“Close your eyes, Claire,” he whispered.
Without hesitation, she let her lashes drift down. Her breath quickened, along with her heart.
Kiss me. Kiss me once more and make my body sing as you’ve done this past week…
Something cool and thin filled her palm. “Here,” he said with a matter-of-fact directness that brought her eyes flying open.
Thoroughly befuddled, and even more disappointed, she took in the brush he’d transferred to her hand.
“Tsk, tsk. I didn’t tell you to open your eyes, sweetheart.” With his spare hand, Caleb touched the tip of a finger against her nose, and again, Claire complied with that gentle order.
With her eyes closed, her body and every sense were even more keenly aware of Caleb Gray. The woodsy whisp of linseed oil that clung to him. The sough of his breath upon the sensitive nape of her neck that sent delicious tingles along the length of her spine.
“You asked for lessons,” he said softly against her ear. “And yet there is only one I can impart that actually means something.”
Her lashes fluttered, and she hung on, breathless, to his every whispered word.
“It isn’t about perfecting lines and formal training. It isn’t about being technical. It is about… feeling, Claire. It is about letting yourself be free to make a mistake, and from that, real art is born.” He paused. “Now, dip your brush in the paint, love, and just paint.”
She opened her eyes, and even with her back to him, he saw. “No, Claire, close them.”
Claire angled her neck a fraction and tipped her head back. His head, bent low as it was, nearly brought their mouths into contact, and butterflies danced in her belly as she hungered for that joining. “But I don’t know what to paint.”
Caleb tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Don’t think about it. Just dip the brush into your paint and give color, life.”
Give color, life.
With that, Claire closed her eyes, tentative at first as she painted strokes upon the wall. With every glide of her brush upon that invisible-to-her canvas, she surrendered herself to those strokes. The absence of a subject, together with the freeing sensation of just blindly painting, brought an awakening of joy. There were no constraints placed by either the outside world or Claire herself. There was no frustration in trying to flawlessly capture some tangible object or breathing person.
“That’s it, move,” he said softly as she worked. “You don’t overthink it. You don’t analyze it, Claire. You just feel.”
Just feel.
Claire gave herself entirely over to the unseen image she created, letting her brush fly, attuned to the drying that indicated more paint was needed. And she sensed Caleb’s presence, too. She worked until her shoulders ached, and the muscles of her arms grew strained, and her breath came in fast, little spurts.
And then she stopped.
Claire’s eyes fluttered open, and she slowed her movements. Her eyes immediately locked upon the streaks of blue, of all varying widths and depths, in fading shades like the morn sky just as the sun made its appearance to cobalt darkness that bordered on black.
“It is… magnificent,” she whispered.
“Yes,” Caleb said at her side.
They froze, trapped in the moment, studying her abstract creation, and then Claire and Caleb turned, their bodies in tandem. She would remember forever the searing power within his eyes at this very moment when she left tomorrow, escorted off. Her chest hitched.
And then Caleb crushed his mouth to hers. The brush slipped from her fingers, joining the clay dish of paint that he lost his hold on, splattering them both.
Claire couldn’t bring herself to care about the mess they made, or even worry about those remnants staining the creation she’d just completed.
And how could she? How, when he’d set her afire once more, and only his touch and his embrace could extinguish the aching need between her legs?
Wanting to meld herself to him, Claire went up on tiptoe and pressed herself close to the broad wall of his chest. He caught her by the waist, and a little gasp, lost to his kiss, escaped her as he brought her legs up around his waist. She clenched tight, welcoming the feel of his hard stomach muscles against her womanhood.
Caleb drove her back against the wall, and his tongue teased hers, tangling in a tempting dance that sent her hips moving.
“Mmm,” she keened as he shifted his focus away from her mouth and down to her neck.
“We shouldn’t do this,” he rasped, his beard-stubbled cheek scraping her skin in a way that only sent her desire climbing.
“We shouldn’t stop,” she panted. “I shan’t forgive you if you do.”
“Can’t have you forever mad at me, then, sweetheart.” With that, he lowered the bodice of her dress and drew her breasts out, exposing them to the cool air, but his breath, a hot sough upon her skin, drove back the chill.
“God, you’re beautiful.”
Hearing that pronouncement in his deep, rough American tonality somehow made that endearment all the more raw and beautiful for it.
Then, lowering his head, he drew one of the pebbled peaks into the hot cavern of his mouth and sucked.
Claire’s eyes slid shut, and with a little moan, she brought trembling hands up and curled them into his hair, tangling her fingers into the thickest, most luxuriant strands no man had a right to. “Yes, Caleb. Like that.” Those little words of encouragement she gave should have scandalized her for their boldness, and yet, they only enlivened her.
Resting her head against the wall, she gave herself up to just feeling… and taking what he offered.
He continued to weave his magic over her, flicking that sensitive tip, alternately swirling his tongue around it, and then suckling once more. Caleb rocked the long, rigid wall of his enormous shaft against her.
He shifted his attentions to her previously neglected breast and worshipped that peak. Incoherent with need, Claire pumped her hips in a bid to get closer to him… and surrender. She wanted it so very badly.
“Yes. More of that,” she begged, her voice harsh and breathless and wicked, and that only drove her hunger soaring.
He released her, letting her body slide down his tall, muscular one. The moment her feet touched the floor, she sagged, her arms going limp at her sides, and she borrowed support from the wall as her spine and muscles had so failed her.
Tugging off his shirt, Caleb tossed it aside. The lawn article snagged upon an easel and hung there. Next, he shucked his boots and trousers, adding to that growing pile of garments until he stood naked before her.
“Oh,” she breathed, devouring him with her gaze, latching her stare first upon that part of him that so beckoned and stirred the seeds of greater want. His length, thick and tall, stood proud, jutting out amongst a sprig of dark curls.
She dampened her mouth, remembering the moments she’d tasted and touched him, wanting to know that pleasure again… and more. Using the moment to appreciate all of him in his naked form, as she’d been unable to do in the carriage, Claire moved her study higher, trailing her eyes along every contoured ridge of muscles, from his flat belly and oak-hard tree trunks of legs, to his powerful forearms and—
Her passion briefly faded, and pain sent her belly into spasming as she fixed on the thin white scars along his shoulders and biceps.