Frostbite Page 8

  I close my eyes as I feel his lips trail a path over the sensitive skin of my breast. When he flicks his tongue over my nipple, I shiver. “You’re such a good lover.”

  I expect a witty comeback, but he has other ideas. He kisses my other nipple. He’s less tender. His touch is more aggressive, but it draws another moan from somewhere deep inside me.

  I reach down to cradle his head in my hands. Inching his chin up, I find his eyes with mine. “Last night and today have been incredible.”

  “It’s not over yet.” He pauses. “I don’t want it to be over yet.”

  I don’t either, and it’s not just the sex. I don’t want whatever is happening between us to be over, but soon I might leave for Amsterdam to start a new job, he’ll fall back into his routine, and we’ll become fond memories to each other.

  His lips press kisses over my stomach to my hipbone. He tugs on the sheet that is covering me until my body is bare.

  “Why does it feel like I’ve known you forever?” he asks as he gazes up at me.

  I feel that too. It makes no sense, but I feel a sense of peace when I’m with him that I’ve never felt before.

  I moan when his hand trails over my skin to my core. He parts my legs before he drags his fingers over my tender flesh. “You’re not leaving this bed, Raelyn.”

  “Until we make love again?” I whisper.

  He doesn’t answer. His body tells me what I need to know. For now, at this moment, he wants me as much as I want him, and I can’t ask for more even though I want his every tomorrow.

  ***

  I rest my head against Calder’s chest as he massages shampoo into my hair. “This is the best.”

  He laughs. The sound vibrates through him. “Better than what we just did?”

  Shaking my head, I answer honestly. “No. That was better than the best.”

  We spent two hours slowly exploring each other. He got me off with his mouth before I took him in mine. With a slow groan and a twist of his hands in my tangled hair, he came on my tongue.

  Twenty minutes later, he was buried deep inside of me, whispering words that soothed my soul.

  He told me I’m beautiful. He called me his sunshine. He swore he’d never felt anything as good as us together.

  Warm water rushes over me as he rinses the shampoo away.

  Conditioner is next. He runs his finger over my hair, coating it with a cream that smells incredible. It’s masculine and strong, just like him.

  I smile, knowing that a woman isn’t comfortable enough to leave her things here. Everything in this loft is Calder’s. It’s only his.

  He brushes his fingers over my face chasing away any wayward drops of water.

  We switch positions so he can run the water over his head. He washes his hair in a rush before he pushes it back from his forehead.

  Resting both hands on his chest, I stare at him.

  “You’re looking at me,” he accuses with his eyes closed.

  “How could I not?” I confess. “You’re a dream come true.”

  “You are.”

  I tap my fingers on his chest. “You can’t steal my thunder like that. Accept the compliment, Frost.”

  His eyes pop open. “I will, but I meant what I said, Raelyn. You are a dream come true.”

  They are sweet words men whisper to women when they’re satiated. When their muscles are sore from pleasure, and they’re drained of their strength in the best way possible, they soften. Men say what sits in their hearts when they feel fulfilled.

  It may be fleeting, but it feeds something inside of me.

  “I need to show you something.” He scrubs his face with his hand. “I can’t explain it, Raelyn. Maybe I don’t need to. Maybe it will all make sense to you.”

  Dread settles inside of me, tugging at my heart. “What do you need to show me?”

  He grabs my arms to shift our positions. Tilting my head back, so the hot water washes away the conditioner, he kisses my forehead. “Let’s finish this, and then you’ll see.”

  I close my eyes and wish. I wish for this to be the beginning of the rest of my life, not the end of what might have been.

  Chapter 23

  Calder

  I have to do this. I need to see her face to know for sure that Raelyn is the artist behind that masterpiece hanging in my bedroom.

  I should have asked before we made love. I was tempted to stop her on her way to the shower. It would have only taken a turn of her waist to direct her eyes to the painting, but I didn’t do it.

  I had to let my shock settle before I let this dream slip through my fingers.

  Maybe the Ray Walsh who painted this is a kid who has talent beyond his years. Or it could be a man who has spent years honing his craft until he captured the beauty of his lover on a sunny, summer afternoon.

  My heart is telling me that the woman I’m toweling dry is the one who placed each brush stroke on that canvas. It’s her quirky signature in the corner. The shakiness of it reflects how unaware she was of her talent when she completed the piece.

  “Tell me that what you are about to show me won’t hurt me.” A crooked smile accompanies those words. She’s trying to find something to anchor her feelings, so I give her that, to the extent that I can.

  “I pray it doesn’t hurt you,” I say honestly. “Please know that I would walk on a fire barefoot before I’d ever hurt you.”

  Her gaze drops to the sweatpants I’m wearing. “Can you get my dress?”

  I reach for my navy blue robe hanging on a hook on the bathroom door. I wrap it around her, and even though her arms get lost in the length of the sleeves, she smiles. “I like this.”

  “I do too,” I confess. “Come with me?”

  I offer her my shaking hand. She takes it in both of hers.

  With the sound of my heart pounding in my chest, I open the bathroom door to head back into the bedroom, tugging gently on her hand as she follows me.

