“The only bad thing about this position is that it was so amazing I wish I could see your face now,” she said, laughing and joking with him.
Shane gripped her hair again to turn her head, raising up on his elbow and putting his face as close to hers as he could in their positions.
“Can you see me now, woman?” he asked, peering into her laughing gaze.
Reesa snickered at his demand. “Yes, but I regret asking. You look wild-eyed like a serial killer.”
“That’s shock and awe over what we just did,” Shane said, not the least bit ashamed of admitting how spectacular it had been for him. “Be honest with me. Do you like that position or am I just fooling myself that it was incredible for both of us?”
Reesa arched her hips tighter back into Shane, showing him she was still well aware of their connection. He hadn’t lost his erection completely yet and Reesa was in no hurry to end things until he did.
“Yes. I liked it very much, and what you did with your fingers was outstanding,” she said, praising him. “Tuck that technique away and remember it for next time.”
Shane laughed at the approval in her words and tightened his hold thinking about there being a next time and more after that.
“I’m a quick study on things that matter to me. You’ll never have to ask me for anything in bed more than once,” he promised.
Reesa laughed. “Well, aren’t you a sweetheart of a man. I think I like the idea of training you to please me.”
“Train me to please you in bed—I will do anything,” Shane said, whispering the words across her ear and into her hair.
“Sara was right—you
are
trouble,” Reesa said breathlessly, heartbeat erratic with nerves more than exertion now.
“Why am I trouble for you?” Shane asked, snickering. “Because I’m insatiable and going to want more of you shortly?”
Reesa laughed. “No. I’m starting to believe you might actually be telling me the truth about your level of interest in me. The more I’m with you, the less opposed I am to the idea.”
“Is that how accountants state their approval? They become less opposed to something?” Shane asked on a laugh, easing out of her body.
He rolled Reesa to her back so he could look into her face.
“I started falling in love with you when we first met. You tease me about other women, but I’m just not interested any more. I’d rather wait to be with you, and what we just shared is why,” he said firmly, ignoring the flickers of panic in her wide-eyed gaze.
“Do you have any idea how overwhelming that is to me? What am I supposed to do about you? I don’t have time or energy to be in love. You’ve seen what my life is like,” Reesa complained.
Shane nodded. “I know you’ve lost a lot and taken full responsibility for what remains. And I know your situation probably makes you think twice about committing to more. Just try to keep an open mind about us.”
“How can you be so sure? Have you been in love before?” Reesa asked.
“When I was twenty, I met a girl in college who I thought I was in love with. We dated for two years. She dumped me when I told her I had to drop out a semester in my senior year to finish my graphic novel. Dad and Mom were fighting then, and I didn’t want my college tuition to be a point of conflict. I finished my novel, sold it, and used the money to finish school. Dad helped me some, but I was able to do most of it on my own,” Shane said.
“Why would she leave you over that? It sounds pretty admirable, especially for a twenty-two-year-old,” Reesa said sincerely.
“Why did Brentwood leave you when you’re amazing and the most loyal woman on earth?” Shane asked, stroking possessive fingers over her soft belly.
“Their loss—our gain, I suppose,” Reesa said.
“I like to think I’m a smarter dweeb than the dweebs that have come before me,” Shane said, bending to kiss her stomach. “I probably owe that to my father. He’s a really, really good man.”
Reesa reached up and tucked Shane’s hair behind his ears. “You’re a really good man too.”
Shane bent to kiss her lips, tasting the sweetness of her praise with genuine pleasure. “You manage to comfort me and arouse me at the same time. It is a hell of a winning combination, lady. I can see why Brentwood wants you back. Too bad for him. I’ll hurt him if he even tries.”
“You don’t have to be jealous. I’m completely over Brent,” Reesa said.
“But he’s not over you,” Shane said, swinging his legs to the floor and then turning back to drag Reesa to the edge of the bed.
He scooped her up and made her wrap her legs around his waist again.
“Shower,” Shane said, walking around the bed to snag another condom from the night stand.
“You mean
shower sex
?” Reesa teased. “I saw you grab the condom.”
“I’m going to make you appreciative of our size difference,” Shane said. “And I’m going to help you wash your hair so you don’t look like a zombie bride.”
Reesa caught sight of her hair in the bathroom mirror, and promptly hid her face in Shane’s shoulder as he laughed. “That’s pretty bad. How can you want someone who looks like that?”
“I think ignoring wild appearances during sex is coded in the Y chromosome,” Shane said, turning on the shower and stepping in with a laughing Reesa. “When it comes right down to it for me, hair on a woman is just like the steering wheel on a car.”
“Oh, I know you
didn’t
just say that to me,” Reesa protested, pushing on his shoulders and glaring. “Do you really think that macho crap is acceptable?”
Laughing, Shane pushed her against the wall, grabbed her by the hair, and turned her until he could put his mouth on the pulse in her neck.
“Do you like this?” he asked, nipping up to her chin.
“Damn you,” she said, goose bumps dotting her arms while her nipples beaded against him.
Shane smiled, and turned them under the spray. “Here. Wet your hair. It looks sexy that way and you’ll feel better about it.”
“Put me down, so I can do this right,” Reesa ordered.
“No—I’m not done with you yet,” Shane said. “Let’s see if you can follow orders as well as I do. Kiss me, and I want tongue—lots of tongue.”
Reesa smacked his shoulders as he laughed, but dived into his mouth until he slammed her against the wall again making her break their kiss on a laugh.
***
“Oh God, Michael. What have I done?” Carrie wailed, swallowing and gripping the keys in her hands.
Standing in the middle of the empty, grungy space that was supposed to be an art gallery someday, Carrie looked around, appalled at the condition it was in. Buyer’s remorse hit really hard as she realized just how far away from being a polished gallery the space was at the moment. It was going to take a lot of work just to get any one task accomplished.
