Chapter 17
"Where will the show be?" I ask quietly as I finish dressing. I can't believe that just happened. I can't believe I can walk after this just happened. After tying up the condom, Noah had gone to get a warm cloth and had washed my body tenderly, wiping away all the sweat that had gathered on my chest and forehead before the pulled the wet, moist cloth between my folds. It was tender, too tender for the man who now sat in front of me, half-dressed staring at his smart phone.
"The show?" His eyes dart up and over my face before a small grin pulls at the corner of his lips. "My show?"
"The pictures you've been taking of me…" I suddenly feel embarrassed that others will see what he's been seeing. "Those pictures. Where will you be showing them?"
"In New York." He moves past me to retrieve a pad and paper from a desk in the corner of his bedroom. "I'll write down the details."
"I'm not sure I'll go." I feel way too connected to him to let this continue beyond our photography sessions. Logically I know most of that is tied in to everything that happened in Paris. I just had rebound sex with the best lover I've ever had. Why did he have to appear in my life right now? I wish I had met him before I'd left on my trip. Maybe if I'd never met Beck, my heart wouldn't feel as completely muddled as it does right now. I never had trouble separating lust from love but since I found out what love actually feels like a few months ago, the line between them is blurred beyond any recognition.
"Alexa." He pats the bed next to him. "Sit down."
I fidget in place, moving back and forth between my feet. I don’t want to sit down. I've never felt this vulnerable before and I don't like it. I want to wash it away. As soon as I walk out of his front door, I'm jumping in a taxi and sprinting home to shower. Washing Noah Foster out of my body and mind can't be that hard, can it?
"Sit down." His tone is unyielding and commanding.
"Please don't take pictures of me right now," I say in a hushed tone. I can't handle that. The thought of him pulling out a camera so he can capture the post orgasmic glow on my face is more than I can shoulder right now.
"Sit," he repeats even louder than the last time.
I acquiesce and sit a few inches from him. My eyes settle on his hands and the piece of paper that is now dangling from his fingers.
"Here are the details." He shoves the paper onto my lap and I grab for it before it flutters to the floor. "Come to the show with me."
"What?" I glance at his face. I need confirmation of what he just asked me.
"Let's go to New York together."
A ball of desire pools within me. He wants to take me to New York, to his show. He never leaves his home and he wants us to travel to the city together.
"I thought…" I stammer as I search for the compassionate way to present what I need and want to say to him. "I thought you didn't go out."
"I don't." His eyes watch my face for any reaction. "I want to go with you."
"Why?" I shake my head wishing I had tempered that with more compassion. It's too direct.
"You make me feel safe." The words are soft and barely audible. Before I have time to respond, he's on his feet, his thumb scanning his phone signaling that the discussion is over.