Page 89 of Her Greatest Adventure

“If we do, it will absolutely go to her head,” I state.

My sister-in-law, while so incredibly humble, would make a huge deal out of knowing we were thanking her for protecting us from her big scary husband. She would never let Maddox live it down.

“Let it. I owe her for talking Dox off the ledge before he took you and stowed you away in a tower somewhere.” He shifts his hand higher, resting it between my breasts. “There wouldn’t be any fixing our friendship after I stole you back from him.”

“I would have helped you by letting down my hair so you could use it to climb up to get me. Don’t worry.”

“So generous of you,” he murmurs.

“I try my best.”

A happy, content sigh warms my cheek as he leans over and kisses it, fingers tipping my chin toward him. He slides his lips to mine, so softly I barely feel them as my eyes slide shut.

We kiss like that until my neck gets sore, and I pull away, eyes growing heavy. “What time is it?”

“I’m not sure. Probably late.”

I nod. “Will you tell me how to pose for you? I refuse to be teased when it comes to watching you paint.”

There’s already a canvas set up on one of the wooden easels across the room.

“We don’t have to do that tonight. I can do it any other day. As you know, my schedule is pretty clear for the next few weeks still.”

“No, I want to do it tonight. Please?”

Another kiss to the back of my head. “Alright. You can just lie here while I get everything ready, okay?”

“Okay.” I’m not interested in moving right now, anyway.

As he slips out from behind me, I shiver at the cool air against my naked back. There doesn’t seem to be much heat down here, but the cold didn’t bother me when he was keeping me warm.

Noticing my shiver, he looks around the couch before grabbing a small blanket from the floor. It must have fallen off earlier.

“Here.” He drapes the blanket over me and tucks it beneath my bare toes. “Better?”

I smile. “Much.”

Content with my answer, he tugs his underwear and shirt on, then drifts across the room, collecting handfuls of things and disposing of them on the table near the canvas and easel I noticed earlier. He glances back at me a few times, catching me staring at him before smiling and looking away again. For the next few minutes, he works in silence, alternating between squeezing paint on a white palette and looking at me between mixes.

My eyes are drooping when he sets the palette down and moves the easel to the centre of the room. I blink, but it’s a long one.

There’s a soft touch on my cheek and then his voice. “Do you want me to carry you to bed, baby?”

I curl my fingers in the soft blanket and tuck it beneath my chin. “No.”

“Okay. I’ll take you up when I’m done, then.”

“Yes.”

Warm pressure on my forehead. “I’ll be across the room if you need me.”

“I always need you,” I whisper.

He runs a hand over my head. “Sleep well, my love.”

And I do, only waking what feels like hours later when I’m lifted off the couch and settled against a warm, hard chest. We sway, footsteps clapping on creaky stairs, and then the air becomes warmer.

The smell of home helps clear the lingering paint scent from my nostrils. We walk for a minute more, and then I’m being set down on cool silk sheets. I sigh at the feel of them and rub my cheek on my pillow.

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