Eleven
Celia was done talking to that infuriating man. At least for today. Maybe tomorrow too.
His appearance at her back door, dressed in his blazer and carrying flowers, was preposterous. How many apologies must she accept in one day?
She retreated to her room to read. When León knocked again after a few pages, she started a loud playlist on her phone.
He’d give up. Not talking was her damn specialty.
The chapter’s end blindly reached, she peeked to make sure he’d left. Still there! He’d turned the chair to watch the dying sunset, the bright lights of her living room illuminating his dark hair, curling up at the ends against his shoulders.
He wasn’t getting the message. Celia marched over to knock on the glass. The quick turn of his head sent his hair flying.
“What are you doing?” she asked through the glass.
“I’m here to apologize.” He held up the flowers.
“You did that this morning. I’m not talking to you again today.”
He raised his chin. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She turned on her heel and returned to her room, heart pounding.
He could sit there all night if he wanted. She had her book and her phone. She’d fall asleep comfortably, and he could sit and think about what an ass he’d been. It was nothing to her.
The knocking started again after a while. His muffled voice was audible even through the glass and the music.
“Celia, let’s talk, please.”
Absolutely not.
He kept knocking. “I’ll just listen, I won’t talk.”
Step in the right direction, but no.
“You’re right about everything.”
Definitely getting better.
“I’m going to sit here all night, Celia!”
Good.
If she went out, it’d be a win for him. She waited silently, superior. Her outburst earlier embarrassed her, but shutting people out? Oh, she could do that.
Unbidden, she relived the same thing running through her head all day. León, glaring as she posed this morning, ogling her like she couldn’t tell he was doing it. Then, taking it out on her, being grouchy and high-handed and inconsiderate! It was so unfair. So rude. So arrogant.
A shiver ran through her as she pictured him scowling down at her.
Okay, it was sort of hot. Maybe she’d wanted him to fall on her, giving in, lunging onto her with the passion he so clearly held back. But still!
Four more songs played before she looked again. Still there, sitting in the full dark, only the back of his bowed head visible. It was more siege than apology. What did you call a person under siege? A hostage? She looked it up on her phone, bored with her book, but couldn’t find the right word.
A small faint tapping sound started repeating in the living room, like he was rocking gently against the slider. He wasn’t actually trying to open the door, right? When the sound stopped, she peeked again.
What was….
That…that brat had painted on her glass doors! Big white letters that he must have done backward so she could read them.
I WAS WRONG
I’LL DO BETTER
ONE MORE CHANCE
PLEASE
That paint had better come off!
She tore open the door to find him standing there with paint and brush still in hand. He’d dripped some on her patio too! His face was a mix of expectation and wariness and pleasure and not nearly enough contrition.
The cocky bastard!
“You are proving me right,” she spat. “You’re still trying to control the conversation! I say I’m done, and you camp out here for a few hours?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but she wasn’t finished. “No means no! I shouldn’t have to tell you that!”
She could literally see the wheels turning as he sought a justification but failed.
His posture caved, his eyes stricken. He looked so ashamed that she had to suppress an urge to relent. After a taut moment, he simply nodded and left to go to the pool house.
Celia spun to inspect the paint. Who’d asked for big gestures? Had she been unclear that she didn’t want to talk?
He didn’t have to look so beaten just now! Unless…was she blowing things out of proportion?
You’re always overreacting, Celia Rose.
Shaking her head, she went inside. He could clean the window himself—to her standards.
Aware that he could see her from the pool house but wanting to take back her space, Celia paced. Living room to kitchen. Kitchen to living room.
She’d never seen him cowed like that. Happy or mad, he was always so sure of himself. Had she been too hard on him? He’d been trying to apologize for what felt like hours. Of course, he was wrong, but he’d tried, and now she’d just made him feel bad too.
You say you’re sorry, Celia Rose!
Ugh, Mom’s voice in her head again? She’d been doing better since lying her way out of the calls.
León hadn’t been intentionally rude. He just forgot her in his obsession with painting. He wanted this one so badly. León was an artist, temperamental, expressing himself, feeling out loud. That was what she wanted in life. How could she fault him for doing it?
Fine. She was trying to get better at this. What was she feeling right now?
Guilty.
She turned to look back at the door.
I WAS WRONG
I’LL DO BETTER
ONE MORE CHANCE
PLEASE
She texted him.
He knocked on the door moments after she hit send, and she let him in. She’d practically worked herself up to apologize to him, but he beat her to it.
“Celia, I’m sorry. Truly sorry. I’ll listen more, I won’t get carried away. I—” He paused, eyes widening, and clapped a hand to his mouth. It tugged a small smile out of her.
“León,” she said, shaking her head. “Sit down.”
She moved to her place by the stove as he obediently climbed onto a stool, obviously dying to explain but keeping his mouth shut. About time.
