it, Jack. Your muse is back. The thing that gave you passion, tormented you, and haunted you is back. You’re reeling in ecstasy and dread. It’s something you want, but can’t ever have. And the one that brings the pain is pure, white as snow... and standing in front of you.” The last words were barely audible.
It killed me when I saw it, when my mind snapped the puzzle pieces together. I was the missing muse, the haunting soul that made him feel lost, like he was drifting for over a decade. And that white painting, oh God. I couldn’t look at him. I stared into the darkness surrounding us, the last painting still lit.
Jack’s grip on my hand loosened. He gently stroked my skin as he leaned in and kissed my temple. Before he pulled away, I felt his breath in my ear, “You see me. Every bit. Every part.” When the lights came on, he pulled away. My heart was roaring, flooding my ears with frantic beating. Jack lifted the empty wine glass out of my hands, and put it on the counter. He was tense, the muscle in his jaw tight.
I didn’t know what to say. I stood there like a fool, glancing around the room. That painting—it was untouchable sensuality. Loneliness. It wasn’t the women I saw anymore when viewing the paintings, it was Jack—his soul bared on every canvas.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
While Jack turned off the lights, I’d gone outside and sat down on a sand dune. The moon was high, barely giving off any light as it slivered into a new moon. The sound of the waves crashing into the shore calmed me. I didn’t know what to think. It felt like I’d done something wrong, something horribly wrong. It was like seeing Jack naked, but much more intimate, and much more damning. When he sat down next to me, I could barely breathe.
Our bodies were an inch apart, close enough to touch, but not. Jack stared at the sea, “That was a lot more intense than I thought it’d be. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t expect,” he laughed a short high laugh, pushing his hair out of his face and looking at me, “I didn’t expect you to do that. No one has ever done that. There are entire books written on what makes me tick, and none of them even came close. But you, Abby, damn,” Nervously he ran his fingers through his hair, glancing at me sideways, “you stripped me in a matter of seconds, and saw right through everything. No one’s ever done that before. It was wonderful and awful at the same time.”
Oh my God. Someone kill me. I couldn’t look at him. I didn’t mean to make him feel like that. “I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t mean to...”
He bumped into me with his shoulder, cutting off my apology, “Hell no, don’t apologize. It was perfect. A moment that was scary as hell, and completely perfect.” I glanced at him and he smiled. The tension seemed to fade from his shoulders as the smile drifted across his lips. I smiled back, not knowing what to say, but glad he felt better. “So, tell me. What really happened back in Texas?” Nervous, my eyebrows shot up as I twisted toward him with a who me? expression on my face. He laughed, “Yeah, you. If you want to go back, why’d you leave?”
“Now it’s my turn to squirm, is that it?” I eyed him half smiling.
“Tell me, Abby. Why are you here?”
Looking at him, I wondered why I felt compelled to spill my guts every time he asked me to. What was wrong with me? It was like I had no sense of self-preservation. I made a face, “I was sent on a forced sabbatical. No warning. No pay. Just good-luck, now get out.”
He nearly choked, “Are you serious?” I nodded, “Then why do you want to go back?”
“I have to.” I repeated my story in detail, the same one I told Kate about my loans and my contract with the church. “So, if I get through this year, I go back on payroll and I can find another job. If I get canned, my career is over and I’ll die from drowning in student
It killed me when I saw it, when my mind snapped the puzzle pieces together. I was the missing muse, the haunting soul that made him feel lost, like he was drifting for over a decade. And that white painting, oh God. I couldn’t look at him. I stared into the darkness surrounding us, the last painting still lit.
Jack’s grip on my hand loosened. He gently stroked my skin as he leaned in and kissed my temple. Before he pulled away, I felt his breath in my ear, “You see me. Every bit. Every part.” When the lights came on, he pulled away. My heart was roaring, flooding my ears with frantic beating. Jack lifted the empty wine glass out of my hands, and put it on the counter. He was tense, the muscle in his jaw tight.
I didn’t know what to say. I stood there like a fool, glancing around the room. That painting—it was untouchable sensuality. Loneliness. It wasn’t the women I saw anymore when viewing the paintings, it was Jack—his soul bared on every canvas.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
While Jack turned off the lights, I’d gone outside and sat down on a sand dune. The moon was high, barely giving off any light as it slivered into a new moon. The sound of the waves crashing into the shore calmed me. I didn’t know what to think. It felt like I’d done something wrong, something horribly wrong. It was like seeing Jack naked, but much more intimate, and much more damning. When he sat down next to me, I could barely breathe.
Our bodies were an inch apart, close enough to touch, but not. Jack stared at the sea, “That was a lot more intense than I thought it’d be. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t expect,” he laughed a short high laugh, pushing his hair out of his face and looking at me, “I didn’t expect you to do that. No one has ever done that. There are entire books written on what makes me tick, and none of them even came close. But you, Abby, damn,” Nervously he ran his fingers through his hair, glancing at me sideways, “you stripped me in a matter of seconds, and saw right through everything. No one’s ever done that before. It was wonderful and awful at the same time.”
Oh my God. Someone kill me. I couldn’t look at him. I didn’t mean to make him feel like that. “I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t mean to...”
He bumped into me with his shoulder, cutting off my apology, “Hell no, don’t apologize. It was perfect. A moment that was scary as hell, and completely perfect.” I glanced at him and he smiled. The tension seemed to fade from his shoulders as the smile drifted across his lips. I smiled back, not knowing what to say, but glad he felt better. “So, tell me. What really happened back in Texas?” Nervous, my eyebrows shot up as I twisted toward him with a who me? expression on my face. He laughed, “Yeah, you. If you want to go back, why’d you leave?”
“Now it’s my turn to squirm, is that it?” I eyed him half smiling.
“Tell me, Abby. Why are you here?”
Looking at him, I wondered why I felt compelled to spill my guts every time he asked me to. What was wrong with me? It was like I had no sense of self-preservation. I made a face, “I was sent on a forced sabbatical. No warning. No pay. Just good-luck, now get out.”
He nearly choked, “Are you serious?” I nodded, “Then why do you want to go back?”
“I have to.” I repeated my story in detail, the same one I told Kate about my loans and my contract with the church. “So, if I get through this year, I go back on payroll and I can find another job. If I get canned, my career is over and I’ll die from drowning in student
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