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“The colors represent your emotions?”
In her peripheral vision, she saw him lift his glass to his lips.
“In a way,” she said. “Although it’s not as simple as anger equals red. Sometimes there isn’t a linear path between words and emotions. Especially for kids. And many times, a grown-up’s idea of how to process trauma or change doesn’t work for a child. Adults have grown accustomed to using their words. But kids, even teenagers on the cusp of adulthood, often need a different outlet. Painting, drawing, a physical expression of what is happening inside helps them process the world around them.”
“I’ve seen a lot of kids who could use your help,” he said.
“I can imagine,” she murmured.
“There was this one kid. Nine or ten. I’m not great with ages, and this boy had probably spent months, maybe years, struggling with hunger. But he’d found a stick and was drawing in the dirt. What stuck with me, the reason I did a double take while we were moving through the area, was that this kid wasn’t just passing the time. He drew with purpose and determination.”
He lifted one hand and ran it through his hair, pressing his eyes closed for a split second, as if locking the memory away in the vault.
No wonder he wants to escape his past and everything that makes him who he is for a few fantasy-filled nights. This man has witnessed nightmares.
The waiter returned and asked, “Ready to order? Questions about the menu?”
Cade’s relief permeated their intimate space as he reached for the menu. After they ordered, the waiter disappeared. The spotlight turned on again, this time illuminating a piano in the corner to the right of their table. A man wearing a tuxedo with the tails draped over the bench began to play a classical piece that sounded vaguely familiar.
“Have you finished painting?” Cade asked.
Lucia nodded, glancing down at the portrait. The man in the picture looked lonely. She picked up the brush and swirled it in one color after another, creating a frenzied background layered with pinks, reds, greens, and blues. She set the brush down and glanced at the paper. This was what she saw when she looked at Cade—a man who promised to give to the people around him but remained closed off to taking for himself.
But now it was her turn to give.
“All done.” She set the painting on the far side of the table to dry. She slipped her left hand under the long tablecloth and touched his thigh. “You’ve been very patient.”
“I liked watching you paint,” he said.
“You’ll like this more,” she promised.
She ran her hand up to his crotch and moved her palm up and down, mapping the shape of his long, hard length. He locked his gaze with hers and raised one of his eyebrows. Her fingers moved to his zipper, drew it down. His eyes widened as she slipped her hand inside and freed his cock from his boxer briefs.
She stole a look around the restaurant. No one was looking at them. The other diners were focused on themselves or the lingerie-clad tap dancers who’d just stepped onto the stage beside the man seated at the piano.
She began to stroke him. “Tell me what you want,” she said. “How you like to be touched.”
“Lucia.” The raspy quality of his deep voice betrayed his desire.
She turned her body toward him, reached her free arm under the table, and cupped his balls with her right hand. He groaned and lifted his hips off the love seat.
The sight of the big, bad Navy SEAL demanding more from her touch left her bold, determined, and wondering if she should slip her hand under her dress and roll her fingers over her clit. But no, this was for him.
“This wasn’t on my list,” he said as she stroked him harder and faster.
One of the lingerie-clad tap dancers sped up, the sound of her shoes threatening to drown out the piano.
But Cade wasn’t looking at the show. His eyes roamed over Lucia as if they were the only two people in the room—and she was all he needed to come hard and fast under the table.
“Tell me what you want,” she demanded. “Because I’m adding ‘give Cade a hand job in a restaurant’ to mine.”
Chapter Fifteen
She does a helluva lot better job at keeping her promises than I do.
Cade had gone from swearing to do the right thing and keep his hands off his best friend’s sister to letting her jerk him off before the waiter returned with their meal.
Technically, the clothes had stayed on. But if they got arrested for this, word would probably get back to Natalie. His best friend would go after his balls with the small, dull knife she used to cut lemons behind the bar. And he could forget about seeing his dog again.
