Page 63 of Finding New Dreams

“Of course,” I said. “And all those amazing stories got me thinking: Why don’t you take your canvases home and have those people you talked about—the ones who make you feel courageous—add their own fingerprint leaves?”

Cheers of agreement echoed through the gallery. Much happier now, they followed my instructions for cleaning up while Rose and Mrs. Q assisted them.

Within fifteen minutes, Mrs. Q thanked me and Rose three more times before she swept out of the gallery, her class following her like noisy ducklings, carrying their precious artwork.

The door eased shut and sealed the room with a hush.

I stood still for a moment. I didn’t like the sudden silence. My neck tingled with awareness. She was watching me. Just a few feet behind me. How long could I resist the pull of her gaze?

Why resist at all, you coward?

I swung around to face her where she stood in front of my painting. Her teeth tugged at her lower lip as she stared at me.

We said nothing.

Each moment stretched like a tightly wound cord. But neither of us let go.

I absorbed everything I could from this distance. The soft sheen of her black hair, perfect for slipping my fingers through. Her full lips, so quick to smile, so inviting for my own. The wine-red shirt she wore, clinging to the sensual curve of her shoulders and hugging her breasts in a way that drew my eyes again and again. My body flooded with a hungry heat.

And still she let me admire her as if she were another beautiful painting hanging in this gallery.

Her eyes traveled over my face and my unbound hair, down the length of my body, then back up. No blush, no shame, just honest appreciation and curiosity.

But it did nothing to ease the ravenous yearning in my gut. It only provoked it more.

Damn it all, what was this?

Then she spoke, a husky whisper that seemed to fill every corner of the gallery. “I’ve missed you…and ArtsyHotGuy3234.” She took the tiniest step toward me. “Why did you stop messaging me?”

I lifted one eyebrow. “Why do you think?”

“Because I didn’t want to tell Gina about you? I’m sure she already knows.”

“Then why refuse to talk about it?”

Her ballet shoes toed a line a few inches from my boots. “I don’t know. I…I guess I didn’t want to be teased. I wanted to figure out how I felt about all of it before discussing it with her, especially in front of you and her son.”

I lowered my head to murmur by her ear, “And have you figured it out, Rose?”

She sighed, her eyes closing for a moment. “Not all of it. But I do know that the reason I haven’t even considered going on any other dates is because ArtsyHotGuy3234 is the only man on that app I want to talk to. Why go on a date with another man when I would only be thinking of you?”

A ripple of satisfaction momentarily appeased the aching heat under my skin. “So you want me to talk to you?”

She nodded. Sincerity—that secret weapon of hers—shone in her eyes.

I dipped my head so close to hers our noses nearly touched. “And how would you like me to talk to you, Rose?”

“Like…like you were. Before.” Her words breezed over my lips.

Desire battered at my chest, threatening to overrule what little sense I had left. If she’d been any other woman I’d met, we probably would’ve hooked up several times and gone our separate ways by now.

But Rose was different. I wanted to be different. Just this once, I wanted to grow whatever existed between us. Not a quick firework that popped off then faded into the night. I wanted to feed it. Stroke it. Tease it. Until that fiery connection between us became a wildfire that didn’t disappear in the dark but consumed it.

Rose didn’t deserve anything less than that.

“I can do that,” I said in a jagged whisper. “Is that all you need from me?”

“For now,” she whispered back.

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