Wandering around the room, Maya trailed her fingers over an easel, then curled them around a paintbrush. The urge to grab the paints and start splashing them all over the canvas was strong. There were so many emotions inside her, some good, some bad, some terrifying, others not, she hadn't had an outlet for them all, but now she did.
Abruptly spinning on her heel, she all but flew across the room until she was standing in front of Thunder, stopping just short of throwing herself into his arms.
“You like it,” he said, and she could tell he was pleased as punch about that.
Maya nodded.
“You are a little artist, aren't you, babydoll?”
The nickname made warmth spread through her as she nodded again. The warmth filled her chest and pooled between her legs. It made her ache in the sweetest possible way, it was like the warmth simultaneously made her feel full and empty all at the same time. Her heart felt full, but between her legs, she felt so very empty.
Pressing up onto her tiptoes, Maya didn't fight against her instincts, and right now they were urging her to show her gratitude. Because this was Thunder and she knew he wouldn't expect her to get down on her knees and take him into her mouth to convey her gratefulness for the thoughtful gesture, she instead touched a kiss to his cheek.
It wasn't much, and yet it felt like it was huge.
From the slow and content smile that curled up his lips, she got the feeling that Thunder felt the exact same way.
“You're welcome, babydoll,” he said, and then his brows arched as his thumb and forefinger grasped her chin.
She saw the question in his eyes and knew what he was asking. It shocked the heck out of her because she wanted it, almost more than she could stand.
When his lips feathered across hers, she gave a small, happy sigh. How was it possible for a stranger to feel so much like home?
Chapter
Nine
March 1st
8:50 A.M.
“I'm ready for my first lesson,” Thunder announced as he stood in the doorway to his girl’s new art studio.
If there had been any doubt that he’d read her right and she was an artist at heart, the fact that she’d stayed in there until after midnight, then was back upstairs before dawn had eliminated it. She’d already filled several canvases, and he’d had to drag her away to get her to eat something, although she’d barely nibbled away at it before returning like it was a magnet pulling her in.
Since he’d been sleeping in the bedroom beside the one they’d set his girl up in, he knew when she’d gotten up, followed her and stood in the open doorway unnoticed for hours watching as she painted up a storm. Yesterday her movements had been a little unsure, jerky, unpracticed, and she’d gotten frustrated with herself a couple of times when she obviously couldn’t do things the way she used to be able to.
This morning she wasn't having that same problem.
She was good. Like she could sell her paintings for millions of dollars, and have them in the world’s top galleries kind of good. It was amazing to see her work, and she got lost in the moment, in what she was creating, her face a serene mask as she found peace.
So far, her paintings had all been snapshots of images from around the mansion. A sunset from her bedroom window, the river running through the trees, the forest covered in a thick blanket of snow. She had amazing recall, and her pictures looked so real that if he hadn't seen her paint them with his own two eyes, he would have thought they were photographs.
At his announcement, she turned to look at him over her shoulder, her eyes wide with surprise, a brush in her hand paused midway between her and the canvas sitting on the easel in front of her.
“We’d better start with something a whole lot easier than a landscape, though, because my skills are beginner level. Think toddler with a crayon kind of beginner level,” he added with a grin, and his girl gave him the ghost of a smile in return.
It was a start, but he wanted a full-blown smile.
Wanted to see her entire face light up.
Wanted to hear her laugh ring like bells.
Wanted her to feel safe enough not to always expect the worst.
“So you up for giving me a lesson?”
Hesitating for a moment, she then gave a nod and set her paintbrush down. Standing, she picked up her canvas and carried it over to the counter, carefully leaving it there, then grabbed two new, smaller canvases and set one up on the easel she’d been using and the other on the spare one.
