Her gaze blurred as the tears came. There was love in every stroke of each painting. Love and humility. Her knees wobbled and she collapsed to the floor hard, the evidence of his love for her surrounding her like a thick quilt. This was how he saw her. These images, all of them, were how he remembered her and their time together.
Yes, he’d lied and behaved as badly as a man could, but he was repentant. He’d probably half-killed himself over these paintings to prove his love for her.
Love that she returned.
She shook her head, calling herself every kind of fool in the book. She should’ve confronted him that morning but she’d been so angry and her only thought had been to escape him.
She’d hoped to have a wildly passionate affair with someone far removed from her world, someone with whom it was safe to explore the darker side of her sensuality. Instead she’d indulged in an intense affair with someone who moved in the art circles she could never aspire to reach.
After she’d returned to Atlanta, she’d lived in fear that he’d have told someone. She’d kept waiting for the knowing glances and leers, but none of that had happened. Life had carried on as before. With one slip of his tongue, he could’ve destroyed her career. Instead, he’d spent his time painting her over and over again.
Kay stumbled to her feet. She needed to see him, talk to him—
She came to a halt when a large, dark figure filled the doorway.
* * * * *
David stared at the woman he loved, his gaze drinking in her image as if to memorize a face he knew as well as his own. She stood a few feet away, her cheeks wet with tears and a shocked expression. Dressed completely in black, with her magnificent blonde hair locked into a militant twist, she looked more beautiful than he could have imagined.
“Hello.” Her voice was soft, unsure.
“Hello, Kay. My name is David Hunter, and I’m the painter who’s obsessed with you.” He moved, desperate to touch her again. When she retreated, he stopped, not wanting her to move any further.
She looked confused. “What are you doing here?”
“I came for you, if you’ll have me.” He nodded at the paintings, the work he’d completed in a little less than six months. Never before had he churned out so much work in so little time. It was as if he’d been a man possessed with capturing her essence in oils, watercolors, whatever medium he’d found at hand. He’d barely eaten or slept and now, standing before her, he wasn’t sure he’d done her justice in any of them. She was even more beautiful than he’d remembered.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because I love you.”
Her expression turned wary. “Just because we’re good in bed—”
He shook his head. “You make me laugh. You like beer as much as I do. You aren’t afraid to give as good as you get. You’re my perfect match and I can’t imagine living the rest of my life without you.”
As he spoke, he noticed that her eyes were welling up again. She gave a sniff and wrapped her arms around her waist. “You lied to me.”
“I did. I panicked.” He ran a hand through his unkempt hair. “When I met you last year, I’d wanted to ask you out then, but there wasn’t time. I had to return to Boston and your life was here. But I never forgot you, not for a day. And when I saw you at Remy’s party, I knew I had to do whatever I could to make love to you. I had to know if you were the woman I’d built you up to be in my mind.”
“And was I?” Her voice was unsure.
“My fantasies didn’t even come close to the reality,” he replied. “You are perfection.”
Her face crumpled and he stepped forward. The moment he pulled her into his arms and she leaned into him, he knew it was going to be all right.
“I was so mad at you.” She cried into the front of his shirt.
“I know you were. If I could go back and change what I did—”
“Shh.” She shook her head. “If I’d known who you were, you’d never have stood a chance. I didn’t want to get involved with someone from my world here in Atlanta.”
He laid his cheek on her head. “So you’re saying I did the right thing—”
She gave an unladylike snort and slapped at his chest. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
He laughed and hugged her tightly, her fragrance surrounded him like a friendly handshake. “Marry me, Kay.”
She slid her arms around his waist. “We still have a lot to talk about—”
“Marry me and we can talk for the rest of our lives.” He nuzzled her ear.
“Mmm…” She sighed as he nipped her throat. “Don’t think you’re getting off that easily, buster.”
“Just tell me you love me and I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”
“I love you.” She sighed as he sucked her earlobe.
David felt a surge of triumph at her words. With a growl, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the door.
“Where are we going?” She wrapped her arms around his neck, her expression bemused.
“To take care of something I should have done a long time ago.”
She tangled her fingers in his hair. “And what is that?”
“Seems to me that you removed your collar without my permission.” He nuzzled her neck as he carried her into her office. He’d put her collar and chain in his pocket before leaving the hotel, and he meant to see it on her in the next five seconds. “I think some discipline might be in order.”
Kay tipped her head back and gave a wild shout of laughter as he kicked the door shut behind them.
About the author:
Dominique Adair is the pen name of award-winning novelist, J.C. Wilder. She lives just outside of Columbus, OH where she skulks around town plotting her next book and contemplating where to hide the bodies (from her books of course - everyone knows that you can't really hide a body as they always pop up at the worst times).
Dominique Adair welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at P.O. Box 787, Hudson, Ohio 44236-0787.
Also by Dominique Adair:
· Last Kiss
· Tied With A Bow (anthology)
Party Favors Page 22