She leaned on the countertop, onto her elbows, her hair falling forward. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, but you have to stop bossing me around.” His earnest dark eyes weren’t quite contrite, but he was at least silent. She took a deep breath. “I’ll still pose, but I don’t want to stop the lessons.”
He nodded eagerly. “That’s fair.”
“I can only pose for a few hours a day. I want something to work on when you’re busy.”
“Of course. Yes.”
“We start back up tomorrow.” She leaned in to make her point.
He nodded again, glancing down at her chest as she leaned forward. Did he think she didn’t see things like that? “I promise, Celia,” he vowed. “I’ll do better.”
His relieved grin made her feel better. She’d stood up, and he was okay with it! She wondered how long he would make it before pushing her again.
He leaned onto the island, settling on his elbows like her. “Is it too late to pose tonight?” he asked. “I can’t paint anything else until this one is on canvas. Will you?”
She sighed. So, not long then. “Would I need to be in the water?”
“No, next to the pool is fine. It’s the lighting I’m after. The colors. I can finish and be ready to concentrate on your lesson tomorrow.”
She reached up to tuck her hair behind an ear, checking the clock on the stove. She had hours to go before bedtime anyway. Better to work than to think. She was tired of thinking.
“Okay.”
“Can we start now? Please, Celia. If you want to.” He reached across the kitchen island to brush back a strand of hair she’d missed.
Her heart leapt at the intimate touch, bounding in a sudden rush of beats, and her startled eyes leapt to his. Cheeks going red, he pulled his hand back.
He swallowed. “Do you want to?”
Heartbeat loud in her ears, she nodded. She did want to. “Go set up. I’ll be out in a minute.”
His smile lit up his entire face, and he raced for the sliding doors.
Celia exhaled hard. Good lord, León was so confusing! How had she gone from angry to this? His bravado just worked on her. He asked for what he wanted, and she rolled over. Maybe he could teach her how to do that.
She stretched, arms reaching, waist twisting, trying to relieve the tension that had silently built all evening. The stretches warmed her muscles but did little to quiet her still-racing heart. She went to her room and undressed, slipping on her robe.
She was only posing, like this morning. No reason for butterflies. Breathing deeply to calm herself, she went out to the pool.
León had already hauled out his easel and supplies, the blankets and pillows from his bed, and the half-finished painting. He practically skipped as Celia came out to the pool.
“Palette is ready!” he announced.
···
León had set up on the narrow flagstones between the pool and the retaining wall overlooking the canyon so that both blue pool lights and orange house lights could reach her as she posed.
Celia slipped off her robe and lay back on the blankets as she had this morning, but fully nude.
He forced a straight face, ignoring the warm lightness coursing through him. That was just relief that he hadn’t had to ask her to undress.
Again, he posed her, watching from the vantage of his canvas. Leg slightly bent, back arched, neck back. This time he could judge the light hitting her skin. The image in his head, burned there since first seeing her in the water, was coming back to life. Finally, there she was. Perfect.
He stopped for a moment, struck, staring.
Celia.
Heat sparked under his skin. Every time he looked at her lately, that urge to touch her hit him. He shook his head. He was here to paint. She was here to pose, not to welcome him on those blankets.
Would she, though?
His brow furrowed. When he’d touched her last night, she’d said no. Andrew had been in her bed, twenty feet away.
“León?” she called.
He shook his head again, coming back to the present. The painting. He had to complete it before opening some Pandora’s box.
“One second, I’m getting the pillows.”
As he had this morning, he kneeled to prop her knee with one cushion. His hand skimmed the small of her back as he slid the second pillow under it.
Impulse overpowered caution. He couldn’t help looking over her hipbones, the line of her ribcage, her bare breasts giving in softly to gravity. Her curves made his fingers itch.
He looked away before she opened her eyes to see him staring. It was unprofessional, intrusive. They were friends, but it was still wrong. This entitlement he felt wasn’t real.
Well, it was real—it just wasn’t based in reality.
He moved to place the third pillow under her neck, tempted to let his fingers graze her there accidentally. Touch her cheek, maybe. His eyes dropped to her mouth.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked softly, still crouched down.
She opened her eyes, looking up into his with a smile. He felt it all the way down his spine.
“It’s fine. Not so cold when I’m not wet.”
He smiled back. Casual. “I’ll try to go fast.”
“Do what you need to do.”
He swallowed, his eyes flickering to her lips again, then returned to his easel. He clipped a light to his palette so he could use it when needed without ruining his night vision. Then, clearing his mind, he tried to recapture the feelings of the night before.
The serenity, the slow echoes of water expanding from her shape as she floated, the watery turquoise ripples of light that washed over her skin, the golden kisses of light from the house glancing off the peaks of her body.
The calm before the storm.
