by Naima Simone
Lucas didn’t speak, and for that, Aiden was grateful. Because if his friend had offered any platitude, interrupted with one word, Aiden might not have been able to get this out.
“For so long she worked hard, brutal hours to provide for me. To keep a roof over my head. We were poor, but I never went to bed hungry, never went without. Never felt unloved. Until Frank. The confident, independent, strong woman I knew my entire life disappeared. It was easier to blame Frank for using her, for sucking her dry of her vitality and joy. But deep down, I blamed her. I resented her for staying with him. I built her a new home—something I’d always dreamed about as a boy. But she wouldn’t take it because I wouldn’t allow Frank to move in as well. She chose him over her own health and happiness; she chose him over…me. And believe me, I know how fucking petty that sounds.” He shook his head, loosing a harsh crack of laughter. “But she hurt me. Peyton hurt me. And Noelle was right. I’ve been so busy being angry and protecting myself from any real emotion because of the past that I pushed her away. Even though I…”
Love her.
He swallowed, pressed his forehead to the glass. He loved her. And he’d let her walk out of his life.
“Fuck.”
“Yeah,” Lucas murmured. “Been there.”
Aiden closed his eyes. I love her. The three words were on repeat in his head. He did. So much he hurt with it. But was he ready to take that leap? He’d finally cracked open his heart and confessed to the secret shame he’d been hiding from himself. Could he let go of the past? Could he forgive?
“I don’t know,” Lucas said, rising from the desk. “Is she worth it?”
Shit, he hadn’t realized he’d voiced the questions throbbing against his temples like snare drums. Was she worth it?
“Hell yes.”
…
“Tonight is going to be a hit,” Lo crowed, clapping her hands in delight. Her huge afro seemed to shiver in excitement as she surveyed the organized chaos of the gallery.
Noelle grinned as the gallery owner swept across the room to speak to one of the artists. Anticipation skipped through Noelle. This was her first “First Friday” with King Gallery. And her first show, period, outside of art school. Yes, she was sharing it with nine other artists, but she didn’t care. It was a milestone in her career.
She turned to the floating white wall with its full canvas that Lo had assigned her, studying it and envisioning the completed piece. Including the model who had yet to arrive. Glancing at the clock on the far wall, she sighed. Twelve o’clock. Since she was new to Boston, Lo had arranged a model for her, but the girl had yet to make an appearance. The show started at five, and Noelle needed every second of those five hours to have her model finished and ready by then.
Picking up her drawing pad, she flipped to the piece she’d decided on. The Serengeti at sunset. She traced the outline of the model. And remembered when she’d shared it with Aiden. She sucked in a low breath at the thought of him, the thrust of pain sharp before ebbing into a steady, pulsing ache. Placing her palm over her heart, she rubbed the tender spot. As if she could wipe away the hurt that had dogged her like a hungry stray for the last ten days.
Funny how her biggest fear about falling in love had been losing herself like Caroline had, about handing over her independence. But now… She closed her eyes. Loving Aiden didn’t mean losing who she was but discovering what she was capable of—standing on her own, loving herself, demanding the best for herself. And she deserved Aiden’s love and trust, and if he couldn’t give them to her, then she was strong enough to walk on her own.
Sighing, she set the tubes of paint, her brushes, and other supplies on the small table next to her. Thirty minutes later, she stepped back, having finished mixing her paints and setting out the precise brushes and pens she needed. Now, that just left the model. If she ever decided to arrive…
“Sweetie, I have good news and bad news,” Lo announced, gliding up to Noelle, her long, beige dress swinging around her legs. “I don’t want you to panic, but your model can’t make it. Something unavoidable came up.”
Oh damn. Her heart dropped. And though she tried not to let her alarm seep into her expression, she must not have succeeded because Lo clasped her hands and shook her head. “Now I told you not to panic. I’ve already arranged for another one to replace yours.”
“God, Lo, can you lead with that next time?” Noelle laughed, relief streaming through her.
“You know I wouldn’t let you down. I…” A huge, delighted grin illuminated her lovely face. “Ah. There he is now.”
The “he” barely registered just as the chime above the entrance rang. Please let that be the mysterious he…
Shock. Pain. Grief. And so much love barreled through her it stole her breath. Her next thought:
Aiden.
God, she couldn’t stop staring. Was it possible for him to have grown more gorgeous in the last week and a half? His golden hair gleamed in the cold afternoon light streaming through the glass windows. The beams wrapped around him like a halo, emphasizing the width of his shoulders, the leanness of his waist, and the strength of his thighs. It wasn’t fair. Not his masculine beauty or the way her heart tried to break out of her chest for him.
Only him.
“Oh, good, you’re right on time,” Lo purred, crossing the gallery floor to greet him with outstretched arms. “I believe you know your artist,” she declared. A smile flirted with her mouth as she led Aiden over to Noelle. “Well, I’ll just leave you to get…uh…acquainted.”
Then her employer—her Benedict Arnold—sailed away on a cloud of hair and Chanel No. 5.
“What are you doing here?” she asked when he didn’t speak, just studied her in that intense, unnerving way he had.
