my skin with my sleeve. “You need to know, there’s one condition,” he says, leveling his gaze to mine. “Ivy wants me to paint a collection of her. She wants to be my muse.”
I shove aside all thoughts of Wonderland and magic wars. “Ivy wants to model for you?”
Jeb was bound to get commissioned for customized portraits eventually, but I wasn’t prepared for that to happen today.
He watches me in silence.
“What do you mean, sexier paintings?” I press.