Page 79 of Beside Golden Irish Fields
“I know!”
She leaned up to kiss him again, but he held her back. “Go! Paint something.”
“Now?” She blinked as he set her away from him.
“Yes, now! Why would we wait another moment to find out?”
She shook herself. “Right. Where’s my drawing pencil? I’ll start there.”
Rushing to her painting bag, she took out her pad and threw it open. He handed her a pencil from the bag, and she looked up at him.
“I’ve watched you draw before and saw you put your things away.”
That he’d paid such close attention had her very heart lifting, as if angels were trying to carry it from her chest.
“Draw, Angie.”
She put the pencil to paper and drew a curve in the middle. Then she drew another on the other side. Suddenly she knew what she was drawing.
She was drawing Carrick’s face, the one she’d just kissed, the one she wanted to caress.
His chin needed a strong line, as did his jaw. Feeling it as she had, she knew the bones to be thick and solid. His brows were a similar composition, boldly setting the stage for his deep-set eyes. When she looked up to study them, she was arrested. The color was no longer Payne’s grey but a deep midnight blue. Although she’d seen his eyes change color before, this seemed significant…as if this were his natural color, and the other had been the embodiment of his grief. Of the weight he carried.
She lowered her gaze back to the pad and hastily sketched the rest of his face. Forming his lips made her fingers burn as she traced them in. When she finished, she ripped the drawing from her pad and held it up.
“What do you think?”
“Doesn’t matter. What do you think?”
“I think I can still do it!” She lifted up her hands, the sketch flapping in the air.
He picked her up and twirled her around. “Thank God!
When he lowered her to the ground, she put the drawing to his chest. From this angle, she could see how well she’d captured him. This sketch would be for her and only her, never to be seen in a gallery. To the end of her days, she would savor this moment, this man.
“Want to go a little further and see if I can keep drawing?” she asked boldly.
They flew at each other again, their hands caressing each other’s bodies as their mouths reconnected. God, oh God, oh God! It felt so good to be alive again.
Her fingers learned the shape of his chest. He curved his hands around her bottom and dipped at the knees to let her feel him. She moaned as the hard length of him pressed between her thighs.
“Draw again,” he said, wrenching them apart and handing her the pencil again.
Her lines seemed to graze across the pad like the swallows she’d seen in the field, leaving their mark. This time the image inside her was of them—her hand touching his jaw as his heated eyes looked into hers.
“Good,” he said when she tore the finished drawing off her pad. “You?”
“Excellent.” Her voice was stronger as she held it up. “I feel almost cured. Let’s find out.”
She drew her top over her head. He shrugged out of his jacket and then pulled off his shirt. His bare chest was well muscled, and it rippled when she touched it. His hands cupped her breasts through her bra.
She let her head fall back, her eyes closing. “Yes, God, yes.” The heat was building, and he seemed to know it because he surprised her by angling his leg between her thighs and pressing it hard to her core. She came in a rush, crying out, clutching his arms. God, that was the first time she’d ever come that quickly, and it only reinforced how powerful their connection was.
When she rested her head against his chest, he hugged her to him, caressing her back in soothing strokes. When she could finally look up at him, his eyes locked with hers.
“Draw again,” he said softly, his steady voice belied by passion in his eyes.
She fanned herself and picked up her pad again.
