by Jill Sanders
Why was he being so secretive? So many questions ran through her mind, but at this point, she doubted he would answer any of them.
“At least tell me how long you’ll be in Paris.”
His eyes stopped on her lips. “Not long. Ash, I really am sorry about leaving without telling you.”
“Everyone thought you’d joined the military.” Her eyes ran over him again. “You don’t look like you did.”
He slowly shook his head. “Are you painting still?” His eyes broke away from her and returned to the stack of empty canvases piled against the stairs.
Her shoulders slumped slightly. “Not really.”
“Why?” He leaned closer, throwing his arm around the back of the sofa, a familiar move for him that somehow felt different this time.
She glanced towards the window. “There are so many… more talented…” She sighed. “I can’t compete.”
“Then don’t,” he suggested. She turned back towards him. “Don’t fall in line with all the others out there. That’s the reason they’re stuck painting in the streets. They fell in the same hole everyone else did, trying to be Picassos and Van Goghs. You be who you are, find your own style. You always did before.”
She tucked her legs underneath herself and reached for her tea cup. “You’re the only one who ever believed in me. Besides my family.”
“What about your teachers?”
She shrugged. “They’ve seen a million of my kind come and go.”
He brushed his hand down her hair, and she caught her breath. “There’s no one quite like you,” he whispered. “I meant it, you know,” he said softly.
“What?” It came out as a croak, and she had to swallow to clear the knot in her throat.
“I really want to kiss you again.” His hand tightened in her hair. When she didn’t pull away, he moved closer.
“Cole,” she said, just before his lips touched hers.
It was as wonderful as it was the first time, only now, so much had changed.
He had a full day’s growth of facial hair, which tickled her lips and chin as he ran his mouth over hers. His hard body was pushed up against her barely covered body.
When he tilted his head, she opened her mouth to his exploration and moaned when their tongues touched again.
She’d dreamed of feeling this again. Of being with him like this again.
She was on the verge of sliding over him when she felt something vibrate against her hip. He jerked back as if he’d been slapped.
His blinked a few times, then his eyes cleared as he looked over at her.
“I have to go,” he said out of the blue.
“Go?” She shook her head. Her mind was still foggy from what he’d done to her.
“I’ll try to come back and see you before…” He leaned in and gave her another quick kiss. “My god,” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers. “I wish…” He stood up quickly, then stopped at the base of her stairs, his hand on the railing. “Paint.” He nodded to the empty canvases, then he rushed up her stairs.
It took her five minutes to realize he hadn’t used the front door. Pulling a sweater on and putting on her slippers, she climbed the stairs and looked out the sliding glass door to her deck.
The door was locked and the bar that was normally wedged between the doors and the wall was securely in place. She could tell instantly that she was alone.
Heading back down the stairs, she sat down and tried to finish her tea. She knew she wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep that night.
When the sun streamed through the windows, she pulled on her sweats, took out a large canvas and her paints, and got to work.
So many new ideas had flooded her while she’d gone over the past few hours in her mind.
At midday, she leaned back and rolled her shoulders and neck. Leaving the painting sitting on the easel in the closed-in part of her patio, she descended the stairs and showered. She was thankful that her classes didn’t start until after lunch.
She dressed quickly, then headed out to her favorite café, Beaurepaire, just down the street from her place. This time of the year, the café wasn’t as crowded as normal and she enjoyed sitting outside in the cool air as she ate her soup and sandwich.
After lunch, she walked towards the school, her mind going over the other ideas she’d had since Cole’s visit.
There was more spring to her step and not once did she glance at the artists along the way. Instead, her mind flew through idea after idea of her own, different ones than she’d ever had before.
Cole was right, she had needed to find her own path. It had only taken a visit from him in the middle of the night to spark the first flames.
Classes seemed to drag on, and she only half listened to the lectures that, for some reason, no longer seemed to apply to where she wanted to go. Her mind was so focused on getting home and picking up her brushes again that she didn’t notice when class ended.
“You okay?” Niccolo Ricci, one of her classmates from Italy stood over her. The man had tried early on in class to flirt with her.
He was tall, built like Ryan Reynolds, with thick dark hair and sexy brown eyes. He was easily attractive enough to get the attention of every girl in their class, but there was something about him that was off-putting. He was arrogant, for one thing, and he claimed to be an art lover, but didn’t enjoy painting himself. Instead, he said he was taking the classes so he could open his own auction house.
He had even tried to purchase one of the pieces she’d done in class. She’d chalked it up to him trying to flatter her. She’d declined and quickly changed the subject.
She stood and started gathering her items. “Yes, I’m fine.” She threw her bag over her shoulder and started walking.
“I couldn’t help noticing that man you were talking to yesterday. He hasn’t upset you, has he?” he asked, falling in step with her.
“Man?” She blinked a few times, then smiled remembering Cole. “No, of course not.”
“Was he an old friend?” Niccolo asked.
