18. Eighteen
Eighteen
Juliet
O ver the next week, I focused on my artwork with an intensity I simply hadn’t had time for in years, then started researching local art galleries. After I finished a few more pieces, I might be able to pitch a Spruce Hill installment somewhere nearby—but the closest gallery was almost to Rochester. I’d finally started painting the image of the lighthouse and Blue on a canvas, but I earmarked that one as a gift for Henry when it was done.
Each day ended with Henry coming by after work to have dinner, help me sort through the boxes in the living room, and generally kiss me senseless.
It was a bit like being a teenager again, without the disapproving parent in the next room.
All in all, it was a routine that made me inordinately happy, though my patience with our slow pace was wearing thin. I had only myself to blame, since Henry was clearly letting me set our trajectory, but that didn’t lessen my frustration.
In direct contrast to that, I was enjoying my time with him so much that I was afraid to rush ahead and ruin it.
When the weather cooperated, he brought Blue with him, but Henry teased that unless I was going to let him scrub the wet dog smell from us both in Nan’s fancy bathtub, he wasn’t willing to bring her over in the rain.
Though I wouldn’t admit it to him just yet, I might have entertained a dozen or so fantasies about taking him up on the offer to lather up my skin with those strong hands of his.
We made progress working through the boxes, enough to let Henry cart some back up to the second floor to get them out of the way when we deemed the contents not worth deeper investigation, but I'd still found very few answers. Even if it was a study in disappointment, it helped to have Henry at my side through it all. He had an innate ability to tease a smile out of me, to distract and reassure me when I was ready to admit defeat.
“I wish I’d had you around while I was going through my mom’s attic,” I muttered one evening.
When I heaved a sigh and rubbed at eyes gone blurry from paging through decades of old ledgers, Henry’s strong fingers cupped the back of my neck, pressing into the knotted muscles until a soft sigh whispered past my lips.
“I wish I could have been there for you, Red. No one should have to do that kind of thing on their own. It makes me grateful for my brother, even if he annoys me at times.”
I stayed silent while he rubbed the tension from my neck. It was so easy, so natural being here with him. There was no pressure from him to move faster, give more, skip ahead—he seemed happy to let me set the pace, though I would swear there was a growing heat in his eyes every time we pushed the boundaries of our interactions.
Even if there were frequent moments when I was tempted to set aside all of my reservations, strip him naked, and while away the hours in bed together, for the time being, things stayed impressively chaste.
Of course, keeping it that way would be another matter entirely.
L ate Friday afternoon, as I stood at the stove stirring a pot of sauce, Blue’s joyous bark sounded from the front yard. I set a timer and gladly abandoned my task to open the door and admire the smooth ripple of muscle beneath Henry’s t-shirt as he pulled a heavy box from the back of his truck.
Blue galloped straight toward me, accepted a quick head rub, then traipsed off to sniff at the wildflowers lining the walk.
“I come bearing gifts,” Henry called.
He paused at the doorway, shifting the box to one hip so he could kiss me in that slow, languid way that set my nerves aflame, while Blue trotted past us and settled into her favorite spot in front of the couch.
“I see that,” I said when he drew back to wink and lug the box into the living room. “Dinner’s almost ready. I’m no master chef, but it should be edible.”
Henry set the box on the floor and returned to my side to kiss me again now that his hands were free. The man could work wonders with his mouth alone, but when his hands joined the action, I was a goner. He'd spent the previous evenings learning my responses until he knew exactly where to trace his fingers along my spine to draw that purr from my throat, where to cup his hands without tickling me, just how I liked to be kissed and held and cherished.
When he reluctantly released me, I gazed up at him in that dazed way that always drew a smile from his lips.
“What’s in the box?” I asked once I'd recovered my senses.
Henry grinned, looking excited enough that I didn’t think it was full of tax documents or elementary school report cards.
Thank heavens for that.
“Gramps found some stuff in the basement of the inn, he thought it might help in our quest for information,” he said, gesturing to the other boxes still lining the floor. “They’re not diaries, but there are some sketchbooks and notebooks in there, along with a bunch of file folders. He didn’t want to pry and neither did I, so they’re yours to discover.”
As much as I wanted to dive immediately in, the timer I set for the pasta went off with a loud ding. I sighed as I returned to the stove, waving off Henry’s offer of assistance. When I laid our plates on the counter, his expression shifted from excitement to something darker, more troubled. He was almost always smiling these days—either that or giving me the intense, heated look I was coming to know so well, the one that made my breath catch in my throat with anticipation.
