Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“A local artist?” the older, gray-haired woman asked. “Hmm. If I have anything fitting that description, it’d be in the back in one of the picture bins.” She pointed to her left where there was a doorway that led down a couple steps into another room. “Anything I think is more valuable, I hang up on the wall,” she said as she looked up and waved her arm around, “but I don’t currently have a lot. Antique paintings—especially signed ones—are popular right now, and there haven’t been many estate sales in the last few months. I suppose I should be glad of the fact that no one has died recently, but it’s also not great for business,” she said with a small laugh. “Anyway, help yourself.”
“Thanks,” Gage and I both said as we headed for the back room. It felt warmer back here as there was no overhead fan to stir up the air. And without the benefit of the glass front door letting in some light, it was much more dim. It smelled of potpourri and eucalyptus, scents that conjured to mind my granny’s house before my mother and I had moved in and made it our own. I heard the front door open and the shop owner greet some customers, engaging in conversation.
I walked around the large shelving unit in the middle of the room that held candles and other craft items that were obviously handmade as Gage headed for the three wooden boxes sitting on the floor that were full of framed art.
He bent and started going through the first box, glancing at each painting as he leaned it against the one in front of it. I bent over too and looked over his shoulder as he worked. His movements slowed, and I became aware of how close we were, his unforgettable scent deeper and more complex than it’d been in his car. I could smell his cologne, but also his skin, and the cinnamon on his breath. A tumble of visions came back to me as I breathed him in, the memories of when I’d first experienced the smell of his skin and the taste of his tongue.
My nipples hardened, and a small buzz took up at the apex of my thighs, the chatter and laughter of the women at the front of the store fading as blood whooshed between my ears. Gage flipped another frame and I took in a lighthouse done in oils as his breath seemed to hitch. I should move. The air seemed to thicken, the molecules in the space between us swelling. I felt woozy but also hyper-aware. God, I couldn’t help it. Every time this man got close to me, I wanted to get naked. I was desperate to feel the slow slide of his body over mine. In mine. I should definitely move away. Only I didn’t want to. And though it felt dangerous, there was also safety in the fact that we were in a public place, and so I lingered, taking what I could. All that I dared. “Rory,” he said, and his voice sounded as thick as whatever was currently lodged in my own throat. His finger jerked and he flipped another frame, and I blinked as my gaze landed on a smaller-sized watercolor of a lake and a shore and—
“Holy shit,” I said, reaching for it and pulling it from the stack. We both stood, my eyes meeting his when he turned. They looked slightly glazed, his lips parted before he blinked and moved around to stand next to me so we could both look down at the now-familiar art. “M.S.,” I whispered. “Holy shit,” I repeated. “Gage, we found one.”
“Look through the other boxes,” he said, bending toward the second one. I hesitated only a moment and then went to the third. My limbs still felt slightly shaky, not from discovering a picture—though my heart was now beating an excited tempo—but from my reaction to being so close to Gage…to lingering there as my blood heated and my tissue softened in response to my own yearning for him.
There was another M.S. original at the back of the crate. “Gage!” I said as I pulled it out. He turned, abandoning the box that he’d just gotten to the back of.
“Two,” he breathed as he again came to stand next to me so we could both look down at the picture. This one was mostly trees, and a slip of rocky shore.
I felt like rejoicing and crying and I was still just a little turned on. I took a step away. “Let’s go ask the owner about these,” I said. We headed back toward the front where the two customers she’d been chatting with were now browsing a shelf near the front window.
“Oh my!” She brought her hands to her mouth when she saw that I was carrying two paintings. “Did you find what you were looking for?”