“And your algorithm solution,” I tease him, because if I don’t laugh my heart might burst into love-flames.
His laughter is my favorite sound. “And myperfectalgorithm solution, who also happens to be extremely hot for me.”
“Guilty as charged,” I gasp, as he thrusts even deeper.
He lowers himself, kissing me as our bodies worship each other’s and the tidal wave crests and breaks.
We come together and it’s the craziest thing. I’m full of him in every imaginable way. My body, my soul, my belly, my heart. I’m having his baby and overflowing with his seed. I’m holding him as close I can, whispering the words over and over as I kiss him and my body squeezes and adores him tenderly. It feels in that moment like no love has ever been greater than ours. We stay that way for a long time, staring into each other’s eyes, as in love as it’s possible to be.
We wakeup still wrapped around each other. Dallas kisses me. Then he carefully disengages. He smooths my hair. He brings me a glass of water. “Drink. Then there’s something I want to show you.”
“What thing?”
“It’s not a surprise. Just a room you haven’t seen yet.”
I drink the water as he raises the remote controlled black-out screens and I’m surprised that it’s a sunny day outside. “What time is it?”
He pulls on some jeans and checks his phone. “It’s noon. Boone, Apollo and Sadie are bringing us dinner, I’ve been informed.”
“That sounds perfect.”
“Come on.” He wraps the sheet around me and lifts me into his arms.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
He carries me into the living area and down a hallway I haven’t seen.
Then he opens a door.
As soon as we step inside, I gasp.
I can’t believe my eyes.
The room is huge and airy, painted white, with one wall of floor to ceiling windows looking out over New York. Tables with paints, brushes and palettes have been set up. There are easels, some with blank canvases … and some with paintings. Other paintings are hung on the walls like an art gallery display.
Mypaintings.
Allmy paintings.
“Dallas.”
He sets me on my feet. I turn around to just take it all in.
It’s all of them.Every single one.The ones I painted in high school. The ones from my senior exhibition. The ones I painted as a child. The ones I painted of the hotel, sitting in the middle of Bourbon Street as the tourists walked by, commenting andencouraging me. It’s one of that series that’s my favorite painting of all. Which is hanging here now in the middle of all the others. “But …how? How did you find them?”
“I hired a guy to trace everything that was sold in the hotel’s estate sale. Turns out one art collector bought all of your paintings. She said she first saw your work when you were written up in the Picayune newspaper after your senior exhibition. She loved your work and she made a point of following your career. Her name is Maggie Hayworth and she’s the executive editor of an art magazine called American Artist. She said when she saw that your paintings were for sale in the estate sale, she bought them all and considered the purchase an absolute bargain.”
It really was. Everything went for bargain basement prices but there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it at the time.
“When I emailed her and told her I wanted to buy them and that I was buying them for you, because you never wanted to sell them in the first place, she agreed to it. It took some negotiating but she came around.”
Everyone has their price.
“She made me promise though, that I would ask you if she could do a feature on you for one of their upcoming issues. It’s a national magazine so it would get you a lot of exposure, if you’re planning another exhibition. I told her you were.”
“You did?”
