Page 106 of Possession

“Luckily for you, I don’t either.”

His nostrils flared. “Ms. Copeland.”

I slid my hand along his rock-hard belly. “It’s a joke, Blake.”

“Come with me.”

“Are you going to show me your etchings? Because I’m kind of tired. And I still didn’t get my cupcake.”

His lips actually twitched. What did it say about me that those little things got me far too excited? Even when I was aggravated, tired, and defensive. I was a bitchy trifecta and still, I wanted a smile out of him.

Yep.

Certifiable.

“I promise you’ll get a cupcake.”

“There needs to be copious amounts of chocolate after the crap you pulled tonight.”

“Understood.” He gave me a sideways glance.

“What?”

“Will chocolate always work?”

This time, it was my lips that twitched. The moments of earnest Blake almost always made up for the jackass jacket he wore like skin. “More than it doesn’t.”

“Good to know.”

He drew me through a door I’d assumed was a closet. It was narrow and he had to turn his shoulders to fit through it. In all the weeks I’d explored his house, I’d rarely traversed the back of the house. The backyard was heavily canopied, thanks to ancient evergreens.

Since there was no ocean, I confessed to very little interest. It was the only view that settled me completely.

And I missed it desperately.

But this was no simple patio. It wasn’t even on the back of the house, but a bonus room off the side. If you could call it a room. It seemed too tame of a word for the pure wonder of it.

Moonlight and shadows striped the hardwood floor until we crossed a threshold made of glass. My mouth dropped open. Colorless glass encased a four-season room with a forest backdrop. He’d left it wild, only clearing enough space for his design.

It was fairytale perfect with lead channeled frames around each massive glass panel. Echoes of the atrium we’d spent the night in were everywhere. Until the ceiling. It was no simple domed view up into the sky.

No, it was a huge clock face instead. Very much like the one in the gallery at Carson Covenant. Instead of hands to tell the time, he’d created a sun dial effect that stole my breath. This wasn’t the in-your-face style from his lobby. This was art.

The truest form of Blake. Form and function creating a masterpiece out of glass.

I spun around to face him, but before I could try to tell him how beautiful everything was, I was struck mute for a whole different reason.

“My glass.”

He moved to my side. “Yes.”

The fallen angel I’d designed was on a simple pedestal at the far side of the room. That was enough to steal my breath. That he’d actually put it in such a place of honor in this beautiful… Well, church was the only thing I could come up with.

A four-season room didn’t quite fit the bill with this much attention to detail.

The angel with smoky glass and copper wings was breathtaking in this setting, but the stained glass he’d made part of his design was what shocked me to the core.

Myglass.

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