With Crayons and Love (Romantic Suspense) [COMPLETED]

Chapter 12 - Original

Stella laid draped over Grant's shoulder, slumbering snugly in what was a deep sleep. Not one movement of Grant's muscles stirred her, because she was so content to be asleep in the crook of his arms. They were warm, I knew, and strong.

She would feel protected. As I did.

I opened my apartment door and ushered Grant in, walking with him to my bedroom. The events of the night before were very much repeated, but a few differences gripped at my heart. This time I was the one to tug down the sheets, whilst Grant had laid Stella on the bed and tucked the beautiful girl in. He swept her hair from where it had fallen on her face and placed it aside to rest on the pillow. Copper against white.

I stood there, watching as I held my own hand and tried to look away. But I couldn't. I was in rapture. He held me with his eyes when he turned to look at me, and I felt every inch of my heart jump with heat. Heat because he looked so perfect and masculine beside my bed, and even more heat, pleasant and churning, as my heart all but melted with his goodness.

It was just that, his goodness, that served to shock and overwhelm me with such force.

I was trained subconsciously to suspect, to fear and flee, because what I had seen before Grant was the opposite of goodness. And it had been so potent that for a while I had thought it was all that existed.

I wasn't so sure anymore.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, coming to stand close to me.

"Nothing. I'm just grateful for your help." That was only half of the truth.

He smiled. "You are welcome, all the time." His hand took mine and he raised it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss that jolted my skin.

How could his eyes be so purely, indistinctly blue? There was naught but one shade; no specks of green or yellow or hazel dotted those eyes. They were very perfectly blue.

"Grant."

"Yes?"

"Does everyone in your family have your color eyes?"

He chuckled quietly, "I like to think that only I do, but a lot of my relatives have blue eyes. Some have green or hazel. But none have them quite as perfect as I do."

I laughed at the slyness of his grin, then covered my mouth, remembering we had not yet left the room.

"Let's go out into the living room. I don't want to wake Stella."

We slipped quietly out of the room, but he took my hand and prevented me from moving any further to where I had planned to go; the living room.

"I want to see your artwork, Tessa."

"My work?" I repeated, looking up at him with a frown over my eyebrows, "Why ever would you want to do that?"

"Artistic curiosity."

I rolled my eyes and held back a smile, but my nerves were easily becoming frilled.

"Well, it's nowhere near as ornate as yours."

It was his turn to roll his eyes. "They're two different kinds of art, Tessa. I want to see yours."

"Fine," I shrugged, and led him to my studio. I didn't know why I was so bloody nervous.

He didn't hesitate in walking inside my studio when I opened the thick, wooden door.

"Walk me through it," he said, taking in his surroundings. His eyes were quick to land on the electric kiln at the far end of the room.