“Maybe it doesn’t make any sense, but if you paint me without my clothes on, what you see will replace the other pictures I have in my head. The ones I’m so damned tired of seeing every time I close my eyes.”
Of course he understood why she would want to reclaim her nudity—to make her body her own again. And he was dying to paint her like this, her smooth, soft skin flushed from their lovemaking.
“I’ll burn them,” he told her, even though earlier he’d told her he wouldn’t even consider it. “After you’ve taken the mental pictures you need. So that you don’t have to doubt that anyone else will ever see them.”
“Don’t you dare.” She looked over her shoulder at the paintings all around the room. “Your art deserves to live on forever, not to turn to ashes because I’m afraid someone might see them one day. I’m not even sure you should hide them anymore.”
“Getting to paint you at all is already more than I could have hoped for.” He wanted to leap at everything she was offering him, but he also didn’t want her to regret anything she did or said during this roller coaster of a week. At the same time, his fingers were literally itching to paint her. Just like this.
“Go,” she said as she moved to let him up and off the chair, then repositioned herself so that her legs were tucked up beneath her bare hips and her head was tilted against the back of the seat. “Start painting before you burst.”
He pulled on his jeans, and as he picked up his brush, he realized the best part of painting her like this wasn’t having her gorgeous curves on full display. It was the sated, happy smile on her face as she looked into his eyes.
A smile that he wanted to see every day for the rest of his life.
Chapter Twenty-One
A scratching sound woke Rosa the next morning. She was surprised to realize daylight was coming in through the drapes in Drake’s bedroom. Between his painting, her stitching, and all the crazy hot sex, she wasn’t sure what time it had been when they’d finally dropped into bed and slept.
But just because they were living on a crazy non-schedule didn’t mean that Oscar was. And as the scratching continued, she realized the dog obviously needed to take care of business outside.
Not wanting to wake Drake—he’d never made up any of that sleep he’d lost during his twenty-four-hour painting frenzy, and Lord knew he’d expended plenty of energy making her come again and again and again—she silently slipped from his arms. Pulling on his flannel shirt that was flecked with a rainbow of paint splatters, she buried her nose in it and smiled at having his scent all over her as she headed into the living room to let Oscar out.
The big furball was waiting by the front door, his tail thumping as she walked toward him. “Aren’t you a patient boy,” she praised in a soft voice, giving him a quick stroke over his back before letting him out.
For the first time in what felt like forever, the sun was out and shining, and though she was barefoot, she followed Oscar through the trees toward a patch of warmth. As she closed her eyes and lifted her face toward it while the surf crashed onto the rocks just beyond the forest, she felt good. Really good.
Less than a week ago, she hadn’t thought this kind of happiness could ever be hers.
She’d come to Montauk for a respite from her life and to figure out her next step. She’d expected things to stay rocky, but the more time she spent with Drake—one of the calmest, most confident, yet humble people she’d ever met—the more she thought that maybe she was strong enough to deal with the fallout both from the nude pictures and from her desire to leave the show.
Yes, her new strength still felt more than a little tentative and shaky, but she figured it was a start. Just as she was starting to believe that maybe she and Drake could find a way to make things work beyond their cabin refuge. After all, Smith had not only been really nice to her on the call yesterday, she also hadn’t sensed any judgment of Drake for hooking up with her.
Just then, however, a cloud blew in front of the sun. And where she’d felt so warm just moments before, the cold suddenly seeped in beneath the flannel shirt and made her shiver.
“Oscar,” she called out, “time to go back in.”
But it was a woman who appeared from between the trees, instead of Oscar. A pretty blonde who was probably a couple of years older than Rosa. She was carrying a pie.