“That I’ll find out I’m not any good,” I say. “I’ve been telling myself I’m someone who paints, but the truth is I’m only someone who wants to paint. There’s a difference.”
“When did you start wanting to paint?” he asks.
I snuggle against him and sigh. “My mom painted. Watercolors, mostly. She did flowers and landscapes. It was just a hobby, but she loved it. She’d paint at the kitchen table, and I’d sit next to her with my own little set of paints.”
My throat tightens. I don’t like to talk about my parents much. Most people don’t want to know the sad parts of a person’s life.
“My parents died in a car accident when I was ten. I went to live with my aunt after, and she was fine, she was nice, but it wasn’t...”
I trail off because I don’t have the right word.
“It wasn’t the same,” Dane finishes.
I look at him. He’s not giving me pity. Something in his face tells me he gets it.
“Yeah, it wasn’t the same.”
His arms tighten around me, and we’re both silent for a bit, but it’s not awkward. It’s nice to be held without expectations.
“What about you?” I ask eventually. “Leo told me a little about you, but I don’t know much about your life outside of all this.”
He’s quiet, and for a moment, I think he’s going to dodge the question, but then he speaks.
“I was married for four years. Her name was Claire.”
Nothing about Dane screams formerly married, but at his age, I shouldn’t be surprised.
“What happened?” I ask, then wince. “Sorry. You don’t have to—“
“It’s fine.” He looks toward the window. “Claire wanted the white picket fence. Kids, a golden retriever, dinner at six. And I wanted something she couldn’t give me, and I couldn’t give her whatshe needed either. We were honest enough to end it before we destroyed each other.”
There’s an ache in his voice, not regret. More like the kind of loss that comes from caring about someone you still had to let go.
“How long ago?” I ask.
“Six years. Since then, I’ve been traveling a lot for work. Different cities, different hotel rooms. I go where the consulting contracts take me.”
“And Leo’s guest room every Christmas.”
His mouth curves. “And Leo’s guest room every Christmas. It’s good to have somewhere to go for the holidays.”
I hear what he’s not saying. The consulting and the travel and the not-putting-down-roots isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
“You get lonely,” I say.
Dane looks at me, and for half a second, the mask slips. His gaze softens, and my breath catches.
Then he straightens, and the mask is back. Before either of us can say anything else, we hear Leo’s voice calling me from his office. Dane helps me to my feet, smoothing down my hair.
“Go on,” he says softly. “And remember, no coming unless you have permission.”
I nod, still trembling from the intense edging session. As I make my way to Leo’s office, I can feel Dane’s eyes on me, and I wonder what else he has planned for me.
Leo’s office is dark wood and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A window overlooks the backyard, afternoon light streaming in. His mahogany desk dominates the room.
Leo’s sitting behind his desk with his laptop open, looking every inch the powerful businessman.
When I enter, he rises from his chair, his movements predatory. “Someone’s turned on. Was Dane playing with you?”
