She pictured the week unspooling in days and nights of bliss, and then slamming cruelly into the finish line in only one week. That end was bound to hurt in a new fresh way.
A knot of worry crept through her from all the unknown.
Then she felt a tingling in her spine. She didn’t dare look away from the viewfinder because she was ringing up some damn fine shots. But she knew he’d just walked past her. He hadn’t even touched her. He hadn’t even lazily traced a finger across her back. Instead, she could simply sense the shape of him; she could smell the clean, sexy scent of him; she could simply feel the way he was near her.
“Can’t wait to see you later.”
The words were the barest of a whisper on her neck. They sent a rush of heat down through her veins, and goose bumps erupted over her skin. A proper date. Not just a stolen moment in the bar, in his house, by the river.
Later, as she finished the shoot and started to pack up her gear, she felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around her shoulders. Then knuckles dig into her skull. “You didn’t think I’d stop giving you noogies just because you’ve basically ignored every single thing I told you to do?”
She shifted around. “Nice to see you, too.”
“Listen,” he said, his tone shifting to serious. “I only worry about you because I love you. Because I can’t stop looking out for you. And because I want you to have the world.”
“I know,” she said softly.
“I’m not happy about this, but I can’t stop you, so just know that I’m here for you no matter what happens, okay?”
Her throat hitched, but she held it together. This was her brother. This was the man she looked up to, admired, trusted. He would always be there for her, no matter what. She was lucky to have had him growing up, and she was luckier to have him now.
He lowered his voice. “I love you, Megan.”
“I love you, Trav.”
Chapter Eighteen
Decked out in jeans, red boots, and a silvery shirt that seemed like it was having a mighty fine time hugging her breasts, Megan looked edible to him.
She also looked enrapt, and that made him so damn happy.
Her brown eyes were wide and sparkling as she took in the exhibit at the art gallery in a nearby town. His brother, the sensitive, artistic one, had suggested he take her here. He’d emailed Griffin and asked for a recommendation, and immediately he’d sent back the info. If I were in Northern California like you, you’d have to tear me away from an exhibit of cartoon art, his younger brother had written.
That was all he’d needed to hear. Griffin and Megan had similar tastes and interests in art as far as Becker, with his untrained eye, could tell. Judging from the way Megan studied every illustration in the room, as if she were memorizing all the lines, curves, and colors, she couldn’t be happier. That reaction to him was priceless. In their short time together—albeit sneaking around—she’d already done so much for him. He’d wanted to be able to do something special for her, to show her that there was more to the two of them than the intense physical connection.
She reached for his hand and laced her fingers through his, and her touch warmed his very soul. “I think I’m in love with this exhibit,” she said as she looked at him.
“That makes me happy,” he said.
Being able to show her something she loved made his heart feel full. It was a foreign feeling to him, and it almost seemed as if he were wearing a pair of shoes that were a bit too tight, or a bit too loose. But his heart didn’t hurt, and it wasn’t painful; it would simply take some adjusting.
“Thank you for finding this for me.”
“Griffin gets all the credit. I’m just glad you like it.”
As they walked to the next work, a slinky woman in a dress wearing a floppy hat, her eyes lit up once more. “That,” she said, pointing in a frenzy as she dropped his hand. “Can’t you just see me inking that on some big burly man’s shoulder or something?”
He couldn’t quite see it for a guy, but he wasn’t one to knock down her dreams. “The woman with the hat?”
She laughed and shook her head. “No. The hat. Look at what’s on the hat.”
He peered closer, spotting a streak of silhouetted birds, flying across the brim. Simple, sleek, and yet powerful. “That I could definitely see,” he said, then turned to her, enjoying the mesmerized look in her eyes. “Look at you, finding inspiration here. Maybe you don’t need to go to Portland,” he said, then he stopped speaking abruptly, the weight of his unexpected statement hitting him hard in the gut. He gulped and stepped back. He hadn’t planned to suggest that; he wasn’t even sure where the notion came from…except maybe from deep inside him. From his hope to know her more, and better. From a wish to have this woman in his life on more than just a temporary basis. For her to stay. But he didn’t want to quash her dreams. He wasn’t going to be that guy.