Not wanting to go into too much detail with him, she shook her head. “No, just someone asking for directions.” When she noticed that he was going to follow her out of the building, she turned. “I really have to run. I’ll see you tomorrow in class.”
“Sure.” Niccolo frowned slightly. “You’ll let me know if someone is bothering you?”
“Right.” She waved behind her as she rushed out of the door.
She hadn’t thought anyone had seen her slip from the group yesterday. Knowing that Niccolo had been watching her that closely caused shivers down her spine as she made her way back to her loft.
She stopped at the grocery store downstairs to grab a bag of instant coffee and some more wine, and then she climbed the stairs quickly. She smiled when she noticed she wasn’t even winded at the top.
Putting the items away, she stripped quickly and pulled on her painting leggings and sweatshirt. Then she slipped on her Uggs and climbed the last flight of stairs.
For the next few hours, she lost herself in her work. When the light dimmed, she went downstairs, used the restroom, and heated up some tea to take back upstairs with her. When she got to the top of the stairs, she flipped on the floodlight she’d purchased so she could continue working upstairs after dark.
When the light hit the empty spot where her painting had just sat, she froze.
Setting her hot tea down on the side table, she glanced around and frowned at the empty easel. Had she taken it downstairs? No, she’d left it… She turned around and almost fell backwards when she saw the dark figure in front of her.
* * *
Cole caught Ashley before she fell down the staircase. His arms wrapped around her tightly as he pulled her off her feet and closer to his chest.
“Easy,” he said softly, chuckling.
She surprised him by slugging him in the shoulder. “Are you always going to scare me?” Her eyes narrowed at him. “How did you get in here?”
He answered by raising his eyebrows.
Her eyes moved past him to the spot where her painting had sat. “Did you take my painting?”
“No,” he lied, keeping his eyes on her.
“Why?” she asked, raising her chin slightly.
“Why, what?” He smiled, trying to think of something other than wanting to kiss her again.
She pushed on his chest, but he refused to release her yet.
“Let me go,” she said softly.
“Why?” he asked, smiling down at her.
“Because I have to kick your—” He stopped her words by kissing her until he felt her body go lax. She felt like pure heaven in his arms. Her lips were made for him. Her body, for that matter, as well.
He’d been shocked years ago when he’d started having feelings for her. Instead of telling her, he’d diverted his attention with other girls, any girl. It hadn’t filled the need.
When he finally let her go, he knew she wouldn’t bring up the painting again. “I’m hungry,” he said, grabbing his bag, taking her hand, and leading her down the stairs.
“Okay,” she said once they were downstairs again. “What do you…” She dropped off when he started unpacking his bag full of goodies.
“You brought dinner?” She glanced up the stairs again. “How do you get up there, anyway?” she asked, biting her bottom lip.
He shrugged as he searched her cupboards for dishes. “Here we are,” he said, pulling out what he needed.
He set her small table, then took out the still-hot food from his favorite restaurant. The salmon was some of the best he’d ever tasted. He found some candles, set them in the middle of the table, and pulled out his lighter. Then he held the chair out for her.
“Who are you?” she asked, looking at him funny.
He chuckled. “What?”
“This isn’t pizza or burgers.” She nodded to the plates as she sat down.
“Nope,” he agreed, sitting across from her.
“Why isn’t it pizza and burgers? That’s all you’d eat—”
“That was years ago.” He waved his hand. “Oh!” He snapped his fingers and moved over to get the bottle of wine she’d put in the fridge earlier.
“How did you…” Her eyes narrowed. “Were you watching me?”
“Corkscrew?” he asked, glancing around.
“Second drawer.” She pointed.
Popping the cork, he poured them each a glass and sat back down.
“You have to give me something,” she said, picking up her wine glass.
“I’ve been traveling,” he supplied after a moment of thought.
“Where?” She picked up her fork.
“Everywhere.” He dug in.
“Cole,” she started, but she stopped when he gave her a look.
“If I could tell you, trust me, I would.”
“Why can’t you tell me?” she asked, taking another sip of the wine. “Is it a job?”
He nodded.
“Okay, care for a game?” she asked, leaning forward.
He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Ash, I can’t—”
“Does it have something to do with Mason?” she asked.
“Mason Gore?”
“Yes.” She waited.
“No,” he answered truthfully.
She frowned. “Is it military related?”
“No,” he said, taking another bite of his food.
“Do your folks know where you are?”
“No.” He smiled, liking this game.
“Do they know what you do?”
“No,” he said again, taking another sip of the wine.
“Have you even talked to them since you left?” She added sarcastically.
“Yes,” He sighed with a slight smile.
“Are you a spy?” She narrowed her eyes at him.
Instead of answering, he laughed. “Right.” He rolled his eyes.
“What?” She set her fork back down. “You hack into my school’s system, break into my loft, twice, you’re dressed in all black. You’ve been off the grid for almost two years. Need I say more?”