He exhaled deeply. Tranquilo. Gone were the morning’s annoyances. It felt right this time.
Finally, finally, he started brushing colors onto the canvas. His heart lived in these simple motions. He knew where the colors wanted to be, how they layered. The painting created itself. There was truth here, this vulnerable shape she made. His brush caressed the curves on the canvas as though it was his hands on the woman before him.
The tip of his brush lingered over the spot where her neck met her shoulder. Looking up, León almost expected her to shiver, ticklish.
He tried not to look too often. The urge to finish what his brush started was tempting. He tried to channel the rawness into the paint instead, but he did have to look sometimes. Celia was his model.
His, dammit.
León painted as fast as he dared. If he could put those defenseless shapes on the canvas, stroke after stroke, his hands mastering her shape…
His breaths were coming a bit fast as he finished. There was touching up to complete later, but he’d gotten it. She was captured.
“Celia,” he said, clearing his throat as the word came out rougher than expected. “We’re done. I hope that wasn’t too long.”
“Already?” She didn’t move, giving him time to be sure.
“Already. You can get up.” Again, he hated to see her move but had to release her.
She slowly sat up. “That wasn’t long enough to get cold.”
He found her robe and passed it to her, eyes down. Turning his back, he struggled against words that might inflame the moment. Casual.
Instead, he started moving his equipment back inside. The hard-won painting absolutely needed time to dry without the danger of being disturbed.
He set it inside on the easel by his cot, where he could contemplate it. The dim lamp over his bed illuminated it gently. It was good. More than good. Maybe the best thing he’d ever done. The honesty and intimacy he talked about with Celia were there.
He calmed himself, forcing his breathing to return to normal. It was over. He’d gotten his painting without doing something rash.
Outside, he heard a splash in the pool. Head snapping up, he went out to see.
···
That had been the edgiest session Celia had ever sat through. The way his whole body tensed when he looked at her! The cords on his forearms tightened, his head lowered, his long fingers stiffened on the paintbrush. He was all coiled energy, almost predatory, threatening to charge if she provoked him.
Maybe she would provoke him.
Her body had thrummed as she lay there, feeling a lovely rush of electricity every time his black eyes raked over her. He’d almost kissed her once. If he would drop that tight control and just kiss her now, she’d welcome him. The idea sent a shiver down the length of her body, nearly disrupting her pose.
Once he’d released her, she sat motionless on the blankets, alive to every movement he made. Repressed energy had welled up unbearably, but she remained still. He’d barely disappeared inside the pool house when she jumped up, shaking her hands to release some of the wild tension. It wasn’t nearly enough. The pool in front of her was a familiar solution.
···
León came out to see her underwater, the splash from her dive already fading, her shadow streaking toward the far end of the pool. She reached the far end without coming up for air, turning and pushing off while still submerged.
She surfaced in the middle of the rippling pool, stopping to tread water as she gasped for a breath. Water streamed from her as she breathed and moved and found him watching.
The sight of her floored him. Her wide eyes found him as they had last night, just seeing him. Waiting.
She was a goddamn siren.
There was only so much he could take. He was pulling his shirt off before he knew he wanted to. Alarms started going off in his head. This might be a horrible decision. But the way she watched him, expectant, was an invitation. Right?
When he could look again, her eyes were roaming his shoulders and arms. Possible regrets were abandoned. He began unbuttoning his jeans.
···
Celia’s heart pounded. He was coming to her.
She drank in the sight of him, lit by the wavering aqua light. León was surprisingly fit and lean. His loose casual clothes had hidden strong shoulders and solid biceps. That long dark hair curling up at the ends, what would it look like wet against his neck?
He left on his dark boxer briefs, pushing the jeans past his muscled thighs. And then he was in the water, descending the stairs into the pool.
León waded out, rousing waves, the water rising up his ribs and chest. He stopped, though, where the bottom of the pool began falling away, hesitating before going out deeper.
Beginning to tire of treading water, Celia moved closer, swimming quietly until she could touch the bottom. Shoulders and chest emerging as the slope rose beneath her, she silently invited León to act. Where was all that bravado now?
He seemed too spellbound, watching her approach.
Celia exhaled slowly. Provocation it would be.
She stepped closer yet, the water level falling to her ribs, her wet breasts revealed. He’d seen her bare, but this wasn’t posing anymore. This was for him.
He admired her openly, rapt. Glinting water ran off her in rivulets, leaving little droplets clinging to her skin. And then she was within reach, daring him to act.
He didn’t resist, closing the small distance between them.
Lit from below by the turquoise glow of the water, he brought dripping hands up to cup her face. His dark eyes had no fight left in them, just want.
He tilted his head, leaned in, and then his lips were on hers.
The water drifted away, the sparkling city, the warm light from the house. All that was left was the stars.
