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His muscles tightened beneath her fingers, propelling her courage forward. This man had teased her from the moment they met. Here, in the dark corner of the restaurant, she wanted to give him something in return.
“Have you had a chance to look at the menu?” the waiter interrupted, placing their cocktails on the table.
“We need more time,” Cade said, the words hard and sharp.
“A lot more time,” Lucia added, sitting up straight. She kept her hand on Cade’s leg and reached for a sip of liquid courage with the other.
The waiter nodded and retreated into the semidarkness.
Cade turned to Lucia, a question mark clear and present in his furrowed brow. “Planning to offer me a peek beneath your dress before the waiter returns?”
“Not exactly.” She moved her hand up and down his thigh. “But I know how anticipation can eat away at you. For example, I’m dying to know what’s in the gift bag.”
“Something I saw this afternoon that made me think of you,” he said. “I’ll let you open it now if you tell me how you plan to take the edge off.”
She laughed. “You don’t like surprises either, do you?”
“I try to avoid them whenever possible. Most of the ones I face tend to end badly,” he admitted. “I can be patient when I need to be. But if there’s a way to learn what I want to know, I’ll take it.”
“Deal.” She set her drink down and held out her hand. “The bag, please.”
He picked up the plain white gift bag overflowing with red tissue paper and held it out. She peered inside and tried to catch a glimpse at her present before she tore the paper out.
“Now you’re willing to let anticipation linger?” he said.
“It’s been a long time since anyone has given me a present.” She reached for the tissue paper lining the top of the bag. “Last Valentine’s Day, the kids I was working with at the time made beaded necklaces for me.”
“I didn’t buy you jewelry,” he said, his tone reassuring, as if he knew she secretly craved something unique that spoke to her.
She reached into the tissue paper…and found a long rectangular box. She pulled it free and stared at her present. “You bought me a watercolor set.”
“There’s a sketchbook in there, too,” he added. “Last night, by the fountains, you mentioned wanting to paint what you saw.”
“Thank you.” She took out the sketchbook and set it beside the paints on the table. She flipped open the watercolors, then picked up the slim brush inside and dipped it in her water glass. In another restaurant, she’d probably draw disapproving looks from the staff. But she had a feeling their Mad Hatter server wouldn’t blink an eye.
“I’m glad you’re excited to get started,” Cade said. “But I think you’re forgetting your side of the bargain.”
“Now’s the time to be patient.” She swirled the wet brush through the black paint. “I’d like to do a before and after series.”
He leaned back against the love seat’s red velvet and studied the room. “You want to paint the girl in the ring before she finishes her act?”
“No, I’m painting you,” she murmured, focusing on the lines of his face.
He raised an eyebrow. “Before and after what?”
She studied his face, noting the way he schooled his expression. On the surface, she saw his curiosity and desire, but beyond that, there was so much more. He’d given her a glimpse when he spoke of his dedication to the Navy and his haunted past with his parents.
Her hand moved over the paper, translating what she saw into shapes and lines. Adding shades of color to the black outline.
“Do you always paint people?” he asked, turning his gaze to the performance near the ceiling.
“No, most of my work resembles the paintings you saw at the opening last night. But I still do the occasional portrait.” She dipped her brush in the water again, touched it to the paints and then the paper.
“Why did you choose to paint abstracts instead of portraits?” he asked.
“When my therapist first introduced the idea of using art to express what I was feeling, she told me to create a self-portrait. But when I thought about painting myself, I didn’t see lines,” she continued, focused on the pape
r in front of her. “Or a face. I saw colors. Later, I realized I was painting what I felt.”
