She felt appreciated. Adored. Consumed. Devoured. And...right on the verge of overwhelmed.
But just when she hit the point where fear might have been able to come creeping back in, Drake kissed her.
And made her forget everything but sweet, spiraling ecstasy.
Chapter Sixteen
“Before the sun sets, I need to paint you again.”
Drake tugged her from the warm, cozy bed where she could easily have stayed the rest of the afternoon. Especially if he was in it too.
“Maybe you could bring your easel in here so that I can stay in bed,” she said with a shiver as her bare feet hit the cool wood planks.
“Later,” he said as he dragged her against him for a hot, too-quick kiss. “Right now I want to paint you in the light coming in through the living room windows.”
“It isn’t easy being a muse,” she murmured as she turned to find her clothes.
He surprised her by putting his hands on her shoulders and spinning her around to face him. “Promise me you won’t ever sit for me if you don’t want to.”
She blinked at him, trying to figure out what she’d said wrong. “I was just teasing,” she said, but she instantly realized why he wouldn’t find her offhand comment at all funny. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it.”
“If it’s what you’re feeling—”
She put her hand on his jaw, desire rising at even that one small touch. “I love that you’re inspired by me in any way at all. I’m happy to sit for you until you get tired of having me here.”
“Never.” His eyes went so dark when he grew serious like this. “It won’t ever happen. But that doesn’t mean I have the right to imprison you in my painting cave.”
“Do you think that’s what your dad did?” She didn’t want to hurt him with her question, but she didn’t think either of them could skirt around it now either. “Do you think he made your mom his unwilling muse?”
His jaw jumped beneath her palm, and she wanted so badly to soothe him. “I don’t know.” She ran her hand down from his face to place it over his chest, his heart beating fast as he told her, “None of us know much at all about what happened between them.”
“What about the paintings? Wouldn’t you be able to tell from looking at her expression? From what you see in her eyes?”
“Maybe.” His frown deepened. “Unless my father only painted what he wanted to see—or my mother only showed him what she thought she was supposed to as his muse.”
Rosa wished Drake’s family was perfect, wished he didn’t have to deal with such a complicated situation. But maybe that was part of what had drawn them to each other from the start. And maybe that was also why they weren’t afraid to dig beneath the surface.
Right now, however, she wanted to see the light, the inspiration, in his eyes again. So instead of continuing to dig, she smiled and said, “You promised me pie and a dog on my lap.” It took another few moments for his eyes to clear, but when his mouth found hers again, she breathed a sigh of relief against his lips. “After the sun sets,” she whispered as she made herself draw back, “we’ll continue that thought.”
She felt his eyes on her—hot and hungry—as she pulled on her sweatshirt and panties and headed out to the kitchen. Oscar stretched lazily before padding over to her. “Do you have any treats for him?”
“He’ll happily take a slice of pie,” Drake said, already at his easel, “but there are dog bones in the corner cupboard.”
She fished a bone the size of her fist out of the container. “Sit.” Oscar plunked his big butt down. She held out her hand, and with the utmost care, he licked the bone into his mouth. “You really are adorable. One day I want a dog just like you.”
“You don’t have one?”
“I travel too much, plus my little brother is allergic.”
“Tell me about your siblings.”
“I have two brothers, actually pretty similar to yours, from what you’ve told me. Aaron is the cocky one. Sporty. Smart. A bit of a player, if I’m being honest.” She gave Oscar another bone, then washed her hands and reached for the pie on the counter. “I really do love him, though, even if he can be pretty insufferable sometimes. Lincoln is quieter. Just as charming when he wants to be, but usually happier in his head—just like my dad was.” Trying to keep from getting emotional again when she’d intended to keep things light, she said, “Lincoln can’t believe he has so many fans on the show. But there’s just something appealing about that strong, silent type.”
“No sisters?”