“Ash, you’ve been watching too many Bond movies.”
“Exactly. I know what a spy looks and acts like.” She motioned to him.
He frowned. He needed to change the subject.
“How long have you been in Paris?” he asked.
She picked up her fork and nibbled on her food again. “Don’t you know already?”
“No.” He leaned back and then looked around. “By the looks of how you’ve settled in, I’d wager a few months.”
“Six,” she supplied.
“How much longer will you stay?” he asked.
Instead of answering, she asked her own question.
“What about you?”
“A few days this time.” Her eyebrows shot up.
“You’ve been here a few days or will stay a few days? Hold on—this time?” she asked. “You’ve been here before?”
He smiled. “I think you’ve hit your limit of questions for the night.” He took their plates to the sink and poured her some more wine.
She noticed that he didn’t fill his own glass again. Taking her hand, he walked with her to the sofa.
“I’ve missed you,” he said once they were sitting down again.
“You broke the friendship code.” She sipped the wine and then set it down on the coffee table.
“Oh?” He smiled.
“Friends don’t leave without saying goodbye.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“I’ll bear that in mind,” he said, pulling her close.
“How do you know I don’t have a boyfriend?”
“Do you?” he asked, pausing just before their lips touched.
“No,” she sighed and then leaned into him.
3
Ashley would have done anything to keep him there in her loft for the night, but once again, his phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled away.
“Why can’t you stay?” she asked before he had a chance to get up from the sofa.
He kissed her again quickly. “I’ll try to come back tomorrow night,” he said, pulling her up with him.
“I…won’t be here.”
His eyebrows shot up, then he smiled. “Right.”
“No, I…”
His phone buzzed again, and he cursed under his breath.
“Gotta go,” he said, heading towards the stairs.
“Cole, I have an art showing to go to tomorrow night,” she called out.
He waved goodbye as he climbed the stairs. It was then that she thought about her painting and raced up the stairs after him.
She stepped out onto the patio, surprised that it was empty.
She spun around, her eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. She looked for a way off the rooftop patio and couldn’t find any.
“Yup, totally a spy,” she said softly.
She thought she heard a chuckle floating in the wind.
“Bring back my painting,” she called out to the night. There was no reply.
Stomping her foot lightly, she marched inside and locked the door behind her. She picked out another canvas and got to work again.
This time, she didn’t stop painting until the sun was up. She had six canvases drying that she was proud of.
She’d never done anything like them before. The style was something she’d dreamed of once, years ago when Cole had first kissed her. But she’d listened to her art teachers and critics and had drowned out her own artistic desires, which didn’t fit the mold.
Now, however, she’d listened to Cole and had just let go. Each piece she did was better than the one before.
The colors alone caused her to smile as she stretched her fingers out and rolled her shoulders. Glancing down at her watch, she groaned. She had just enough time to shower, dress, and grab a sandwich on the run.
By the time she walked into class, she was exhausted. The weather had turned nasty again and there w
as talk of snow before nightfall.
Even though she’d layered on warm clothes, she was frozen to the bone as she tried to focus when the teacher lectured about the artists that most of the class wished to mimic. The sound was a dull hum in her mind.
“You don’t look so good,” Niccolo said after class was over.
“I don’t feel so good,” she replied.
“Are you going to be up for the gallery tonight?” he asked, leaning on her desk.
“It’s more than a quarter of our grade,” she replied.
“Right.” Niccolo looked towards the teacher, then back at her. “Still, Monsieur Bernard would understand. You are by far the most talented one in class and all he’d have to do is take one look at you.” He shook his head slightly.
“That bad?” She groaned.
“That bad. Go home, rest.” He tapped her table, then left.
She stood up and almost blacked out.
“Ashley?” Monsieur Bernard looked like he was more than a hundred. She was pretty sure that she’d heard his bones rattle once when he’d walked by her.
“Monsieur Bernard, I don’t think I’m up to—”
“No, quite right,” he agreed as his eyes ran over her, his accent thick. “Go, you can make up the lost points.” He waved her away.
She nodded and quickly retreated.
Halfway home, she stopped in one of her favorite shops and ordered soup to go.
By the time she walked into her building, her hair was soaking wet from the falling snow and her feet were frozen.
She was shaking and shivering so much that it was almost impossible to unlock her door. When she finally got in, she leaned against the door, breathless.
Stripping her clothes off, she dumped everything at the doorway and moved into the bathroom. Turning on the water in the tub, she shivered as she waited for the water to heat and fill the massive claw-footed tub.
When the water was warm enough, she climbed in and groaned as she began to regain feeling in her fingers and toes.
Laying back, she stared at the painting of a classically dressed woman that hung at the end of the tub.
During the past six months, she’d come to know every detail about the painting. At one point, she’d searched for information about the artist, but had come up with little other than he’d lived in Paris during the early eighteen hundreds.