  Once we reach the bedroom, I position her so her back is to the painting. I need to preface this with my story. With the comfort I’ve found with her and with what I believe to be a self-portrait that she created.

  “Do you know Eleni Melo, Rae?”

  Her eyes widen. Her teeth latch onto the corner of her bottom lip. With a nod, she whispers, “I worked for her for a year.”

  “When was that?”

  “Did you sleep together?” Her bottom lip trembles. “Is that it? Do you have a picture of the two of you together? If that’s what you want to show me, I don’t want to see it.”

  I reach for her chin. “No. It’s not that. It’s nothing like that.”

  Her eyes search mine. “What is it? Just show me, Calder. Please.”

  The plea in her tone cuts through me. “I need you to know that I had no idea that you were the artist before I met you.”

  “The artist?” she parrots my words back to me. “I’m just an artist. Sometimes I wonder if I should be.”

  My gaze falls to the painting behind her. “You are an artist. You are the most talented artist I’ve ever known.”

  Tears fill her eyes. “You don’t have to say that. You don’t know my work, Calder. All you’ve seen are the broken pieces of a Christmas ornament.”

  I rest my lips against her forehead. “I’ve seen so much more than that.”

  She looks up at me. “What do you mean?”

  I slowly spin her around. “I bought that from Eleni a year ago. I had to. It spoke to me in a way I can’t explain.”

  Her head falls into her hands as a sob escapes her. “You have it? You have my painting?”

  I round her until I’m directly in front of her. “I’ve always had it.”

  With her shaking hands resting against my chest, tears race down her cheeks. “I thought it was stolen. I thought I’d never see it again.”

  The urge to call Eleni is strong, but I resist. She can go to hell. It’s Raelyn who needs me. She needs all of me.

  “It’s been here, in your bedroo
m, all this time?”

  I nod. “It’s been here. I think it’s been waiting for you, just like I have.”

  ***

  Her gaze hasn’t left the painting since I held her as she cried. To know that she believed her work was stolen when it was sold right out from under her makes my blood boil.

  Raelyn deserved better than this.

  “That’s the first painting I ever did of myself,” she whispers.

  I wrap my arms around her from behind. “It’s you in a field. There’s happiness in your surroundings, but sorrow in your solace.”

  Her body shakes with a silent sob, so I bring her closer. I drop my lips to her ear. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”

  “You see it, don’t you?” she asks. “The loneliness. The fear. You see it all, don’t you?”

  “I feel it.” I kiss her cheek. “I feel the depth of your emotions when I look at the painting. That’s why I had to have it.”

  For the first time, she turns from the painting to face me. “You kept it safe for me.”

  I nod. “I did.”

  “There were always people going in and out of Eleni’s compound. She said it was taken when she wasn’t looking. She swore that she spoke to the police about it, but the painting was never recovered.”

  “I gave her five thousand dollars for it.” I wince. “She told me the artist would be grateful that I bought it.”

  Raelyn’s hands rest in the center of her chest. “I had no idea.”

  Nodding my head, I look into her eyes. “I thought you were a guy. I thought Ray with a ‘y’ painted this. I searched for him online and came up empty.”

  That lures a small laugh from her. “I’m not a guy.”

  I rake her from head-to-toe. “Clearly.”

  “You didn’t make the connection when we met?” she questions.

  I’m ashamed to admit it, but I need to come clean, so I do. “Until tonight, I thought your name was Raelyn Jones.”

  This time the laugh is heartier, more joyful. It blooms somewhere deep inside of her and spills out. “Why would you think that?”

  “This is fucking embarrassing,” I confess. “I assumed your surname was the same as Dexie’s. She wasn’t wearing a ring when we met at the auction.”

  “She’s pregnant.” She holds her hands in front of her stomach. “Very pregnant.”

  “You don’t need a husband to have a baby,” I point out with a chuckle.

  “True,” she agrees. “I meant that because she’s pregnant, her fingers are swollen. She can’t wear her rings until after the baby arrives.”

  I smile at the way her voice changes when she says the word ‘baby.’

  “So all of this time, you thought I was Raelyn Jones?”

  Nodding, I close my eyes. “Guilty as charged.”

  Her hand on my chin soothes me. I open my eyes to find her staring at me. “You know me now.”

  “I do.” I want to know more, but I don’t know if I’ll get that chance. Maybe I need to create that chance, so the best thing in my life doesn’t get on an airplane and move to another continent.

  “Do you have other paintings, Raelyn? If you do, I’d love to see them.”

  Chapter 24

  Raelyn

  I hold my breath as Calder studies the images of my paintings on my phone’s screen. He hasn’t said a word since I gave him the phone and told him to scroll through them.

  Each time I complete a painting, I take a picture of it.

  Other than the painting hanging in Dexie’s townhouse and this one in Calder’s bedroom, only two of my paintings belong to someone other than me. Both went to a woman I met at the airport on my way to London.

  She was sitting next to me in the terminal as we waited to board our flight. The fact that she was nosy paid off for me because once she caught a glimpse of the photos of my paintings, she asked where to purchase one. That one became two, and with an exchange of our contact details and a few hundred dollars cash in my palm, we agreed that I’d have them shipped to her flat in London.

