Chapter 31
FISHER
Holding Lila in my arms feels so good, even better now that we laid our feelings for each other out in the open instead of pretending they don’t exist. Today was a rollercoaster, but I’m happy we took the ride and ended up right here, holding each other tight.
I lose track of time standing there with my wife tucked into my chest, but when I look up, my gaze lands on the painting across the room.
My eyes widen. “Umm, is that me?”
Lila lifts her head off my chest and looks at me. “What?” She turns to see what I’m staring at, then smacks a hand to her face, blushing a bright red.
Chuckling, I release her and take her hand, leading her across the room toward the painting so I can take a better look. She digs in her heels, but I easily scoop her up and carry her toward the canvas.
“It’s nothing!” she squeals. “It’s just a random guy!”
My head falls back as I laugh. “You’re a terrible liar.”
I gently set her back down in front of her easel, placing my hands on her shoulders to spin her toward her painting. “I’m flattered that you painted me, but why am I naked?”
Lila gasps and turns to shove me, but I’m so much bigger than her I don’t even budge. “You’re not naked!”
Rolling my lips together, I arch an eyebrow.
“You’re just shirtless, I swear! I’m not finished.” She’s so defensive and embarrassed.
I ease an arm around her waist. “I’m teasing you,” I say. “I love that you painted me, Wife. That means you were thinking about me.”
My eyes scan the painting and it’s like deja vu.
I know those brush strokes. The portrait is vaguely abstract, yet somehow captures my essence perfectly.
It’s the first time I’ve seen anything but a landscape by Santi—AKA Lila—but it’s painted in the same style with the signature vibrant colors used in the Santi pieces I’ve collected the past year.
“I love it. Can I see more of your art?”
She gives me a soft smile. “Of course.”
Lila starts pulling out canvases from her storage cupboard against the wall.
One is of Chinatown, another of a set of the mosaic steps hidden across the city, and the last one is the piece she mentioned earlier—a residential city street in spring, cherry blossoms in the late stages of blooming.
I reach out and trail my fingers across the dried paint.
In some ways it’s difficult to believe that Lila is Santi…
but it also makes so much sense. Maybe her art was some kind of cosmic way of bringing her into my life.
Like the universe planted my feet inside that art gallery in Monterey last year because it knew I needed to meet her, that she’d change my life.
I’ve never really believed in fate, but as I look at Lila’s art, seeing all the things I love about her in it, it dawns on me that my stance has changed. That I’ve changed…because of her.
“You’re so talented, Lila.” I’m in awe of how she pours her heart out in each painting.
A bashful smile curves her lips. “Thank you.” Lila shakes her head. “I still can’t believe you’re the one who’s been purchasing all my paintings.”
I smirk. “Since I’m your husband, does this mean I get first dibs on all your future work?”
She laughs. “Depends on whether you keep outbidding everyone else.”
I gasp in mock offense, and she steps closer to me, smoothing her hand up my chest. My heart picks up pace, and I want nothing more than to lean in and kiss her, to finally taste her, claim her mouth with mine…
but I pause and pull back when her mouth quirks and a small laugh escapes her lips.
I tilt my head, trying to figure out what’s amusing her.
Lila’s hand flies to her mouth but not before a full laugh bursts out.
“What is so funny?”
Lila shakes her head, still snickering.
I step back, planting my hands on my hips. “Tell me.”
“It’s just…I spotted your pottery, and it’s so, so bad. Like so bad, it’s cute. I love it.”
I turn to look at the hideous hunk of pottery resting on a shelf behind my head. It’s full of paintbrushes, but some of them poke out the holes in the sides. “I can’t even be offended. It’s truly awful.” I laugh.
Lila loops her arms around my waist. “You stick to hockey, and I’ll stick to art, okay?” She teases.
“Nope, I want to take more pottery classes once the playoffs are over. I’m going to get better…watch and see,” I challenge.
“You’re a little bit competitive,” she says, raising a hand and pinching her thumb and forefinger together.
“Yes,” I admit, taking her sassy hand in mine. “But I also want to spend time doing things that you enjoy, I want to be in your world…every part of it.”