Michael spun around, hands in the pockets of the dress slacks he’d worn to Carrie’s closing. His wife owned a gallery—or what would be a gallery. He was feeling pretty righteous to be her original backer. It was a tiny bit of paying back all the prosperity she’d brought to him over the last three years, and in making up for the loss of her job, which he still believed she’d left prematurely because of him.
He looked around in pleasure already seeing the possibilities. Now they had a chance to make real money without a middle man taking a cut. He had absolute faith in Carrie’s money making abilities, even more in her vision of what could be in this space.
Her attack of nerves didn’t surprise him much though. Hell, anyone would be overwhelmed at what had to be done to pull it together.
“This is an amazing space,” Michael said, his voice confident and sure. “With the right lighting and some wall work, this place is going to rock as a gallery.”
Carrie looked at her husband hopefully. “You really think so?”
Michael nodded. “It’s going to be a lot better than the convention center downtown for showings.”
He looked around at the giant space, pointing to the longest end with no doors or windows marring any surface.
“I think you need some folding walls so you won’t have to move so much around every time you do an individual showing. It would create dedicated space for that purpose, and allow you to keep the gallery intimate the rest of the time.”
“That’s a great idea,” Carrie said, looking up at the tall ceilings again. “The lighting is going to cost dearly, but I’m going to save money by just painting the concrete floor. I eventually will want a wood floor, but it can wait until we start making real money.”
“What’s real money?” Michael asked, walking to his wife, who still hadn’t budged from her spot. He could see she was still frozen in place with shock.
“I don’t know,” Carrie said. “I need to hire an accountant to help me budget carefully. The money from the university will be available next week. It will be deposited in the account I opened.”
“You can hire Shane’s girlfriend to help. I think he said she was an accountant,” Michael mused, not really serious, but it was at least a suggestion that might soothe Carrie’s worries today.
“That’s right. I think Shane did say Reesa was an accountant. I wonder if she freelances,” Carrie asked. “I bet she’d be cheap because she would work from home.”
“Hey now—I work from home and I’m not cheap,” Michael said, smiling.
Carrie raised a hand to his face. “Not everyone is a talented artist like you,” she said, seeing his eyes soften at her praise. “Some of us are just regular working stiffs.”
“You’ve got so much to learn about yourself,” Michael said seriously, bending down to kiss her.
Someone clearing their throat had them breaking apart almost guiltily.
“Sorry for the interruption,” Drake said, walking over to them. “I just wanted to drop by and congratulate you, Carrie.”
Carrie smiled. “Hi, Drake. Lord, I’ve never been so scared in my entire life. I walked into this space just a few minutes ago and had a meltdown.”
Drake looked around. “Fix the walls and put up some great lighting. You’ll see it in a whole new way. Oh that reminds me,” he pulled a couple business cards out of his pocket.
“Here are two lighting companies I’ve used. Both are excellent. This one is cheap and good,” Drake said, tapping the one card. “Try them first.”
He turned to the man beside Carrie. “You must be Michael Larson,” he said, sticking out a hand to shake. “Drake Barrymore—it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I know you’re Carrie’s husband, but you’re also quite the legend in the art department. Even Dr. Fillmore used to talk about you, and he was the most reclusive man I’ve ever met.”
Michael sighed as he shook Drake’s hand. “Don’t believe all you hear,” he said, watching his wife roll her eyes. “Okay—maybe half of it, but I’m all grown up now—I swear. Marriage has soothed the restless soul in me.”
Drake grinned. “Restless soul—that’s a great way to put it. My son has grown up with nudes of his mother in our house. His therapist wanted me to take them down, but I refused. I am the last person to throw stones at anyone’s life choices. We all have our journeys. Artists ache with every growing pain, don’t they?”
Michael looked at Carrie. “Yes, but when life works out, sometimes it’s better than the artist ever imagined,” he said, holding his wife’s gaze until she flushed with pleasure.
“So anyway,” Drake said, his gaze shifting between the Larsons, feeling the first tug of envy he’d felt in a while. “I just wanted to drop by and tell you to call me if I can do anything. I am very interested in helping you get the gallery up and running as soon as possible. Did you have a date in mind?”
“Christmas,” Michael said dryly, enjoying the flash of fire in his wife’s gaze for saying it out loud to Barrymore when he knew how overwhelmed she was feeling.
“
Christmas?
” Drake said in shock. “That’s aggressive. Is that even possible?”
Michael shrugged. “Ask my wife. A Christmas opening was her idea.”
Carrie crossed her arms. “You’re taunting me, aren’t you?” she asked her husband.
Michael shook his head. “No—no, I’m being an agnostic, not a complete disbeliever.”
Carrie snorted. “You don’t think I can do it.”
“Not true,” Michael said, grinning. “I don’t think anyone could get this place functional in two months. There’s too much to do and too little time to do it.”
Narrowing her eyes, Carrie looked around the space critically. Michael’s taunting had shifted her focus to the laser beam it was at the best of times.
“Don’t stock up on too many yogurt bars when you shop for the next couple of months,” she told her grinning husband dryly. “I’m going to be working round the clock here.”
Michael laughed and shook his head again, laughing more at the growing puzzlement on Drake’s face.
“Carrie and I have a tendency to get distracted and forget things around the house. Food tends to expire,” he explained tacking on the little white lie for effect, grinning wickedly as he heard his wife’s derisive snort. It was pretty bad in a relationship when you knew you were going to catch hell over something and you didn’t mind, Michael thought.
“On the other hand,” he said smiling at Drake’s confusion, “if anyone stands a chance of pulling this place together in two months, it is definitely Carrie. My wife works like a machine when inspired.”