With Crayons and Love (Romantic Suspense) [COMPLETED]

Chapter 22 - Artist

He was sleeping beside me, sprawled over his chest so that one arm lay securely over my belly. My body, warm and beating, laid there as I reveled in the heat and scent of him, feeling the hard, relaxed skin of his hand with my finger.

It was morning now, and he slept like the dead, exhausted from the many times he had awoken me throughout the night with his hand against my face, sweeping over the curves of my neck until I came into awareness and pulled him to me. And he would take my body as his own.

But I told myself I wasn't exhausted. I was simply lazy and high on the memories of the night, the still lingering feeling of his hands and mouth over my skin.

It was as if I could still feel him, and so I wanted to stay and wake him to take him inside me again. That heavenly, overwhelming fullness of him.

There was work to be done before the remainder of the day could be spent in leisure. We were catching our flight to Illinois at five in the afternoon and would have to be at the airport an hour or two in advance for precaution. That meant now was the best time to slip carefully out of bed to make certain everything was packed.

Regretfully, quietly, I lifted his hard, heavy arm and slipped out of the bed. I looked around the floor for my black dress and found it thrown by the wall. Heat flushed over my body as I remembered him undressing me, throwing the dress aside to touch me, and I looked at the bed to find him lying lazily over his stomach, the muscled planes of his back begging to be touched as one arm hugged the pillow under his head.

I dressed quickly, taking my shoes with me to the room where Stella slept. She, too, slept peacefully, curled up into a little ball at the middle of the mattress. She was precious in her slumber, with her hair sprawled across the blue sheets and her mouth set in that soft, pink line. How had life gotten this lovely, in such short time?

I went about quietly picking up our things and placing them in our suitcase. Not much was left out, for we had packed lightly and hadn't made a mess, but it was good knowing that the necessary things were taken care of before I became distracted. And I would. The Gables would make certain of it.

I chose my remaining unworn outfit of a moss skirt and ivory peasant blouse and went to the bathroom to change. I dressed calmly, tying the peasant blouse by the waist to give it shape, then I slipped a pair of turquoise earring drops into my ears and fastened my hair into a loose braid. Satisfied with the comfortable clothing, I walked out to living room to avoid waking either Grant or Stella in their respective rooms, and found that once I looked outside the large glass windows, the ocean looked too beautiful to miss.

I hadn't donned any shoes, but the sand was like satin under my bare toes as I walked the expanse from the house and to the beach. There was a calm morning breeze that became stronger as I neared the water, and I felt the air move through my clothing with determination. But I wasn't bothered. The chill was welcome as it played with my hair.

I was happy, swept and overrun with peace. This feeling of complete serenity, of belonging, was foreign to me. The feelings of passion and sex and need without fear and uncertainty was so overwhelming I often found myself looking for breath.

I closed my eyes then and saw no ocean, just myself, and asked myself what would become of me if this all failed; if this little game of house that we were playing were to come to an abrupt stop...

If Stella were to find a better home elsewhere with someone other than me. If Grant were to grow out of his lust for me, and to find it in another woman. Would I simply go back to my routine of a careless, free life that had not been all that free, but marred by my own cage of false freedom and control? Or would I continue as the person I was now? Feeling and caring and loving far too much the things that might slip away and leave me broken again.