Lila’s eyes soften. “I could teach you.” She looks up at me through her thick dark eyelashes. “Zane lets me use his potter’s wheel.”
I sniff. “I’m sure Zane would love for you to teach me using his potter’s wheel.”
She laughs. “He’ll get used to you.”
Somehow, I doubt that, especially since I’m married to the woman he’s in love with.
But I’m not here to think about Zane or his feelings right now, so when Lila takes my hand and drags me toward Zane’s booth, I follow without hesitation.
“Come on. Let’s start your pottery lessons.”
“Right now?” I glance down at my white button-down dress shirt and Valentino trousers.
She drags her fingers from my hand to my forearm and then slowly up to my bicep. The movement is intentional, like she knows it will drive me wild, and seeing her like this is hot as hell. “Why not? We have the place to ourselves.”
“Okay, teach me.” I unbutton my sleeves and roll them up to my elbows. When I look back up, I find Lila staring at me with her mouth slightly open. “What?”
She blinks. “I was just enjoying the forearm porn.”
I bark out a surprised laugh. “Says the woman wearing nothing but a baggy T-shirt.”
Lila glances down at her legs like she’d forgotten what she was wearing. She tugs the shirt down a few inches, and I smirk. “I wasn’t complaining.”
Her eyes darken, and she looks at me for a fleeting, heated moment before crossing into Zane’s area and turning on the potter’s wheel in the center of his workspace.
There’s a small table in front of the wheel with a ceramic dish filled with water.
One wooden stool rests behind the potter’s wheel, and Lila finds a second stool and drags it over behind the other one so we can both sit down.
She points to a container on the table beside me, taking charge. “Open that and grab a softball-sized lump of clay.”
I open the airtight container and find a thick block of clay under a damp cloth. Using a string, I remove a chunk then snap the lid back on.
Lila sits on the stool in front of the wheel. “Roll that into a ball, then slam it down in the center of the wheel.” She smiles. “That’s the fun part.”
Stepping closer to the wheel, I do as she asked, rolling the clay around in my hands until it forms a sphere, then I slam it down in the center of the wheel.
“So far so good,” she teases. “Now get behind me. You can put your hands over mine to see how I form the clay and apply pressure.”
I roll my shoulders back, reminding myself this is just an art lesson.
But her bossy teaching style is doing something to me.
As commanded, I sit on the stool behind her and bring my hands to rest on the edge of the wheel.
My chest presses against her back, my head fitting perfectly against her shoulder.
Closing my eyes, I savor the feel of her against me, the scent of her hair, the warmth of her skin. Lila is all consuming.
Lila takes my hands and dips my fingers in the small pot of water. The wheel spins faster as she brings our damp hands to the smooth lump of clay.
“Use the balls of your hands to flatten the sides,” she instructs as her body relaxes into me, her head leaning against mine.
My damp fingers move with hers along the clay.
The sensation of her warm, soft hands with the pliable clay is surprisingly intimate.
Creating something together is sensual in a way I wasn’t expecting.
It’s a different type of closeness, learning together, taking part in one another’s interests.
Between the pottery lesson and admitting our feelings openly, our closeness in this moment is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. Not just with a woman…but with anyone.
For a second, I worry I’m feeling more than she is…that this is just an art lesson to her. But then she rasps out the words, “Good, now we’ll bring our palms to the top of the clay and flatten it down.”
Her voice betrays that she’s just as affected by the intimacy of this activity as I am. Goosebumps break out along my arms when her hands move mine to a new position on the clay, her fingers weaving between mine.
“Dip your fingers down to hollow it out, like a cup,” she whispers.
Holy hell.
I follow her instructions, forming an opening in the flat top and hollowing out the mug that we’re creating. Is it even a mug? I have no damn clue. All I know is I love being close to this woman. I love learning how she moves. Love how art flows through her fingertips.
Leaning in, I run my nose along the side of her neck, inhaling the perfume that’s mingling with the scent of her skin.
She sighs when my mouth finds her pulse and I can’t hold back for another moment.
I kiss the sensitive spot, dipping my tongue out to taste her skin.
