Page 70 of Lost in the Moonlight

The timer went off, and she rushed down the hall to the kitchen. I followed, drawn by the sweet scents coming from the oven as much as her.

I almost laughed when I walked in. Almost every available surface in the kitchen was being used. It wasn’t messy as much as organized chaos.

I approached the sketchbook on the corner of the island. Sitting just above it was her phone, open to an image of a Gustav Klimt landscape. On the sketchpad, she’d drawn a rather crude recreation of the masterpiece and then dissected it with circles, writing the names of different sweets inside them.

“You’re going to make a Klimt?”

She pulled something that smelled like warm brownies mixed with the scent of a berry field from the oven.

When she turned, her face was flushed, and it wasn’t just from the heat coming from the open door.

“It’s probably ridiculous. But I don’t have the skill for faces yet, and I love the gold leaf he added to many of his pieces. I’m probably trying too hard, but I can’t get it out of my head, so I know it’s what I should be working on.”

I understood that more than she’d ever realize, an idea taking hold and not letting go. But the only thing I couldn’t get out of my head right now was Willow. I itched to be back at the studio, painting her. Brushing her over canvas. Portraying her as I saw her now with the light pouring in from the window, turning those moonlight strands into sparkling crystals. Beautiful pink staining her cheeks. Brilliance surrounding her like a halo.

The angel I needed to match the demon I’d painted.

I did what I always did when an image consumed me. I headed for the door and my studio. I fished around in my pockets, trying to remember where I’d placed my keys. “I have to go. Stay here. Don’t leave. I’ll set the alarm.”

She followed me. “You’re leaving?”

The hint of panic in her voice stalled me just as I picked up the keys from the side table I’d tossed them on earlier. I turned around to see alarm flit across her face that she tried to hide.

The artist in me was clamoring to pour her onto paper. The need was so great I could almost feel the strokes. The squish of the tube. Smell the turpentine and oil paints.

But then, the image of my kitchen and the carefully constructed chaos hit me. She’d stayed here all day after visibly shuddering at the idea of going home to the cottage. She didn’t want to be reminded of what had happened, but more, she didn’t want to be alone. She’d bounced back from the note, from the flicker of fear that it might have been the Viceroys coming after her, but that terror still lurked under the surface, ready to burst out again at any moment.

She’d lived with that nightmare for six years. I hated it. It made me want to find and destroy Aaron and whoever else was tied to his organization with my bare hands.

So, for the first time in maybe my entire life, I denied myself the thing I’d always allowed to consume me. Instead, I tossed the keys back where I’d found them.

“No. I’m not leaving.” I shook my head.

Her shoulders went back, and that resilient smile I now saw as forced returned. “It’s okay. Seriously, go do what you need to do. I’ll clean up and try to get out of your hair.”

She was halfway back to the kitchen before I caught her, banding my arm around her and drawing her to me. With a hand to her chin, I forced her to look at me. “You’re not in my hair, and I don’t want you to leave. I’ve told you that already, and I absolutely meant it.”

She pushed her forced beam up to full wattage. “I’m being ridiculous.”

“Even if you hadn’t had a huge fright today, I’d ask you to stay. I’d want you here. But knowing you’d be at your house alone, that someone else might know that too…” I shook my head, acid burning my throat at the mere idea. I brushed my thumb over her lower lip, and her breathy exhale coasted over my skin, setting me ablaze. “Stay. Stay here. Stay tonight. Stay tomorrow. Stay for as long as you like.”

Her eyelids fluttered closed. The long pale lashes another image I wanted to capture.

“I’m off today and tomorrow. Mom will be back on Sunday by the time I’m done at The Tea Spot. If you don’t mind, I’d like to not be alone until then.”

I wanted her to stay because of me. Because she couldn’t get enough of me. Not because of the fear about being by herself.But I’d take whatever I could get. I’d take what I could of Willow whenever and however she was willing to give it.

Chapter Twenty-two

Willow

THAT’S WHERE IT IS

Performed by Carrie Underwood

The relief that flew through mewhen Lincoln didn’t leave was just another ridiculous emotion in the sea of them I’d had since the minute he’d walked into the cemetery. His house was hardly a good hiding spot if it was Poco who’d left the note. He’d assumed we were dating. He’d seen Lincoln and me together several times now, and he’d likely know to look here if he couldn’t find me at the cottage. But as irrational as it might be, I felt hidden here. Not only hidden but safe and cared for. As if he was just a regular guy, and I was just a regular girl, and we could let these tantalizing emotions run free.

Maybe Lincoln had cast a spell on me with the seductive rub of his thumb along my mouth, or maybe it was just years of aching for this type of connection and affection, but I wanted the spell to last for at least a few hours more. I wanted to suspend time while we were secreted away from the world.

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