Page 97 of One Year Ago in Spain
“Maybe so,” Matías said, but he was no longer looking at the paintbrushes. He was looking only at Claire.
And unlike in the past, when she would be scared of his looking too close, she didn’t hide anything and let all her emotions show. Her love. Her fear. But most of all in this moment—her want.
The warm sconces in the kitchen behind him lit Matías up like he was glowing, the black waves of his hair tipped as if aflame. He was like one of his own paintings, rendered in lush, accurate detail but for one small whimsy.
Matías de León, always a little more than reality.
Claire took two steps toward him, so they were mere inches apart.
He stilled completely.
“Bésame,Matías.”Kiss me.
He leaned in and kissed her neck, his mouth ghosting against the sensitive skin at her throat as she gasped. Even if he wasn’t entirely here, healmostwas, and because her nerves had to work harder to feel him, their sensitivity was dialed up impossibly high.
Every look was starlight.
Every breath, the forerunner to a hurricane.
And every touch felt like fiery autumn leaves, skittering across her skin.
She let out a small moan, and he pressed his thumb, on her lips, gently until her mouth parted. Claire ran her tongue over the tip, and sucked, just once. Matías gasped.
“Dios mío,” he said in a low rumble. “Las cosas que te haría si pudiera…”
The things I would do to you if I could…
“Puedes,” Claire said.You can.
He led her to the bed. As she lowered herself onto it, he said, “Wait here.”
Matías went back to the art supplies and scooped up the paintbrushes, or at least he thought he did. He didn’t seem to notice that he hadn’t actually picked them up; maybe he had taken the souls of them instead. Likewise, he went to the kitchen for the honey, bowl of berries, and some plates. He returned to the bed and set his invisible bounty down next to Claire.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“I am going to paint you,” he said.
“Oh…” She didn’t need to ask more. Because he had done this before, in New York. Made his own colors from strawberries and blackberries. Painted her like she was a masterpiece. Then kissed every inch of his work.
“I don’t want my clothes to stain,” Claire said, reaching for the hem of her shirt and taking her time lifting it up. First, she revealed her stomach, then the slight trim of lace on her bra. By the time she pulled the shirt over her head, Matías had stopped moving, nearly stopped breathing, just to watch her.
“You might want to be careful with your jeans, too,” he said, barely audible. “Berries are notoriously difficult to wash out.”
Claire rose onto her knees on the mattress and undid the top button of her jeans. Then the next. Slowly. And the next. Matías’s breath came faster as she slipped the pants off her hips, then tugged them off completely, leaving her in only the panties she’d bought here in Spain, the ones with the tiny satin ribbon on the front.
“Your turn,” Claire said.
He smiled, almost shy for a second, that hint of boyishness she loved that was usually concealed behind the man. But then he pulled his shirt off in one motion, and now it was Claire who couldn’t breathe, taking in his broad chest, the muscled arms that had carried her across her apartment so many times, the dusting of golden hair below his stomach that matched his eyes, not his head. But even if that wasn’t how he’d look in the future—if his body was weak and covered in scars from the accident and the surgeries—she would still love him, still want him. She would kiss every last one of those scars because they would be reminders that Matías had survived.
She watched as he made his paint, mashing phantom strawberries on one plate, blackberries on another. She couldn’t see the colors themselves, but somehow she could smell them, a hint of fruit perfuming the air.
They shed the rest of their clothes simultaneously until there was nothing between them but summer heat and wanting.
“Lie down,” he said.
Claire was used to being in charge, but with Matías, she didn’t mind taking orders.
He sat on the side of the bed beside her and dipped a brush into one of the plates. The bristles skimmed her neck, where he had kissed her before, and Claire sighed into the scent of strawberries and closed her eyes to concentrate and feel the barely there touch.
