stare. “Make it stop. Slow down your heart. You can do this. I know you can.”
The way he said my name, the authority in his voice, those kisses, something worked. Beneath his hand, my heart still beat too fast, but air flowed through to my lungs. I capitalized on that. The black dots grew smaller.
“Can you see the picture now?” he asked.
I could see him and only him. My portraitist’s eyes fixed on his face, noting the little straight line that formed between his drawn brows and the raised edges that defined his appealing mouth. The perfectly formed phylum below his septum shaped the indentation in the center of his upper lip into a flawless “V.” Below the defined set of his brows, his eyes tracked my reflection as I leaned toward him and let him kiss me all over again.
After a little while, he pulled back and, holding my hand gently, rubbed my fingers over the canvas. “The picture,” he said. “What do you see?”
It was still blurry, but it was a small ten by ten, a mountain and lake scene with a little cabin to the side, painted with blunt, untrained strokes, childlike but beautiful.
“L-lake?” I mumbled.
“Good. Keep looking. What color is this?”
“Alizarin yellow?”
“What’s this one?”
“Blue, I think it’s blue.” I straightened in between breaths. “The blue is a mix, cerulean and cobalt. Cobalt is my favorite.”
I didn’t tell him that he sparkled like cobalt glass to me. I was in shock. No one had ever managed to talk me out of a panic attack, not even Mom. I rubbed my lips. They were moist, swollen and sensitive from all that kissing. How had this man, this stranger I’d just met, had that kind of an impact on me?
“You had me worried there for a bit,” he said, brushing his knuckles against my cheek. “I was afraid I was going to have to call an ambulance.”
“Believe me,” I said. “I was worried too. But I can’t help it. I do stuff like that all the time. I’m a mess. This whole arrangement you’re proposing? It won’t work.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t do it,” I said. “And you won’t like me. I’m no ‘extraordinary reward’ to your efforts. I’m a lemon, a defective model, really. If you knew me, you’d know better.”
His remarkable brows arched even higher on his forehead. “Are you trying to talk your way out of this?”
“Maybe,” I said, wondering myself. “But it’s the truth. I freak out easily and I’ve got more quirks than an old house. Ask anyone who knows me. Ask Martin if you want.”
His lips curled in disgust at hearing Martin’s name. “I’d prefer to find out on my own.”
“Look, Mr. Lane—”
“Call me Josh.”
“Okay, fine, Josh...” Why did his name sound so natural on my lips? “I don’t want to be a part of Martin’s scams and I wouldn’t want you to be the losing party in this deal.”
“I appreciate your honesty,” he said, “but your husband can’t con me.”
“And so that you know, I’m not very good at—well—you know. I’m terrible.”
He actually smiled, an expression that lightened his eyes and smoothed his face’s harsh lines. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that? You liked it when I kissed you, didn’t you?”
Good lord. If I blushed any hotter my face was likely to explode.
“You can’t lie.” He stared at me with wonder. “It’s the blush. You’re lying impaired.”
I sighed. “I’m a cardiovascular disaster.”
He laughed, a rich, soothing sound completely incoherent with the person I’d known so far. I couldn’t help the crooked smile that spread across my face.
“I don’t like lying either,” he said. “I prefer the straightforward, honest approach.”
“No kidding,” I said. “There’s such a thing as too blunt, you know.”
“No way around that. It’s who I am.” His fingers tickled my face as they traced the line of my jaw. “Lily, I know this is hard for you, but trust me, if you take me on, you won’t get any lies or
The way he said my name, the authority in his voice, those kisses, something worked. Beneath his hand, my heart still beat too fast, but air flowed through to my lungs. I capitalized on that. The black dots grew smaller.
“Can you see the picture now?” he asked.
I could see him and only him. My portraitist’s eyes fixed on his face, noting the little straight line that formed between his drawn brows and the raised edges that defined his appealing mouth. The perfectly formed phylum below his septum shaped the indentation in the center of his upper lip into a flawless “V.” Below the defined set of his brows, his eyes tracked my reflection as I leaned toward him and let him kiss me all over again.
After a little while, he pulled back and, holding my hand gently, rubbed my fingers over the canvas. “The picture,” he said. “What do you see?”
It was still blurry, but it was a small ten by ten, a mountain and lake scene with a little cabin to the side, painted with blunt, untrained strokes, childlike but beautiful.
“L-lake?” I mumbled.
“Good. Keep looking. What color is this?”
“Alizarin yellow?”
“What’s this one?”
“Blue, I think it’s blue.” I straightened in between breaths. “The blue is a mix, cerulean and cobalt. Cobalt is my favorite.”
I didn’t tell him that he sparkled like cobalt glass to me. I was in shock. No one had ever managed to talk me out of a panic attack, not even Mom. I rubbed my lips. They were moist, swollen and sensitive from all that kissing. How had this man, this stranger I’d just met, had that kind of an impact on me?
“You had me worried there for a bit,” he said, brushing his knuckles against my cheek. “I was afraid I was going to have to call an ambulance.”
“Believe me,” I said. “I was worried too. But I can’t help it. I do stuff like that all the time. I’m a mess. This whole arrangement you’re proposing? It won’t work.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t do it,” I said. “And you won’t like me. I’m no ‘extraordinary reward’ to your efforts. I’m a lemon, a defective model, really. If you knew me, you’d know better.”
His remarkable brows arched even higher on his forehead. “Are you trying to talk your way out of this?”
“Maybe,” I said, wondering myself. “But it’s the truth. I freak out easily and I’ve got more quirks than an old house. Ask anyone who knows me. Ask Martin if you want.”
His lips curled in disgust at hearing Martin’s name. “I’d prefer to find out on my own.”
“Look, Mr. Lane—”
“Call me Josh.”
“Okay, fine, Josh...” Why did his name sound so natural on my lips? “I don’t want to be a part of Martin’s scams and I wouldn’t want you to be the losing party in this deal.”
“I appreciate your honesty,” he said, “but your husband can’t con me.”
“And so that you know, I’m not very good at—well—you know. I’m terrible.”
He actually smiled, an expression that lightened his eyes and smoothed his face’s harsh lines. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that? You liked it when I kissed you, didn’t you?”
Good lord. If I blushed any hotter my face was likely to explode.
“You can’t lie.” He stared at me with wonder. “It’s the blush. You’re lying impaired.”
I sighed. “I’m a cardiovascular disaster.”
He laughed, a rich, soothing sound completely incoherent with the person I’d known so far. I couldn’t help the crooked smile that spread across my face.
“I don’t like lying either,” he said. “I prefer the straightforward, honest approach.”
“No kidding,” I said. “There’s such a thing as too blunt, you know.”
“No way around that. It’s who I am.” His fingers tickled my face as they traced the line of my jaw. “Lily, I know this is hard for you, but trust me, if you take me on, you won’t get any lies or
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