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“Ten minutes.” The man glanced at her. “Hey. I figured I should cook as a thank you.”
“What made you think of cooking as a thank you?” she countered, dumbfounded.
“You won’t accept money, and I refuse to not return the favor.”
His logic left no room for arguments, so she let it be and joined the two. When Archie grew sleepy after lunch, she tucked him in his bed and felt eyes on her back, but neither commented when she kissed her son’s forehead and closed the door. Alexa got busy once more, packing stuff up and bringing them to where Edmund stood in the living room.
“You can take the rest of the pasta home. I’m sure you have some things to do…”
“I can’t leave.”
She paused at his words, then scrutinized him. What she assumed as him being ready to leave was a man brimming with restlessness.
“Oh. Why?” she asked cautiously.
“The sun’s at its peak. I have to paint.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
She detected his agitation next and understood all too well, the itch not one to let go no matter what reasoning an artist’s head came up with. The purpose and light in his eyes were so bright, too, until realization dawned.
“You are inspired now.”
“Yes.”
And inspiration this intense could never be ignored.
“I have some old stuff. Hold on.”
To her surprise, he trailed after her to the storage room and helped her move boxes away, then brightened when they dug up her painting materials.
“This will do. Second piece.”
Then she was taken to the living room and navigated to the couch while he set up in front of her.
“I can’t undress—”
“Stay as you are. Dress as you are,” he instructed, eagerness brimming. “You are perfect.”
Her body flushed, then obeyed. She sat and tried to relax when he moved closer until he was finally satisfied with her position. There was no hesitation and no complaints as he opened boxes and mixed and matched paints, then delved into the small canvas. His hands flew, paused, and continued, a motion that was frantic and instinctive. At the last pause, he frowned.
“Not right.”
“What’s not right?”
“Hold on.”
A blur and she was scooped up in two arms. Breathless, she held back a gasp when he repositioned her to a side view and tilted her head. Fingers fluttered to adjust her posture, each touch sending a sizzling sensation in her core until she was buzzing all over. She thanked the stars for her shirt not giving away her puckered nipples and bit back a moan when his hands caressed a shoulder he exposed. Then he finished with a book on her lap and stepped back.
“I can get another book, but I need you with a book,” he announced.
With the shirt hanging off one shoulder and his face riddled with tension, she could only nod.
“This is fine.”
She began to read to distract herself. Then the words took form, and a story flew, a tale sizzling with adventure and comedy. When she stifled a smile in chapter five, he cleared his throat.
