She turned on the lights and led him to the far side of the room. “Here,” she said, picking up a canvas that she’d leaned against the wall. “I want you to have it. She can keep you company for the next year.”
He took her old self-portrait from her, his eyes looking over the nude lines of her body in a way that made her smile. “I can’t take this, Isabelle. You said you wanted it for when you’re eighty.”
“I have a new one,” she said, gesturing toward the very last easel.
Tom glanced up and froze. Then his head tilted a little to the side. She looked at the painting, too, wondering if he liked it. She hadn’t shown his face, just the edge of his jaw angled to kiss her neck.
She was posed the same in this painting as she had been in the old one, but now Tom was pressed to her back, the straighter line of his naked hip visible just past her curves, and his beautiful arm around her, one hand splayed just below her breast.
She’d worked for days on his hand and arm, making sure to get the muscles beneath his skin just right, along with every freckle and scar and glint of hair. She loved his hands. She loved them on her.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said softly. “You didn’t volunteer as a model.”
“Mind?” He stepped closer, reaching out a hand, but then he dropped it as if he were afraid the paint was still wet. “It’s amazing.”
She smiled. “You like it.”
“I love it,” he said. “It’s the greatest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Really?”
He shot her an incredulous look. “Are you kidding me? I’m in a sexy nude painting. With you.”
She laughed as he pulled her into a hug. She laughed because anything seemed possible now, here, with him.
“Are you sure I can’t take the new one ho
me?” he asked. “Not that I don’t love the first one.”
“No. If you want to see your hands on me, you have to come visit. That’s the deal.”
“It’s a good deal,” he murmured before he kissed her. This time his mouth lingered, tasting her for a little longer. “Thank you for trusting me with your painting.”
“It’s no big deal.” She smiled, trying to keep it light, but when his eyes grew serious, she looked away. His touch brought her face back to him.
“Thank you for trusting me.”
She took a deep breath. She wanted to say it was no big deal again. But it was a big deal. And he deserved more than a lie. “I love you,” she whispered. “Now come to bed and put your hands on me. And stay as long as you can. Please?”
He answered with his hands and mouth and heart. And Isabelle trusted all of them.
* * * * *
FANNING
THE
FLAMES
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR