Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
I t was as though the boulder she’d been carrying since she was sixteen had finally rolled off her back. Saskia led Clay into her home, revealing herself to him.
“Your home is like your art.”
With the sun streaming in, the bold colors stood out, the teal walls peppered with her designs in lighter colors and her signature fleur-de-lis.
If he looked closely, he’d find Lynx too.
The sofa was fuchsia, with lava lamps in bright colors, from oranges to greens to blues, scattered around the room.
She’d scoured charity shops to find them.
Even the rug burst with color in its geometric pattern.
“It’s so you,” he whispered.
She said just as softly, “I didn’t think you knew the real me.”
Clay reeled her in, wrapping his arms across the small of her back, holding her in a loose hug. “I was hurt. I didn’t believe I knew you. But I do know you… in the ways that count.”
She looped her arms around his neck. “And I know you.”
She’d revealed all the worst parts of her life, and he’d given his story to her too. They’d both led lives that were far from perfect, but they’d overcome.
“Welcome to my home.” To her life, to her love.
“Thank you for letting me in.”
With those words, she knew he understood that he was special.
That she’d given very few people insight into who she really was.
People thought they knew her through her art, but they couldn’t know the hidden core inside, the fearful core, the distrusting core.
But Clay had seen her from the beginning, even if he didn’t know it.
He’d recognized the artist in her, encouraged her as he did all his other artists. But she’d blown him off.
She never would again. “I love you, Clay Harrington.”
His eyes were suddenly ablaze. “And I love you, Saskia Oliver slash San Holo slash Lynx. I love all of you.”
She laughed. “You make it sound like I have multiple personalities.”
His wicked grin heated her insides. “I love every one of them. Especially the succubus that comes out when we’re in bed.” He snugged her closer to him, letting her feel what the press of their bodies did to him.
How had she survived these last two nights without him? Suddenly, she wanted him with the intensity of a fever running through her veins. Trailing her hand down his arm, she wrapped her fingers around his. “Then we need to let my inner succubus loose again.”
She led him up the narrow, carpeted stairs.
She’d treated the house like it was a piece of art that needed to be restored—cleaning and polishing wood floors, taking down faded wallpaper, painting walls, buffing hardwood paneling.
At the top, she turned, backing down the hallway, pulling him with her. “I’d show you my studio, but I’d rather show you the bedroom first.”
He leaned in to kiss the tip of her nose. “That’s a fantastic idea.”
She’d painted her bedroom in the bold colors she loved—red wine walls, rugs to match, purple comforter, and dusky rose pillows.
When she flipped on the lights, lace doilies over the lamps would dance color across the walls.
But now the sun shone through the sheer curtains, bathing the bed in light and warmth.
“Just like you,” he whispered. “Full of life and color.”
Lying back on the purple comforter, she rested on her elbows and smiled at him. “I need you to make love to me right here until the sun goes down.”
Make love . It had been so long since she’d said those words.
“I would love to.” He crawled across the bed to her on all fours, like a stalking jaguar. Then he stopped. “Please tell me you have condoms in the house.”
Her laugh was husky with desire. “I thought you were going to carry them in your wallet.” Fist in his shirt, she pulled him down. “I don’t want to use one. There’s only been you. And I won’t get pregnant. I’m on the pill.” She felt the need to explain. “It helps with the cramps.”
His lips a hairsbreadth away, he whispered, “You’re safe with me, I promise.”
“I’ve always felt safe with you.”
Straddling her, he reached for the dark hoodie she wore, unzipping it, pushing the sleeves down her arms. Then he murmured in awe, “You are so damned beautiful.”
Through his eyes, she felt beautiful. He tugged the tank top out of her leggings and pulled it over her head. She’d worn a jogging bra, far from sexy, yet he leaned down to kiss the spot between her breasts. “I love the feel of your skin.” He licked her right there. “I love the way you taste.”
With his words, his touch, his kiss, he made her feel beautiful and sexy. He tugged the bra over her head, tossed it aside, and then he bent to take the tight bead of one breast between his lips.
Saskia arched, moaned. “I love the way you make me feel.”
He lifted his head long enough to say, “I love the way your scent goes to my head.”
He licked, laved, sucked until her body arched up to grind into his. Then he trailed kisses down her body, backed off the bed, taking off her leggings and panties, holding them like they were war prizes. “I love how you look just like that,” he murmured. “Naked, with the sun streaming across you.”
“Take off your clothes,” she said. “I want to memorize the sight of you.”
Stripping off his shirt, he threw it on the floor, revealing rippling pectorals and washboard abs. “You don’t have to memorize it. You’ll be looking at it for the rest of your life.”
The rest of her life. She craved that.
He stripped until he stood before her like a magnificent jungle beast. Finally, he crawled between her legs, gazing down at her. “My mouth is watering for a taste of you.”
Then he teased that tight button with his fingers, his tongue, his lips, sending her flying into the sky.
She moaned, then a deep groan rose up from her throat as sensation rocketed through her body.
He fit two fingers inside her and worked her deliciously from the inside.
She couldn’t resist the heady combination as everything rushed down to her core and exploded outward.
Writhing, crying, moaning on the bed beneath him, she begged him to take her, but he kept her on the edge for what seemed like forever, until she had to crawl away, the feelings so intense.
“You don’t know what you do to me,” she gasped.
He climbed over her again, laying his hard male body across hers, fitting himself between her legs. With his lips so close to hers that she could almost taste herself on him, he whispered, “You can never imagine what you do to me.” He kissed her, so sweet, so reverent. “I love how you come for me.”
He nudged her core, and just the tip of him slipped inside. She arched into the pleasure. “I love how you fill me.”
He nuzzled her neck, kissed her there. “I love how sweet you are, how smart you are, how talented you are.”
She drew her legs up, locked her ankles around him, pulled him the tiniest bit deeper. “I love how you take care of all your artists. How you take care of Dylan. How you take care of me.”
“I love how you love me.” Then, without another word, just a smile on his lips and a fire in his eyes, he thrust deep.
She arched into the pillow, closed her eyes, took all of him, until he was fully seated and still once again.
She could only whisper, “Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”
“I’ll never stop,” he promised her. “I’ll love you forever.”
He withdrew, slowly, achingly, grazing that sweet spot inside her. Then he took her with short, tantalizing strokes, their bodies melding together as she fell closer to the edge.
“I love you,” she whispered.
Without warning, he plunged deep again. And again. Her fire burned hotter, her body screaming for release. Then she lost herself in the pleasure.
Lost herself in him.
He knew the moment she came, her body clamping down on him, dragging him in. He took her hard then, the way he knew she loved. Circling his hips, he ground against her, inside her, loving the way she felt around him, her scent invading him, her skin like silk against him.
Until finally she squeezed him so tightly he couldn’t hold back another moment.
He gave her everything—his heart, his soul, his essence, his love.
He eased his weight off her and cradled her in his arms. He couldn’t say how long they lay there afterward. But when he opened his eyes, the sunbeams had moved across the bed.
She’d made him lose his mind. He’d never lost it with anyone but her.
The comforter was soft beneath his body, her skin smooth against his. The scent of their loving perfumed the air.
He realized she was awake when she swirled her fingers in his chest hair, her words whispering across his skin. “Where do we go from here?”
“I love you,” he said, as if that were answer enough.
“And I love you.” Both of them knew it wasn’t an answer to the question she’d asked.
He exhaled, his gaze on the sunlight across the wall. “You’re the anonymous artist who isn’t anonymous anymore. And I have this platform that won’t work the way I planned. Let’s see how we’re going to make that all work.”
Her hair brushed his chest as she looked up at him. “You’re already planning lecturers to help with the emotional side.”
He sighed. “But can I do more?”
She stroked his face with one hand. “You’ve provided a beautiful, safe place. But maybe they need to do some of the work themselves. What about establishing pods in each of your warehouses? Like a potters’ pod and a painters’ pod? Where they can talk things through together.”
There he went again—taking everything on himself, as if he were the only one who could get things done.
But she was right. His people were capable.
“I’ll suggest that, then let them run with the idea.
” He laughed, joy bubbling up. “Damn, we’re such a freaking good team.
You have notions that never occurred to me. ”
She nuzzled his chest. “You’re still the smartest man I know.”
He snorted. “If I was so smart, I would have found you years ago, when you were Lynx.”
“If you had, I wouldn’t be the same painter I am today. Our pasts shape us, and we’re the ones who have to run with it,” she said, echoing him.
“You would have become the woman and artist you are no matter what happened.” At the smile on her face, he knew how much his words meant to her. “But what will San Holo do now?”
She didn’t pretend not to understand. “I guess I’ve always been afraid my parents would see what I was doing and crush my work like they did before. Being anonymous allowed me to do whatever I wanted. I never had to come face-to-face with someone who said they hated it.”
“But now you have fans,” he said gently. “They want to hear from you.”
“But do I want to do appearances and interviews?” She shrugged. “I’m a little terrified of that.”
He tipped her chin, forcing her to look at him again. “You can take on whatever you put your mind to.” He tapped her chest. “In your heart, you know that.”
“But do I want to?”
“If you want to remain anonymous, I’m behind you one hundred percent.” He would back her no matter what she chose.
“But how can I do that since Hugo’s given everyone my name?” She pointed at her phone on the side table as it pinged with another text. “My phone’s been blowing up.”
“You could paint under another name,” he suggested, knowing even as he spoke that it wasn’t the answer.
“But that’s starting over again like I did after Hugo stole Lynx.”
She was already talking herself out of anonymity, so he played devil’s advocate. “Then be San Holo. Just refuse to do interviews and ignore social media.”
“Or I could have Adrian say Hugo’s claims are total bollocks.” Her Britishisms were starting to come out.
Clay had to say it. “What about walking the walk? Especially after everything you told Dylan and Gareth?”
Saskia rolled onto her back, feeling the loss of his warmth immediately. Lovemaking with Clay was the most amazing of her life. And she wanted him in her life forever.
But that life was changing fast, and not only because Hugo had outed her. Fear suddenly roiled in her belly. “I’m afraid. I have to admit that. Own it.”
He didn’t touch her. She wished he would.
But if he did, she’d never get all the words out.
“You’re right about walking the walk. But I’m still afraid of getting screwed over by the people I love and trust.” She looked at him.
“Not you. In any way imaginable. But it’s like a little kid who almost drowned and is terrified of the water after that.
Even though she’s learned how to swim and will never come close to drowning again. ”
He gathered her into his arms once more. “I get the analogy. You don’t have to make a decision right now. You have time to think about it.”
She gazed into his eyes, her heart filling up with him. “I love your generosity. I love how you think of everyone else before yourself. I love you .”
They clung to each other, and he whispered, “I can’t let Hugo Lewis get away with hurting you again. Do you understand that?”
She answered in that same reverent whisper, “Absolutely.”
“I’m going to reclaim your art for you.”
She shook her head, her hair cascading over his chest. “A lot of it doesn’t even exist anymore.”
“But you had canvases, right, just like you do now?”
She nodded. He knew so well how she worked.
“It’s your name that’s most important.” After a long exhale, he said, “Let’s talk to Adrian. And Gareth. Together, the four of us will figure out how to recover what Hugo stole from you.”
Oddly, she found she didn’t care that much about Hugo anymore. If he hadn’t screwed her over, she wouldn’t be San Holo. If she hadn’t become San Holo, she wouldn’t have found Clay.
And finding Clay was the most important thing she’d ever done.