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Chapter Fifteen
The following evening, Everett watched as Isabel struggled to stay upright on the ice skates, a smile hovering on his lips as he held her hands and countered her fumbles to keep them both on their feet.
"There's a reason I'm a beach girl," she growled. "Remind me to take you surfing and let's see how well you do."
He laughed, loving her competitive streak. "You haven't fallen for about three minutes."
The glare she shot him from beneath her lashes left him chuckling, and with a curl of his arm, he brought her round so that she pressed against his front. "Kiss me."
Without protest, she used his chest for balance and heeded his request, and he kept them both upright even when her feet slipped on the ice in opposite directions. "Had enough skating?"
"Have mercy,yes."
Another laugh ripped out of him, and he gripped her tight, slowly managing to get her to the outside wall with only a few wobbles and one last-minute catch to keep her from falling on her pretty rear.
The skates came off, and once they were back in street shoes, he wrapped his arm around her and left the area to peruse the famous shop windows, Tomas falling into step behind them as their ever-present guard.
Everett loved exploring the city through Isabel’s eyes. She truly had an artist's soul in that he'd often catch her looking at people or structures or things of interest, a tilt to her head as she studied them.
He liked her quiet contemplation, but not nearly as much as he liked her laughing and seductive and looking sleep-tousled and gorgeous wearing one of his dress shirts. Those were images he’d carry in his heart and mind forever.
After another hour of strolling the streets of New York and taking in all the Christmas lights and sounds, they headed back to the penthouse. It had taken massive amounts of persuasion to lure Isabel out of her studio this afternoon, and while he loved her passion for her work—something he totally understood and supported—he wanted to spend every moment he could with her.
"Tired?" he asked once they'd shed their coats and gloves and hats.
As though sensing his mood, she bit her lower lip and shook her head. "No, but I should probably get back to work. The meeting with the curator is coming up, and I want to have new art to show her."
"Can I see what you've been working on?"
She worried her lower lip between her teeth, but after a few seconds, she nodded. “If you’d like.”
He followed her to the bedroom turned studio, noting the sway of her hips and the way her hat had mussed her hair. The tip of her nose was red from the cold, and her mascara was smudged from her wind-induced tears.
He liked that she didn't look perfect. This Isabel was soft and gentle, creative and fun. A woman who didn’t know her own allure and made him thankful of it.
She flipped the light switch in the room, and he paused in the doorway. Her large easel held a painting draped with fabric, but around the room were several projects she'd completed, setting atop smaller tabletop easels or blanketed tables to dry.
He moved through the room, pausing at the first piece, amazed at her speed and skill. He immediately knew where she'd gotten her inspiration and liked the fact him showing her the city had helped inspire her. The woman Isabel had painted looked lonely yet strong, sad but not broken, staring into the depths of her drink as though remembering a heartbreak or some other important moment in her life.
From there he moved on to the second piece, liking the vibe and continuity of the set. This image was of the same woman, walking alone in a rain-soaked street.
The third canvas… His face was in shadow and not visibly defined. The image was more about his physique, but it was obviously him, right down to the gray sweatpants and watch on his arm. He was the focus of the painting, but in the background was a feminine shape and hair the color of Isabel's. "Have you titled it?"
He heard her swallow audibly.
"The…The Waiting Game."
He smiled inwardly and nodded before moving on, pausing to finger the drape hanging on the wood of the easel yet not over the work itself. "May I?" he asked, respectful of her wishes to wait until a piece was finished. Maybe she'd forgotten to cover it, thinking no one would be in here but her.
"Oh, it…it was just a quick one. I did it today before we… I...guess."
He immediately stepped in front of the easel before she could change her mind and shifted his gaze from her to the image.
He exhaled in awhoosh,his lungs seizing at the sight of a couple, the man standing tall and bare-chested behind a smaller woman, arms cradling her while she wore his dress shirt. His head was buried in her neck, her head tilted at an angle to give easy access, lips parted as she breathed. The watch was there. Isabel's hair hid the majority of her face as she pressed it against the arm securing her."This one is sold."
"What?"
"I want it. Name your price."