Mmmm, better than any Michelin star dinner.
Lila huffs out a breathless laugh, and I realize I said the words out loud.
“Earlier, during our picnic, when I asked you what you wanted…was this what you had in mind?” I whisper as I kiss up her neck until my lips meet her ear.
Lila lets out a shaky breath. “Maybe.”
I nip her earlobe with my teeth, and she gasps. “Yes.”
The clay beneath our hands flops around on the table, and the wheel comes to an abrupt stop, but neither of us pays much attention to it. Moving my hands out from under hers, I glide them up her bare legs. I’m not sure if she’s actually wearing just a T-shirt but the mystery makes my blood hotter.
I open my mouth to ask if this is okay, but before I can speak, her hands cover mine and she moves my hands up underneath her baggy shirt until they’re resting against her bare torso. She’s all soft, warm skin, and I want to touch every inch of her.
My wife turns to look at me over her shoulder, her eyes dropping to my lips, and I decide it’s about time I take charge.
I press my mouth to hers, unable to resist any longer, and she meets my mouth with a whimper, parting her lips for me so I can kiss her in all the ways I’ve fantasized about, all the ways I’ve been wanting to for weeks.
The brief kiss at our wedding was nothing compared to the undiluted passion pouring through us now.
Our tongues tangling, teeth clashing, Lila making the sexiest sounds I’ve ever heard as my hands explore her body.
Even the hot kiss we shared during the photoshoot doesn’t hold a candle to the intimacy and closeness of kissing her now.
Now I know her, now I love who she is. Now I’m falling for this woman… harder than I thought possible.
“My Hercules,” she whispers against my lips, her clay-covered handprints making patterns as they inch up my designer pants.
As far as I’m concerned, these Valentinos are worth more now that they’re covered with her handprints.
“Tell me what you want, Wife,” I whisper back, my voice is rough like gravel.
“Let’s go upstairs,” she says, moving in my lap so her thighs are straddling mine.
I grip her tight, pulling her body flush against mine. “Now?” I grit out.
“Can you carry me?” Lila arches a brow in challenge, which makes me smile because she’s so light.
I stand easily with her in my arms, carrying her toward the stairs that lead up to her former apartment. Lila threads her hands into my hair and kisses my neck with her hot mouth while I focus on making it up the steps.
Carrying her into her old room, I thank the powers that be that the tiny bed is still nestled against the wall.
I lay her down on the soft mattress and her hair fans out behind her.
I look down at her for a long moment, memorizing the sight of my wife in the moonlight, looking up at me with twinkling eyes that practically beg me to make love to her.
Lila props herself up on her elbows. “Sorry about your clothes,” she says, biting her bottom lip.
I glance down at the clay hand prints all over my pants and skin, that match the larger handprints on her shirt and legs. “Are you kidding? I’m going to frame these pants. They’re art now.”
Lila laughs. “Okay, but for now, take them off.”
I arch an eyebrow at her before stripping down to my boxer briefs. Lila slides off the bed and moves to stand in front of me, trailing her fingers up my torso and chest. “Michelangelo would’ve had a hay day sculpting your likeness.”
“If I remember correctly, he gave David a tiny penis…so I’m not sure he’d be the one for the job.”
Lila’s head falls back as she laughs and I drink in the sound, laughing right along with her.
This must be what it’s like to fall in love, sharing the most intimate moments with someone and caring more about making them laugh than getting them into bed…
that their laughter and the sound of their voice feels even better than getting them naked.
When her laughter subsides, she steps a little closer and looks up at me with those gorgeous dark eyes. I rest my hands on her waist, then slide them down the sides of her body, reaching for the hem of her shirt.
“Is this okay?” I ask, because if she wants to stop here, I’ll stop. I’ll wait until she’s ready…no matter how long that takes.
“It’s more than okay,” she answers, her voice barely a rasp.
I sweep her shirt over her head, and all her bare skin meets mine. I want to soak up her warmth, the simple skin to skin contact that feels more meaningful than anything I’ve experienced before.
Lila kisses me soft and slow, then reaches for my hand and leads me toward the bed.