Her whole body sang. León’s lips were so soft, their touch gentle on hers, exploring the feel of her for the first time. Then, not gentle. His fingers tightened as his mouth moved on her roughly. Her head swam, wanting even more.
León finally pulled back to look at her, breathing hard. He searched her face with a terrible hope.
She broke into a wide smile.
“Wow,” she said softly.
···
Satisfaction flooded him. Letting his hands fall from Celia’s glowing face, he drank her in, lost. She was bewitching, radiant for him. Just him.
“Reinita,” he said, a smile finally playing at his lips. A drop of water on her cheek lost its hold and trickled down to her neck. León raised two fingers to trace its path, making her shiver.
A dinging sound, faint but out of place, cut through the moment. León glanced at the pool house. His phone. It dinged again. “That chat of yours,” he muttered.
Damn, Andrew. Not now.
He turned his eyes back to the glorious Celia.
Andrew and Celia.
León froze. What was he doing?
He released her, drawing back. His jaw clenched. He shouldn’t have let himself get carried away, no matter how much he wanted her.
Celia glanced at the pool house, uneasy. “What is it?”
“Last night, you said no,” he said tightly. “You said, ‘I can’t.’ Because Andrew was there, right?”
She nodded, worry starting to stiffen her.
“Why is tonight different?” he asked. León could see her starting to withdraw already, her shoulders tightening, her smile dimming as the openness he found so appealing faded into reserve. But Andrew was a true complication!
Celia’s wide eyes searched his. “It was my birthday.”
He stared, then chuckled at her unexpected answer. Looking up to the stars, he exhaled heavily. “I picked a hell of a time to ask that, didn’t I?”
She held her silence until he looked back. The water around them stilled.
“It’s none of my business,” he said. “But—”
“It is now,” she said.
His hands retreated slowly into the water, weak ripples radiating out to engulf them both. “But,” he continued, “everyone said you broke up last year.”
“We did,” she answered, appeal in her eyes. “We just sometimes, still…you know him.”
León sighed.
“But that’s over,” she insisted. “For good. We agreed yesterday.”
León shook his head slowly. “Just yesterday. Maybe this isn’t a good idea today.” Her disappointment was clear; her shoulders started to droop. “Maybe we should think about this. Do you want to think about this?”
···
Celia teetered. Her mind told her to hold back, hide what she wanted. It was safer, and he had denied an interest in her this whole time. If he didn’t want her, was she making a fool of herself? She shrank from the risk.
But he did want her, enough that she’d seen him struggle against it. And that feeling when he really saw her…she wanted to take a chance. She couldn’t hide forever.
“I’m tired of thinking,” she said.
This time it was her dripping hands rising, reaching to touch wet fingertips to his smooth skin, tender palms sliding behind his neck. That hair was going to get at least a little wet.
She glimpsed a reluctant smile as she leaned in to kiss him. Lightly, softly, she touched her lips to his, her fingers finally threading through that hair she always wanted to touch. When he leaned in again, she let her wet hands roam down his neck and onto his chest, glorying in feeling his breath catch.
His head was shaking, though.
He raised his hands to hers, catching them between their bodies and holding them still. He was stopping her, and she bent her head, conceding. He rested his forehead against hers, both of them panting softly.
The silence drew out. The chill in the air made itself known.
···
León struggled to stay motionless, his heart thrumming inside his chest, his body demanding that he just caress her bare shoulder, pull her close to feel her entire soft, warm length against him. One word and she’d be his. But if he kissed her again, he wouldn’t stop.
Alone, naked, with more than one bed at hand, the whole night ahead of them? Heaven.
But his entire world was at stake! He’d finally painted her. What if he couldn’t paint her after? What if things just went wrong somehow?
“I can’t,” he said, regretting each syllable.
Her hands, still trapped in his between them, sank in his grasp. Her water-beaded shoulders drooped, but that expressive little chin inched higher. She nodded, eyes closed.
“Let’s get out,” he said, low. “You’re…you’re too tempting.”
It was an uncomfortable process, leaving the pool while studiously not looking at each other, shivering, her grabbing her robe and him a towel near the door. He’d hung it up to keep her away a few times now.
She joined him there at the pool house doorway, stopping barely within arm’s reach. She was a shadow against the bright lights of her house above them, her dewy face barely lit by the pool.
“I’ll see you tomorrow for my lesson?” she asked.
“Yes.”
There didn’t seem to be more to say. Except…she’d started to turn for the house when he grabbed her hand.
“Thank you for accepting my apology. And for posing.”
She smiled, but he felt a slight tremble in her.
Jesus. Tell me I’m an idiot, Celia. I’m not the boss of everything. Say you’re staying, just walk in to my bed. I’ll follow.
Instead, he squeezed her hand and let it go.
“Sleep well, reinita.”
Her eyes widened. “Good lord, León. How could I?”
She turned and left.