“You’re here,” he murmured.
She snorted, turning away from him, unable to think while meeting those emerald eyes. “And I’ve been here all along. So why today of all days?”
“Because today is the first time you’re showing your work since you’ve left school,” he explained. “I wanted to be here for you.” His hands wrapped around her upper arms, and then his big, hard body pressed against her back and ass. “Sweetheart…”
She closed her eyes, and for a brief moment, the weakness when it came to this man welled up inside her, letting her savor the feel of his body, his earthy scent, and the deep, rumbling timbre of his voice. But then she stiffened, stepping forward out of his hold. “I don’t know why you’re doing this. I don’t have the time right now to figure it out. This is too important for me.” She couldn’t break here. And he could break her. “And right now I need a model, not a pseudo-stepbrother, a savior, a roommate, or an ex-whatever we were. So, if you’re really here to help…” She turned around, crossed her arms, and arched an eyebrow. “Strip.”
They stared at one another, and she gathered every ounce of “I don’t give a damn” in her to meet his intense scrutiny. She was calling his bluff; Aiden, the head of a national conglomerate and the darling of the society columns, wouldn’t dare risk being seen as a body-paint model by his peers and business associ—
“What the hell are you doing?”
He folded the jacket he’d just removed and set it on the floor. His fingers went to his shirt buttons, pushing the first, then a second, then a third through their holes. The slice of golden skin widened until his shirt gaped open, revealing his taut chest.
“Aiden,” she hissed. “What the hell are you doing?” Even though his intention was obvious.
“Stripping, like you told me to.” He shrugged free of the clothing and folded it neatly, too, before placing it on top of the jacket. “You think I don’t know how important today is to you, sweetheart? If you let me, I just want to be a part of it.” He toed off his shoes, whisked off his socks, and dropped his hands to the band of his pants. “Tell me what to do,” he murmured. “What you need from me.”
I need your trust. Your heart. Your…love. The words ricocheted around her head
, but she’d been there, done that, with him. So instead she returned her attention to her paints and brushes.
“Take your pants off,” she said. Today, he wasn’t the man she’d loved who had broken her heart. Today he was the model, her canvas. That was it. “Okay, I’m ready…”
Damn.
Her breath echoed in her head like a roaring wave, and sweat prickled her skin, her palms. It wasn’t as if she’d never seen him naked. But God, it’d been ten long days since she’d laid eyes on him, and he was simply…beautiful. Standing there in the middle of a gallery showroom in boxer briefs, he was a work of art. He didn’t need her paints to bring him to life. Wide shoulders, a hard, muscled chest, ridged abdomen, and thighs that seemed to ripple with strength even though he stood still. Even his feet were masculine perfection. As an artist, she’d seen men naked before, had drawn them. But as much as she tried to convince herself, he wasn’t a simple model, a blank sheet she would create on. He was Aiden.
And for the next few hours, he was hers. To touch. To shape into something that was created and made for her, by her. To control.
If only for a little while.
“I need you to stand over here.” She pointed to a drop cloth in front of the wall. Once he complied, she picked up her sketch pad and flipped to the page, although she knew the image by heart. She shifted her gaze to Aiden and was once again struck by his strength and power. And as he stood there, silent, ready for her instructions, with that emerald gaze watching every move she made, it struck her that he was submitting all of that strength and power to her.
Hope—that wily bitch—had her throat tightening. Because for a man who helmed a Fortune 500 company, control was important. Even more so, for a man who came from the background they did, it was vital. And he was giving it to her. Getting bare for her. What did it mean?
Stop playing armchair psychologist and get to work.
Right. Clearing her throat, she pulled up her stool, selected a brush with a thin tip and got to work. Minutes, then an hour, passed. Then another hour. She got lost in him—in them. Every stroke of her brush was like a caress, every line drawn a kiss. And though he remained absolutely still, she caught Aiden’s harsh inhales, the flexing of his muscles as the thin, soft bristles swept over his skin. The thick column of his cock, hardly camouflaged by his boxer briefs, lengthened, hardened. And yet, he remained motionless just as she’d ordered him to.
Teasing. Foreplay. Though her concentration was on her job, she couldn’t stop her breasts from aching, her nipples from tightening…her sex from moistening. Preparing itself for him. Only for him.
She leaned back, inserting distance between them on the pretext of stretching her back and rolling her shoulders. Narrowing her eyes on the image emerging over Aiden’s chest and abdomen, she almost shook her head. She’d planned on painting the Serengeti at sunset. But somewhere between the first stroke and her last, the drawing shifted. As if of its own accord, her hand had started creating something different, off plan.
A white, brown, and black muzzle. Hazel eyes. A proud, majestic face. The lion she’d pictured and sketched for him.
“It’s gorgeous, Noelle,” Aiden murmured, the first words he’d spoken since she’d started painting.
She flicked a glance up at him. “Thank you.” Strange how her soul knew what she would paint before her brain did. This lion wasn’t what she’d planned, but it was perfect.
“I miss you.”
