Sage gasped, recognizing the painting as being the one Tyce pushed her against when he made love to her that night in his studio. Barely breathing, she slowly looked around the gallery and when she saw what was on the walls, the room started to spin.
All his portraits were hanging on the walls, a good portion of which were of her. There were some of his mom, some of Lachlyn, many of random New Yorkers—from street people to buskers and servers—and they were all fantastic. Only the big blue abstract painting and the portraits of her, and of Lachlyn and his mom, had not-for-sale stickers on them.
Sage held her face, in awe of his talent. It was a small exhibition, roughly and quickly tossed together but it was that much more powerful for it. This wasn’t slick and smooth, it was rough and tender and…open. This was Tyce allowing the world to look inside.
That type of vulnerability took courage and heart. So much heart. Pity that she had no claim on it.
Sage heard heavy footsteps behind her and slowly turned to watch Tyce walk across the room toward her, hands in the pockets of a pair of black dress slacks, his white dress shirt tucked in. God, he was so beautiful, Sage thought, in the most masculine way. Tough and tall, with his enigmatic eyes and strong face.
Sage’s first instinct was to throw herself into his arms, to gush over his art, to demand to know why he was holding this portrait exhibition. Why now? Why here, at this place from their past? Then she remembered that this was the man who’d tossed her love away, who’d rejected her heart. She didn’t know why she was here—her sisters-in-law were in big, big trouble.
Overwhelmed, Sage turned around and headed toward the door, tears burning her eyes.
“Please don’t cry. And please don’t go,” Tyce quietly said and she heard the longing and uncertainty in his voice. She stopped but kept her back to him, furiously brushing tears away with her fingertips.
Sage felt Tyce’s big hands on her shoulders before his hands moved down her arms and encircled her waist, holding her against him. “Please don’t go,” he whispered, his mouth against her temple.
“Why should I stay?”
“You should stay—” Tyce’s voice rumbled in her ear “—because I am the world’s biggest idiot for letting you go, then and now. You should stay because you make my world brighter, my thinking clearer, my world turn. You should stay because we have a baby to raise and I’d like us to do that together.”
Sage felt the first sparks of hope and ruthlessly smothered them. She pushed against his arm and he immediately released her. He looked tired, she thought, drawn, his face whiter than normal. His eyes glinted with uncertainty and worry and an emotion that went deeper than that, that might be, dare she think it, love?
“I’m sorry I wasn’t brave, before.” Tyce cradled her face in his hands and kissed her softly, his lips giving hers a quick caress. She wanted more and judging by his tense body, so did he but he drew back and lifted his mouth from hers. “I want us to stop hoping and dreaming and be more.”
Sage stared at him, uncomprehending.
“I want you in my bed and in my life, being the first person I see every morning and the last person I see at night. I want that for the rest of my life. I want our kid, or kids, to fly into our bedroom and jump on the bed, on us. I want us, Sage. You and me. I need you.”
God, she felt so humbled, so in awe of his courage to do this again, to open himself up to her again.
“I know that your instinct is to push me away, Sage, but I’m asking you not to. And I’m telling you that if you do, every time you do, I’m going to hold you tighter, love you more.” Tyce pushed her hair off her forehead and rested his head on hers. “One more time, Sage, please. Be brave, for us. Take a chance on me.”
“Tyce.” Sage gripped his arms, feeling dizzy.
“Is that another no?” Tyce asked, worry in his eyes. No, not worry, soul-deep fear.
“No, it’s not a no. I mean… God, yes. Please.” Sage knew that she was messing up her words and cursed her thick tongue.
“You’re going to have to be clearer than that, honey.”
Yes, she realized that. Holding his arms for balance, she looked up into his exotic, sexy face, the one she’d missed so much. “I’ll be brave—I’m not going to push you away, I promise.”
“And you don’t break your promises,” Tyce murmured as a spark returned to his eyes.
“I promise to love you, whether we have six weeks or sixty years.”
“I’m planning on sixty years,” Tyce told her.
Sage lifted her arms and wound them around Tyce’s neck.