  Dexie handled those arrangements for me.

  As the plane left the runway that day, I cried tears of happiness. It was the first time I felt pride bloom in my chest. Someone not related to me liked my work enough to want to buy not one but two of my creations.

  “Where do you store these paintings?” Calder’s head pops up with the question.

  We’re sitting on the edge of his bed. Calder is still shirtless, and I’m wrapped in his robe. I’ve never been more comfortable in my life.

  “Dexie’s townhouse,” I say. “Rocco, her husband, knows a lot about art, so he takes care of them.”

  He flashes me a smile. “He takes care of them?”

  Laughing, I push his shoulder. “You know what I mean. He stores them in a room. It’s climate-controlled and dark.”

  Nodding, he glances back at my phone. “How many in total are there?”

  I look down at the screen before my gaze levels on him. “More than a hundred by now. I lost count.”

  He shifts until he’s facing me directly. With a touch of his finger to my chin, he exhales. “Rae, these should be in a gallery.”

  I study his face. “They should be?”

  “Do you know how much just one of these paintings is worth?”

  I shrug. I’ve never put much thought into that. “Rocco gave me two thousand dollars when he bought one, but he’s family, so he was extra generous. A woman I met on my way to London gave me three hundred for two.”

  “Rocco and that woman both got a hell of a good deal.” He points at my painting on the wall. “I did too.”

  I brush my hand over my forehead. “Are you saying you think more of my paintings are worth thousands of dollars?”

  “I think all of them are.”

  I stare at his lips. “You work in metal. You’re a sculptor.”

  “And a lover of art,” he adds. “I know brilliance when I see it, Raelyn. You don’t need to be working for anyone. You’re sitting on a goldmine.”

  If he’s right, this is life-changing. I can stay in New York. I can be here when my sister has her baby. I can rent an apartment and a studio in the city I love. I can be close to Calder.

  “I think we should take a couple of your paintings to a gallery I know and have them appraised.”

  “When?” I spit out.

  “I’ll make a few calls.” He picks up his phone from the nightstand. “Let’s get it done this week.”

  “I can’t believe this is happening.” My voice cracks. “Maybe I don’t have to wait so long for all of my dreams to come true.”

  He leans closer to brush a soft kiss over my lips. “Maybe they’re coming true now.”

  ***

  I’m halfway through finishing an ornament when Calder comes racing down the stairs from his loft.

  After we arranged for me to drop off two paintings at a gallery in the West Village tomorrow, he got a call from his sister.

  She called her engagement off and needed his advice.

  I listened as he calmed her and told her that one day the right man would walk into her life when she least expects it. As his gaze drifted to mine, he remarked to Magnolia that she might run into a stranger on the sidewalk and that man could change everything for her.

  After that call, he gathered me in his arms and made love to me.

  It was tender and pure. We held each other tightly as we fell from the high. I never wanted to leave his arms, but as he drifted back to sleep, I crawled out of bed and came down here to work.

  I needed a moment alone to process everything that’s happened to me since I first saw Calder on the sidewalk the night we crashed into one another.

  This could be my life.

  I could work on my craft full-time instead of assisting someone else as they do.

  I can live in the same city as my sister, her husband, and the baby.

  I can see Calder.

  I can keep falling in love with him.

&n
bsp; I gaze down at the ornament in my hands. Paint streaks cover my fingertips and palms. I’m still wearing the blue robe that my lover draped around me, and deep inside my chest, my heart is beating so hard I almost can’t breathe.

  I thought it took endless hours of talking and months of understanding another human being to fall in love with them.

  But I feel it already. The embers are there, laying a base for what is to come.

  This is the beginning of love, and I never want it to end.

  “What do you have there?” Calder rests his hands on my shoulders. “Is that the ornament I ordered?”

  I glance back and up at his handsome face. “I canceled your order.”

  He chuckles. “Why the hell would you do that? I was prepared to pay you three times what you normally make on one. Did you forget?”

  I move to stand so I can face him. He’s dressed in a pair of navy blue pants and a white button-down shirt. A suit coat is draped over his forearm.

  “I didn’t forget.” I sigh. “I plan on making you a special ornament for Christmas. It will be my gift to you.”

  His eyes narrow. “You’re doing that for me, Raelyn?”

  I’d do anything for you.

  Those words don’t leave my mouth. I’m scared I’m falling faster than he is.

  Nodding, I wave my paint-stained hands in the air. “I need to wash up. It looks like you’re on your way out. I should go home for a few hours before I report back here for work tonight.”

  “Stay,” he insists with a soft kiss to my mouth. “I won’t be gone long. I’m on the board of an art exhibition for teens set to launch next summer. We’re meeting today to firm up some of the details.”

  His generosity knows no limits. He’s proven time and time again that he’s not the selfish man I met on the sidewalk when snow draped the city.

  “When I get back, I want to talk.”

  “About?” I ask hesitantly.

  “Us,” he answers succinctly. “There’s something here that feels rare. I don’t know if it’s the same for you. I realize you had plans to move to Amsterdam, and maybe I’m jumping ahead of myself, but…”