She jerked her head up at the soft admission, her brush hovering over his pec. Closing her eyes, she exhaled, willing her pulse to slow. Willing her heart to get a grip. She forced her gaze back to his chest and dipped her brush into the paint again.
“Sweetheart, look at me,” he rasped.
“No. I’m not doing this,” she said, a hint of desperation creeping into her tone before she iced it out. “I can’t do this. I don’t want to think—”
“Then tell me how to do it, too,” he insisted, his voice hushed, rough. “Tell me how not to think of you, smell you on my sheets, my skin, feel you against me. Because I can’t stop wanting you there beside me, keeping me warm. Reminding me that I’m human, alive. That I’m capable of feeling, of trusting. Of loving.”
“Why?” she whispered, after finding her voice, confused and more than a little rocked. What did he mean? What was his agenda? “It’s been almost two weeks since I’ve seen or heard from you. Why now?”
“Because I love you.”
The stark, bald statement seemed to echo in the room. It resonated in her ears, her heart, her chest. She shook her head.
“I love you,” he repeated.
“Really?” She huffed out a hard, bitter chuckle. “When did you figure that out? Day two? Day seven? An hour ago? I told you I loved you, and you said nothing. Nothing.” The hurt poured out of her as she set her paintbrush down on the table with a trembling hand. Days, hours, minutes of replaying that last conversation over and over in her head. Of her humbling herself, and him saying he was sorry. Sorry.
“You were right,” he said, his tone quiet. Solemn. “I was a coward. I was so afraid of letting another woman close again. Of being hurt. Lied to. Of feeling that I wasn’t good enough. But you aren’t another woman. You’re the self-sacrificing woman who cared for her ailing father, putting aside her own goals to take care of someone she loved. You’re the bold, heroic person who braved the lion’s den to fight for her future. You’re the woman with an amazing artist’s soul who sees beauty and kindness in a world that can be so ugly and mean. You’re a loving, courageous woman who was fearless enough to tell a man so unworthy of her love that she wanted his heart. And he was a scared, stubborn, blind asshole who was too wrapped up in unforgiveness and guilt to accept her gift.”
He edged closer and lifted a hand to her cheek. It hovered there for a moment, and when she didn’t flinch, he cupped her face. Brushed the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone.
“Let me in your world. Let me in. That’s why I’m here, Noelle. Why I’m letting you use me for whatever you need. Take however much or little you want to give me. And if it’s only a little, I’m going to earn more. I’m not going anywhere until I have your heart and your trust. Sweetheart”—he brought his other hand to her face—“you want to know when I figured out I loved you? A couple of days ago, I admitted to myself that it started when you walked in that ballroom, stubborn chin lifted, defiant, so fucking beautiful. It continued when you let me care for you, protect you when you were ill. It continued when you trusted me with your body and pleasure for the first time. It deepened when I saw the awe-inspiring beauty you have in your soul that pours out into the most stunning drawings. And it was final when you dared to be more honest with me than anyone in my life and challenged me to have the same honesty with myself.”
“Well, shit,” she whispered, the tears that had been stinging her eyes and choking her welling over.
He laughed, stroking away her tears. “You said that about my home, and that was good.”
She chuckled, grabbing his wrists and holding on for all she was worth. “I love you, Aiden. I love you.”
Standing, she rose on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his. But he was already meeting her halfway, careful not to smudge her work. Her lips parted under his, and his tongue swept in, reacquainting, reclaiming.
Promising.
Joy surged through her like a powerful geyser. She belonged to this man. And he belonged to her.
“Come home with me, Noelle,” he breathed on the end of their kiss.
“You’re here, so I am home.”
His eyes closed, and a spasm of emotion passed over his face. “You can’t say things like that to me in the middle of all these people. And when I’m about to be your best piece of work yet.”
She pressed her mouth to the strong line of his jaw. “You already are.”
Epilogue
Three years later
Boston, MA
“Is all this secrecy really necessary?” No
elle asked, tugging at the blindfold covering her eyes.
A light tap landed on her fingers. “Move ’em. And, yes,” Aiden said from beside her. He’d placed the scarf over her eyes as soon as they’d slid into the backseat of his town car after dinner. She grinned. Three years together, and he still surprised her.
Just one of the things she loved about him. One of so many.
To tease him, she touched the edge of the scarf again, and he didn’t disappoint her by grabbing her hand. This time, he held on to it, placing a quick, openmouthed kiss to the center of her palm. She shivered, pleasure zinging on a direct conduit from her hand to between her legs. The man could still make her hot with one touch or a look from his emerald eyes. If possible, she wanted him even more now that she had his love.
She snuggled against him. “How much farther?”
“We’re here, actually.”
The car rolled to a stop, and moments later, he guided her from the backseat, a hand on her elbow and one on her hip. He led her several steps and then paused.
“Ready?” he murmured in her ear.
“Yes.” She did a little shimmy, and his chuckle tickled her skin.
“One. Two…”
“Three,” she growled.
Another low laugh, and he removed the blindfold. She blinked for a second, not really certain what she was looking at. A busy sidewalk with shops lining it. South End maybe. She glanced over her shoulder at the street sign. Harrison Avenue. Definitely the South End.
