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He shrugged. “I’ll make do.”
She pondered the ramifications of stripping in broad daylight. If she was going to do this, there at least had to be a payoff. She faced him, ready to pick a fight if necessary, her hands propped on her hips.
He raised his eyebrows. “What, Maddy? Spit it out.”
“How do you feel about having sex with someone you’ve known forty-eight hours?”
Heat flashed in his eyes but was quickly hidden. He smiled lazily. “I suppose I could make an exception for you, if it’s that important.”
She lifted her chin. “It’s no big deal. But our options are rather limited. You don’t even have cable.”
His lips twitched. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a lackluster host. I’ll try to do better.”
“That’s more like it,” she muttered. Without any ceremony, she stripped down to her bare skin and sprawled on the sofa. She had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes bulge and his jaw sag.
After a few long seconds, he removed his hungry stare from her body and went to get the canvas. He returned, holding it carefully, so she couldn’t sneak a peek. His cheekbones were streaked with color, and he walked slowly, as though in pain. When he had positioned the canvas on the easel, he brought the radio and plugged it in near the fireplace. After several spins of the dial, he found a station with less static than most, and Bing began singing about a white Christmas.
Van Gogh ambled over to the sofa and rested her chin beside Maddy’s arm, begging to be touched. Maddy lavished her attention on the dog, though she was aware of Grant’s every move. As he prepared his brushes, she decided it was as good a time as any to get the rest of the answers she’d been waiting for. “So, tell me, Grant. Why are you spending Christmas alone?”
He paused for a split second and then continued what he was doing. “I’m not,” he said simply. “I’m spending it with you.”
“You know what I mean. Why aren’t you with family?”
He sighed. “My parents passed away in the last five years. They had me when they were well up in years. I was the unexpected baby. My two older sisters live in the D.C. area. I would normally spend Christmas with them but, like I told you, I was restless. I needed to think. About my old career, about painting, about whether or not my life was what I wanted it to be. And to tell you the truth, it’s a little difficult sometimes to be around all that happy-family stuff knowing I had a chance at marriage and blew it.”
His blunt honesty stunned her. “I don’t think the end of the marriage was your fault.”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t willing to compromise at the time.”
“Maybe you weren’t supposed to. You were following your dream.”
His lips twisted. “Dreams are cold company when you want a woman in your bed at night.”
“You can’t tell me there hasn’t been an ample supply of women parading through your bedroom.”
“Fewer than you think. And I’m not talking about having a woman. I’m talking about the woman. The once-in-a-lifetime, other-half-of-me, mother-of-my-children woman.”
“That’s a tall order.”
“You don’t think it could happen?”
“I’m not sure. I used to.”
He began painting, his brow furrowed in concentration as he glanced from her to the canvas to her and back again. “How do you feel about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny?”
“I wonder why we lie to our children. Maybe the whole ‘happily ever after’ thing is a lie, too.” She heard the cynicism in her voice and winced. Was she asking him to convince her otherwise?
He worked in silence for several minutes. Finally he looked up. His dark gaze tracked over her body, male appreciation assessing her femininity and letting her know he liked what he saw. Her skin warmed, his admiration almost physical. She willed him to forget the damned picture, but he didn’t move.
She felt the velvet beneath her, smelled the slightly acrid tang of wood smoke in the air. The radio’s melodies evoked memories of Christmases past, happy Christmases. In the corner, the small, unassuming Christmas tree blinked and twinkled brightly. Suddenly, fiercely, she wanted to believe. True love. Forever. The Easter Bunny and Santa Claus. She wanted it all.
But believing was so hard, so scary. It demanded everything. And if you reached for the star at the top of the tree and missed, it was a long hard fall.
Not for the first time, Grant seemed to see inside her head, recognizing her yearning, her fear. His smile was gentle, filled with warmth and affection and something else that made her shake. He sighed softly. “Happiness isn’t a lie or a myth. Christmas is about magic and miracles, Maddy. Your coming here was a miracle. What I feel for you is magic.”
He laid down the brush he was holding and stepped back, his eyes sober as they looked at the picture. “Want to take a look?”
She dressed rapidly, glad she was once again wearing her own clothes. Did she really want to see herself as he saw her? She approached warily, expecting to be slightly embarrassed. After all, she hated looking at herself in dressing room mirrors. This would probably be infinitely worse. He stepped to one side, allowing her to view the canvas full on.
