Reid led her down the alley another twenty feet or so and then stopped. She heard what sounded like keys entering a lock and a heavy door creaking open. Once again he led her forward. She desperately wanted to open her eyes, but didn’t want to ruin his surprise. Chewing on her lower lip, she waited while he closed the door and moved around the room doing things she couldn’t discern by sound alone while telling her to keep her eyes closed.
Finally, he approached her from behind, wrapped one arm around her waist and held his other hand over her still closed eyes. “Shit, I’m starting to have second thoughts about this.”
She could hear the anxiety in his voice. “Why would you have second thoughts?”
“Because I don’t know what you’re going to think. I’m worried you’ll hate it.”
Lucie canted her head to the side and repeated his earlier question. “Don’t you trust me?”
…
The room was black as pitch with the exception of the overhead floodlight he’d turned on to shine directly over an easel, and on that easel sat a large cork board holding a charcoal pencil drawing of Lucie…nude.
Don’t you trust me?
Did he? Art was extremely personal and something as intimate as this—the way she looked to him when they made love—was even more so. She had every right to be offended, even if they were the only people who would ever see it. It was still a liberty he’d taken without her permission.
He’d like to think he didn’t know what had possessed him to do something as crazy as sketch a nude of Lucie, but he’d be lying to himself. Something about her—about the way he felt when he was with her—had resurrected his creative side from its years of slumber. Enough to where he’d called different art studios until he’d found a guy who’d been willing to let him use some space and supplies for a couple of days in exchange for some tickets to his upcoming fight.
And this was what he’d been inspired to create.
So whether he trusted her to receive it as the gift it was meant to be or not didn’t really matter, because keeping it hidden from her like a dirty little secret was out of the question. There was no backing down now. No guts, no glory.
He took a deep breath, his chest expanding against her shoulders, then let it out slowly. “Okay,” he said, lowering his hand. “Open your eyes.”
Lucie gasped softly before covering her mouth with her fingers and whispering, “Oh, my God.”
Whether it was a good “Oh, my God” or a bad one, he couldn’t yet tell. He hoped like hell it was the former.
Though he knew every stroke by heart, he studied the drawing and tried to view it through her eyes. Charcoal lines and curves depicted her on a chaise in the throes of passion, her back arched, her head turned to the side with hair spilling over the edge of the cushion. Her right leg hung off the couch, the ball of her foot planted on the floor for leverage. The other bent sharply at the knee, her toes pointed and raised several inches. Stretching down her body, her right hand disappeared between tight thighs, while her left hand reached across and caged her right breast, the turgid nipple peeking out between spread fingers.
His favorite part was her face.
Thick bangs partially covered her brow and the way it always furrowed when she experienced a burst of pleasure. With eyes closed, her eyelashes laid elegantly above slightly flushed cheeks in their wispy spikes. Her mouth was full, her kiss-swollen lips barely parted as though a gasp had just broken their seal. And the heart-shaped freckle sat at the corner of her eye. A tiny detail most people might not notice if it was missing, but to him it was the difference between it being any other woman and being Lucie.
He came back to himself when she took slow steps toward the canvas as though mesmerized. As she continued to take in the picture like she would at an art museum, he stood at the light’s edge with his hands in the pockets of his jeans and did the same with her.
Tonight she’d donned a pretty, bright pink sundress with spaghetti straps. The bodice fit her like a glove, nipping in at her small waist and draping over the small flare of her hips with the flowy hem dancing at midthigh with every move she made.
“Reid, I…” She trailed off, and he feared the worst.
“What do you think? It’s okay; you can tell me the truth.”
She looked over her shoulder with tears in her eyes.
“It’s magnificent. You’re remarkably talented,” she said, turning her attention back to the drawing. “You made me…” She took a deep breath and released it on a shaky exhale. “…beautiful.”
His steps echoed in the sparse room as he crossed the few feet to turn her and hold her in his arms. One hand framed her face and wiped away a single tear that trickled over her cheek. “That’s where you’re dead wrong, sweetheart. It took me several tries before I came even close to capturing your beauty.”
She smiled wanly. “You’re sweet to say so, but in a million years I could never look like that.”