Page 32 of Make Me Dream of You

“Great.” I nod and smile through clenched teeth and walk away.

But the entire rest of the day I’m in a weird mood. I’m irritable. Distracted.

I keep glancing toward the front where she’s sitting and trying not to think about tomorrow. But every time I try not to think about her naked, I think about her naked.

She’s naked under that robe.

It’s obvious the instant Livvy opens the door. I knocked at two minutes after nine because it took me three minutes to work up to it.

Her silk robe is thin and clings to the curve of her hips and breasts and pebbled nipples…

Fuck. Look at her face, jackass.

“Hi,” I say.

“Come on in.” She steps aside so I can enter and closes the door behind me. “Macy’s asleep, so we need to be a little quiet.”

I nod and follow her through the living room, down the hall, and into a bedroom, hands stuffed in my pockets, heart pounding like a bass drum the whole time.

I close the door behind us, latching it softly. The room is dim, only lit by a few candles scattered throughout the space and the ambient light from the night sky through the window.

“Is this all right?” she asks, playing with the sash of her robe.

My throat constricts as I try to swallow. “Yeah. This is good. Are you—are you good with this?”

“Of course.” There’s a slight wobble in her voice but she’s smiling.

Maybe I imagined it.

“My easel is all set up here.” She walks over to the corner by a bookshelf, and I follow. “There’s plenty of paper,” she continues, “and different pencils—I didn’t know if you had a lead preference—and some charcoals if you want to use those. Have you used charcoals before? They’re my favorite for figure drawing. I mean, if you want to use this stuff, it’s here, but you don’t have to use it. Sorry, I’m rambling.”

I chuckle, glad I’m not the only one who’s a little nervous. “You’re fine, Livvy. I brought my iPad to sketch on if that’s okay.”

Her cheeks turn pink when I say her name.

I like that.

“No, yeah, that’s great. Perfect.” She breaks our eye contact and goes to the easel. “Sorry, I was painting earlier and didn’t get it totally cleaned up.” She takes a canvas off the easel and sets it on the floor facing the wall then moves some oil paints and a jar of mineral spirits to the side.

I want to see what she’s been working on, but I stay quiet.

“Is there enough light for you?” she asks, placing another candle next to the easel. “I thought the softer light might be more relaxing, and I wouldn’t be so…um…on display, but I can turn the overhead light on if you want.”

She strikes a match along the edge of the box, but it doesn’t light. Again, with a slight tremble in her hand, and no flame.

“No, this is nice.” I take the matchbox from her, our fingertips brushing as she hands me the unspent match. “Whatever makes you most comfortable.”

I strike the match and light the candle, then shake it, watching the orange flame die out to be replaced by a wisp of smoke. It lingers in the air between us.

“Should we get started?” she whispers.

I nod, the word yes getting caught in my throat.

But neither of us makes a move. She twists the end of the robe tie, looking down at the silky fabric between her fingers. I have that urge to comfort her again. I step toward her and reach out to touch her shoulder but stop short.

She looks up at me with her round eyes, her pupils dilated in the dim light.

“How about we warm up for a bit, with the robe on?” I say.

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