Page 36 of Choosing the right Man

We move into the heart of the luxury shops without another word spoken between us. I can feel her pulse quicken beneath my grip, but she doesn’t pull away from me. I should be satisfied with this. I’m not. I want so much more. I wonder if anything will ever be enough when it comes to her.

We move along, and soon see an art gallery nestled between two designer boutiques, its entrance sleek and quiet, like a world apart from the frenzy of the outside world. Chloe slows, her gaze captured by the art in the windows, her eyes seeking a favorite piece.

I release her hand, watching as she steps inside the quaint shop. She moves like she’s afraid to disturb the space, her fingers clasped together as she admires the work lining the walls. Then she stops. She’s standing in front of one of my pieces.

She steps closer as her breath hitches, and her body goes still. She’s mesmerized. She gives me a glance from the corner of her eye.

“Beautiful, it’s absolutely beautiful,” she sighs. It makes my body sing to hear her say this as she gazes on something I put my heart and soul into, even if she doesn’t know it’smywork.

She exhales slowly, a reverent sigh that I feel in the pit of my stomach. I clench my fists at my sides, trying to stay in control, but this woman makes that nearly impossible. Her eyes drop to the small plaque on the wall. She lets out a disappointed sigh and frowns. The price is far too high. All of my work sells for premium prices.

I don’t want her to buy my work. I want her tobemy work. I want her beneath me, covered in paint, her body my canvas — mine to mark, mine to own. I’ve spent too many nights picturing it, my hands dragging colors over her curves, my lips tracing the patterns I’ve created.

I’ve tried being noble when it comes to her. I’ve tried waiting until she’s ready. But I can’t wait much longer. I step up behind her, so close that I can feel the warmth of her body against my chest. She stiffens but doesn’t move away.

“It’s not bad,” I tell her. I loved this piece when I made it, but it pales in comparison to what she’ll look like beneath the paint of my brush. I lean down, my lips brushing against her ear. “You’d make a much more enticing canvas.”

She laughs, though the sound’s obviously forced. She’s scared of this attraction between us. I’m not. “I can buy the piece for you,” I offer.

She immediately shakes her head. “As much as I want to own this, I won’t accept it,” she says, her voice firm. I’ve never met a woman unwilling to take gifts from me. It’s one more mystery where this woman’s concerned.

“I’ll give you anything you want, Chloe.”

She steps away from me, then turns. “I’m not for sale, Mason.”

I move closer to her. “I don’t want to buy you, Chloe... I want to own you,” I tell her, leaving no doubt in my voice that I mean these words. Her breath hitches again as her eyes widen. She doesn’t say another word, only turns and flees.

She’s scared, and that’s okay. Sheshouldbe frightened. What’s happening between us only comes along once-in-a-lifetime. We should both be scared. We just might enter hell together if we continue this, which we certainly will. It doesn’t matter, though. I’m not running. I’ll let her flee for now, but Iwon’t let her get too far. I have plans for us that we’ll both enjoy far more than anything we’ve ever taken pleasure in before.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chloe

It’s been so long since I visited with Audrey. But with my world once again thrown into chaos, there’s one place I need to go. Luckily, she lives within an hour’s drive of my house. I settled into life in Portland, and she moved to Tacoma, happy being a single woman. She says life is much less complicated when you don’t stay with one person too long.

She might be correct.

No, not the best thought. My relationship is on the rocks, and I’m having thoughts like this because of Mason Alexander. I haven’t shared with anyone how we kissed, how he stripped off my shirt, how we came so close to making love. I’m not sure I’ll ever share.

I arrive at her condo and climb the stairs to her door. She has a huge, incredibly nice place. I’ve never wanted to live in a condo or apartment because I don’t like to be closed in and there’s no way I could afford a place as nice as Aubrey’s. I need to have a backyard. Maybe that’s the hippie in me.

She opens the door within seconds of me knocking, a huge smile making her more beautiful than ever. Dang, she never ages. She’s a timeless beauty the world can’t contain.

“Chloe! I’ve missed you so much, and I’m a total crap-head for never coming around to visit,” she squeals, throwing her arms around me and squeezing hard. For such a tiny thing, she has a lot of strength.

“I never visit either.” I try not to give in to the tears suddenly wanting to fall.

“Come in. I’m making dinner. I thought about going out, but I want to gossip, and I don’t want you holding back on me because someone might overhear.” She practically pulls me through the door.

“The house smells fantastic. What did you make?” I don’t remember Audrey being a cook, or much of one, at least. There’s a lot that’s changed with both of us from when we were young. We’re totally new people as adults and we can’t take so much time apart or one day we might not know each other anymore.

“I made scallops and noodles with Alfredo sauce, and to add something healthy to it, a delicious salad,” she proudly states.

“When did you become a cook?” I ask. She laughs.

“You know I’m a forever college student. One of the years I focused on cooking. I discovered I really love it.” She sits me at the kitchen island and pushes a glass of wine in front of me.

“Can I help?” I ask as I lift the glass and sip. It’s crisp and cold and absolutely perfect.

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