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‘Forget about that.’ He tightened his arms. ‘I want you naked in my bed tonight.’ He sniffed at her hair. ‘God, you smell fantastic. No way you’re going anywhere tonight.’
She was clinging onto his neck now, his chest hair brushing unbearably against the swollen, sensitive peaks of her breasts. ‘But I thought we weren’t going to do it again.’
He laughed, the sound rough and rueful. ‘Red, you’ve got so much to learn.’ He wiggled his brows, lasciviously. ‘Wouldn’t you know it? I guess I’m gonna have to teach you.’
He didn’t sound remotely put out about it.
Kicking the throw rug away, he sauntered through into the bedroom with her. Bumping the door closed, he whirled her round into the room.
Jessie saw the bed first, a large mattress on the floor, the bed sheets strewn across it, but as he knelt down to dump her on it her head fell back and she caught a glimpse of the blaze of colours over his shoulder.
‘Oh, my goodness, Monroe.’ She scrambled out of his arms and rushed over to the canvases stacked against the wall.
They were strong, bold, striking images. People’s faces, some tender, some touching, others unbearably sad and strong. Stunning landscapes of vibrancy and life. Ugly urban places that had a haunting beauty. Each one of his subjects leapt off the canvas in its own distinct way. His use of colour, of light, of contrast was vivid and demanding, as if he had drawn the emotion out with the paint. She turned back to him, tears forming in her eyes. He stood next to the mattress, watching her, his eyes carefully blank.
‘That bad, huh?’
‘Monroe.’ Walking to him, she placed her palms on his cheeks, searched his face. ‘They’re incredible. You have an amazing talent.’
‘You like them?’
‘Are you joking? I don’t like them. I love them. They’re phenomenal.’ She turned, ran back, picked up a small square canvas of a woman and a girl, standing by a gas pump. The girl, who looked little more than a child, was heavily pregnant. Her eyes shone with bitterness and defiance. The paint strokes were rough, the fierce strength elemental on the girl’s face.
As she studied it Jessie felt her own emotions well up inside her. ‘You’ve captured her so perfectly. Who was she?’
‘Hey.’ Walking up behind her, he scooped the tear off Jessie’s cheek, laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Don’t cry, Jess. The guy responsible stuck by her and so did her mom. She did okay.’
Jessie put the canvas back against the wall, turned to him. ‘I’m not crying because of her. She looks tough enough to wrestle an ox. I’m crying because of your art, Monroe. It’s so exquisite.’
He looked taken aback. ‘You like them that much?’
Monroe pulled her into his arms, the surge of pride inside him so huge it was choking him. No one had ever said something to him that could have meant more. This was better than when she’d had her first orgasm in his arms and that had been pretty damned overwhelming.
‘It’s only a hobby,’ he said, inhaling the fresh, flowery scent of her hair.
She drew back. ‘Don’t lie.’ She took another long look at his paintings. When she turned back, her eyes were full of wonder. His knees felt shaky.
‘That’s not a hobby,’ she said softly. ‘That’s a passion.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘JESSIE, dear, your young man’s outside.’
Jessie’s stomach did a little flip as Mrs Bennett walked into the gallery’s tiny office. The leap of joy was something she’d got used to in the last few days.
‘He’s only a few minutes early,’ her boss continued as she put the sales invoices down on Jessie’s desk. ‘You can go now if you like.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Bennett.’ Jessie tapped the shutdown button on the desktop computer, grabbed her bag from under the desk and ran out.
Monroe stood outside the gallery’s main doors. He looked tall and slightly tense through the glass. Her young man. Wasn’t that the most wonderful phrase in the whole wide world?
They’d been together now for four whole days and she felt as if her heart were going to burst in her chest at the sight of him. Had she ever been happier in her life?
The sex, of course, was fabulous. The man made love like a god. She’d never experienced anything like it before. Toby had always treated foreplay like a chore. Maybe that was why she’d never been able to relax, enjoy it. Monroe seemed to know instinctively what to do to make her forget everything except the touch, the feel of him.
But it wasn’t Monroe’s lovemaking skills that had dazzled her, had lifted her onto a cloud of such intense pleasure and contentment. It was the companionship. They made love every morning and then they would have breakfast in his apartment before he took her to work on the Harley. He’d be waiting outside to pick her up when she got off at noon and then they’d drive like mad things straight back to the apartment and make long, lazy love together all afternoon and most of the evening.
And yesterday, he’d brought her flowers, for goodness’ sake. A small bunch of wildflowers he’d said he’d spotted on the way in to town. His obvious embarrassment, when he’d thrust them at her, the delicate blooms wilting in the heat, had only made the gesture more wonderful. It was so romantic.