After I sat beside him, he tucked my hair behind my ear, his fingertips lingering on the sensitive skin.
“What is it?” I asked.
“This smells delicious,” he replied, but I narrowed my eyes at him. “Right, fine, I’ll stop buttering you up. It’s probably nothing, but I’ve been asking around about the sound you heard that day at the Point.”
I had nearly forgotten he’d promised to do that, distracted as I’d been by this thing that was developing between us.
“So? Spill it, Walker.”
Henry flashed a grin and leaned over to kiss me before he continued, but he knew better than to press his luck, so he kept it quick.
“The Partridges, who live along the road by Cooper’s Point, thought they heard a gunshot that day, too. They were outside in the yard with their grandchildren that afternoon so everybody heard it. Mr. Partridge assumed it was either a hunter or some kids messing around out in the woods.”
“But you don’t think so?”
“I don’t know what to think, to be perfectly honest. Folks in Spruce Hill are pretty careful. I’ve talked to enough people that word will get around, so maybe we’ll find out more. Either that or whoever was responsible will realize they’re about to get busted, and it won’t ever happen again.”
Something in his expression said he didn’t agree, but he reached over to touch my cheek, his gaze softening. A faint streak of heat blossomed under his fingertips.
“It pisses me off that you were hurt because someone was out there dicking around. I’m still amazed your injuries weren’t worse.”
“Well, thank you for asking about it,” I said softly. “My knee is feeling better, and I don’t look like something from a horror movie anymore, so that’s definite improvement.”
“Oh, I don’t know, sometimes there’s a hot redhead at the beginning of the movie, right before everyone starts getting murdered. You might still have a backup career in film, you know,” he replied, his eyes twinkling with mischief now.
I snorted and whacked his arm. “Eat your dinner, you scoundrel.”
He did, with such gusto that it made me feel marginally better about my subpar cooking skills. I’d managed to feed myself for years, but between popping over to the inn for breakfast, exploring the town’s takeout options, and letting Henry cook for me, I was spoiled now.
And enjoying the hell out of it, to be perfectly honest.
After dinner, he insisted on taking care of the dishes. I propped my chin in my hand and basked in contentment as I watched him bend over to load the dishwasher, giving me a pristine view of his ass in those faded jeans. There was something so captivating about him, all lean grace and understated strength.
After a few minutes, he threw a glance rife with promise over his shoulder and smirked ever so slightly.
“I can take off my shirt, if you’d like a better view,” he offered.
I learned very early in this budding relationship that he enjoyed throwing me off balance with such comments, but I'd also come to understand that he didn’t generally expect me to call his bluff.
Lest he start to think I wasn’t up to the challenge, I decided it was time to change that.
“Yes, please,” I answered, delighted by the flash of surprise that crossed his face.
It was followed by a slow, devastating smile as he drew the shirt over his head and tossed it onto the counter next to me. My breath caught in my throat as I studied him.
He really was beautiful. Sleek curves of muscle bunched and shifted beneath olive skin that was dusted with dark hair, trailing down toward the sharp vee of his hip bones before dipping below the waistband of his jeans. His muscles were smooth, defined but not bulky. I knew firsthand just how strong they were—strong enough to sweep me off my feet. Literally.
The late afternoon sunlight streaming through the window flowed lovingly over his chest. My fingers itched to do the same. He seemed neither bashful nor impatient, so I contented myself with absorbing every detail of his bare torso.
There’d be time enough for touching.
“You know,” I said lightly, trying to ignore the low simmer of blood in my veins, “art schools always need nude models. You really should do your civic duty and volunteer. An entire generation of artistic talent is missing out on all this beauty.”
Henry dried his hands and set aside the dish towel before leaning toward me across the counter. I dragged my gaze from his chest to his face, meeting his amused smirk.
“Beauty, huh? You should know by now that the only artist I’d ever pose nude for is you, Red.”
“Hmm,” I replied. “There’s a thought.”
It wasn’t the first time I’d thought about drawing him, but the image of him lounging naked before me inspired a variety of desires that had nothing to do with art. Especially now that I could see what I’d been missing.
When he raised a questioning brow, waiting for me to speak, I cocked my head and said, “I think you should come over here.”