Grounded (Up in the Air #3)(17)

Eventually I spoke, spilling every detail of the dream in a quiet, agonized whisper.

He stroked my back as I spoke, staying silent while I told him about the nightmare. He only spoke when I'd finished and fell silent. "It was just a dream, Bianca. I'm here, and I'm fine. Your father wouldn't be able to get to me if he tried. And we will take every precaution to make sure he can never get to you. We'll be fine, Love. Everything is going to be okay."

I felt better after I got it all out and of course after James reassured me with so much conviction in his voice. We dried off and fell asleep. I clutched him even as I drifted off.





I awoke when I felt James leaving the bed. I sat up when the bathroom door closed, the shower turning on a moment later. I had nearly drifted off again when he re-emerged. I made myself get up.

I watched him get dressed from the closet entrance, barely managing not to drool even in my sleep-dazed state.

James shot me a warm look. "Go back to bed, Love. I have to go into work, but that doesn't mean you have to wake up at this ungodly hour," he said, shrugging into a crisp white dress shirt.

I gave a little shrug. I'd slept enough.

He finished dressing swiftly, moving to me with a purpose. He kissed me, a slow, hot kiss, but pulled back without doing more. His golden hair trailed into his face as he bent down to me. It wasn't even dry yet, but it still looked model perfect. I ran a strand between my fingers.

James pulled back reluctantly. "All of the paintings that you're working on have been moved into your studio here. And I believe that Lana is going to try to rope you into lunch today, though if she doesn't, I'd love to get the privilege."

My brows furrowed. I'd gotten a brief tour of my brand new window-lined studio, but I hadn't seen my current projects there.



       
         
       
        

"All of them?" I asked, thinking of the nude I'd started painting of him, the one I'd buried in a chest in the guest bedroom of my small home.

He grinned wickedly. "All of them. I need to go. If you aren't going back to bed, then walk me out." As he spoke, he hooked a finger into the collar at my neck.

He kissed me at the elevator. "We'll dine in tonight, then I'm taking you to the fourth floor," he told me as the door closed.

I missed him the second he was gone. I had it so bad.

I couldn't go back to that empty bed, so I painted.

I had to smile when I saw that he'd been quite literal about moving all of the paintings I was working on into my studio. Even the nude of him had somehow been found in my house and shipped here. The man had no boundaries whatsoever.

I worked on the portrait of a fourteen-year-old James that I had begun working on the week before. I worked for hours, becoming utterly absorbed in that image of him, that picture of an outrageously beautiful child with the sorrow of loss and the weight of the world on his shoulders.

I had made good progress on the painting, but still wore just the barest slip, when I heard a brisk knock on the door of my studio.

I cringed. I hadn't thought that through. I'd started at maybe five a.m., forgetting there was even anyone else in the monstrosity of an apartment.

I set down my brush and opened the door, keeping my body hidden.

I was surprised to find Blake at the door, holding my phone, though I shouldn't have been. I had just naturally assumed it would be either Marion or Stephan at the door, and I'd been hoping for Stephan. If anyone had to see me in a see-through nightie besides James, of course I'd pick Stephan.

"Ms. Karlsson. Mr. Cavendish would like a word. Please try to keep your phone on you, for security purposes," she said, her face set in those painfully severe lines.

I just nodded and shut the door in her face. I wasn't trying to be rude, but it was hard not to be, when I was a grown woman and she seemed to feel the need to tell me what to do.

I didn't even have a chance to dial James before he was calling me.

"Hello, Mr. Cavendish," I said into the phone.

"You're painting," he said in the warmest voice.

"Mmmhmm. How could you tell?"

"Just by the sound of your voice. It's sort of dreamy and soft. I wish I were there. I love to watch you paint. I love to watch those dreams in your eyes."

I shivered, adoring those romantic words and the low raspy cadence of his voice. "I wish you were here, too, though if you were, I'd be working on the nude."

"I'll pose tonight, if you like." 

"I like."

"Mostly I called because I'm between meetings and I wanted to hear the sound of your voice, but also Lana is trying to get ahold of you. She is a ruthlessly persistent woman, and she made me agree to ask you to call her. She's been trying, but you obviously forgot that you have a phone. Again."