Page 63 of Painting Celia

León froze. What was he doing?

He released her, drawing back. His jaw clenched. He shouldn’t have let himself get carried away, no matter how much he wanted her.

Celia glanced at the pool house, uneasy. “What is it?”

“Last night, you said no,” he said tightly. “You said, ‘I can’t.’ Because Andrew was there, right?”

She nodded, worry starting to stiffen her.

“Why is tonight different?” he asked. León could see her starting to withdraw already, her shoulders tightening, her smile dimming as the openness he found so appealing faded into reserve. But Andrew was a true complication!

Celia’s wide eyes searched his. “It was my birthday.”

He stared, then chuckled at her unexpected answer. Looking up to the stars, he exhaled heavily. “I picked a hell of a time to ask that, didn’t I?”

She held her silence until he looked back. The water around them stilled.

“It’s none of my business,” he said. “But—”

“It is now,” she said.

His hands retreated slowly into the water, weak ripples radiating out to engulf them both. “But,” he continued, “everyone said you broke up last year.”

“We did,” she answered, appeal in her eyes. “We just sometimes, still…you know him.”

León sighed.

“But that’s over,” she insisted. “For good. We agreed yesterday.”

León shook his head slowly. “Just yesterday. Maybe this isn’t a good idea today.” Her disappointment was clear; her shoulders started to droop. “Maybe we should think about this. Do you want to think about this?”

•••

Celia teetered. Her mind told her to hold back, hide what she wanted. It was safer, and he had denied an interest in her this whole time. If he didn’t want her, was she making a fool of herself? She shrank from the risk.

But he did want her, enough that she’d seen him struggle against it. And that feeling when he really saw her…she wanted to take a chance. She couldn’t hide forever.

“I’m tired of thinking,” she said.

This time it was her dripping hands rising, reaching to touch wet fingertips to his smooth skin, tender palms sliding behind his neck. That hair was going to get at least a little wet.

She glimpsed a reluctant smile as she leaned in to kiss him. Lightly, softly, she touched her lips to his, her fingers finally threading through that hair she always wanted to touch. When he leaned in again, she let her wet hands roam down his neck and onto his chest, glorying in feeling his breath catch.

His head was shaking, though.

He raised his hands to hers, catching them between their bodies and holding them still. He was stopping her, and she bent her head, conceding. He rested his forehead against hers, both of them panting softly.

The silence drew out. The chill in the air made itself known.

•••

León struggled to stay motionless, his heart thrumming inside his chest, his body demanding that he just caress her bare shoulder, pull her close to feel her entire soft, warm length against him. One word and she’d be his. But if he kissed her again, he wouldn’t stop.

Alone, naked, with more than one bed at hand, the whole night ahead of them? Heaven.

But his entire world was at stake! He’d finally painted her. What if he couldn’t paint her after? What if things just went wrong somehow?

“I can’t,” he said, regretting each syllable.

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